Zac’s eyes found hers, then George. He was torn.
“If that’s a change of clothes in that bag, Ginger... my office is right behind you. Feel free to use it and the bathroom in there if you need it. I’ve got to run next door, Zac. I’ll be back in, say—a half-hour? Then we’ll knock out the rest of the food.”
Zac looked at George, puzzled. George cocked his head slightly, raising eyebrows—his meaning as transparent as they come. Ginger was clearly on the same wavelength, but Zac’s focus had been elsewhere, so he was a little slow on the uptake.
“See you shortly,” George said, leaving them. He’d let Ginger take over from here.
As the kitchen door was closing behind him, he heard Zac say, “OH!”
* * *
George was chuckling to himself as he unlocked and opened the street door. The bell jingled, and it surprised him to find May standing there.
“Why don’t you get rid of that stupid bell?”
“Because I like it. It lets me know when people come in and I’m in the back. It’s also welcoming in a nostalgic kind-of-way, helping me remove any pretense of a high-end restaurant. And it’s also a little reminder of Mr. Chang, so I know it makes Mikey happy.”
“Wow. I wasn’t expecting a thesis.”
“I was just coming over, by the way.”
She entered in a wisp of scarves, shawls, jangly bracelets, and patchouli. “I had to get out of there. It’s slow. Cassie said she’d text me if she needed me. Thought maybe I could help you.”
George brought a finger to his lips. “I was trying to give Zac and Ginger some alone time,” he whispered.
“Oh,” May’s eyes widened. “Aren’t you the sweet one, George Patras? Always thinking of others.”
“Well, itisChristmas Eve. And they both work...a lot.”
“Should we take a walk?”
“No. It’s too cold, and my jacket is in the office...with them. You know what, we’ll just sit out here, have a glass of wine, and be quiet.”
“Now that’s the best idea I’ve heard all day.” She heaped her bag, scarves, and outerwear onto a nearby table.
“Is that patchouli I smell?”
“Yes,” she said. Then suspiciously, “Why?”
“I’m just trying to decipher your ensemble... whether it’s part of a Stevie Nicks flowy look, or that you’re a holistic pet store owner, or that you’re simply getting in touch with your inner k.d. lang.”
“Ha, ha. You’re a riot.”
George went behind the bar and poured their favorite Cabernet. “It’s all good. I like patchouli... and what would the world be without clichés?”
“Where’s Mikey?”
“Still working. They’re busy—Christmas, you know.” He handed her a glass, and they sat at a table. “He should be here by six.”
“Has he moved in yet?”
“Partially. I think he’s still a little apprehensive, leaving his family, you know. Mikey’s very—what’s the word—systematic? He has his routine... and he’s a littleslow adjusting. He’ll come around though. We’re spending tomorrow up there.”
“How are you with that?”
“I’m good. His mother’s in my court. I won her over quickly.”
“Of course, you did.” She raised her glass in a toast. “She knows a catch when she sees one.”
