“Where’s Rachel?”
“She just left the center. But she’s coming with Jack and them. She had presents she wanted to give Wilson and Tommy first.”
George looked at her, smiling—relaxed and content.
“What?”
Before he could answer, came the muffled sounds of sex from somewhere in the general direction of the bar. A small, steady thumping and Ginger’s low moan equally consistent.
George glanced that way. His smile broadened.
“I told you these walls are thin,” said May. “Cassie can probably hear them next door.”
He shrugged, taking a sip of his wine. “Who cares? I like that sound. The world needs more of that sound.”
“Spoken like a man in love. Is that what that look was all about?”
“Maybe. I have to say it’s kind of sweet the way things have turned out. Me with Mikey. You with Rachel.”
“I told you, George—trust the tarot. Everything came into play... the success of the restaurant, Mikey, even Fabio.”
“I’m not sure that Fabio ever came between us.”
“What do you mean?”
“You said thatThe MagicianorThe Foolwas going to interfere—impede my happiness... or love life, or something.”
“Oh, my God. You were actually paying attention to me.”
“Of course, I did. Friends support each other, right? But in retrospect, I think we misinterpreted it. I think the two men that came between Mikey and mewereMikey and me. I mean, granted, we could consider Fabio a fool, or a magician, but who would the other guy be? The dork from my blind date? Hardly... and that happened before your reading. Ned? Nah, I don’t think so. But there was definitely some confusion and miscommunication between us... maybe even—your words—follyand chaos.” He chuckled. “Yeah, I think it was us, May.Wewere in our way. Both of us had baggage we needed to overcome... and it’s getting easier every day.”
“I’m so proud of you,” she said, her eyes moist. “Self-reflection is an important part of tarot readings. And you’re there, George. You figured it out.”
“Whatever. That sounds like some bullshit mysticism for justifyinganyprediction—good or bad. Some shady sleight of hand, if you ask me.”
“You’re a cynical bastard... but I love you. You should never doubt my powers, though.”
“Yeah? OK, Madame May. I’m waiting on the dough. You said there was going to be a lot of money. Where is it?”
“It’s coming. Believe me, it’s coming.”
George gestured toward the bar. “So is he... from the sound of it.”
Two bottles, close in proximity, began a rhythmic rattle on the mirrored shelf behind the bar. Zac’s groans had joined Ginger’s, both elevating with climax into a muffled, yet predictable crescendo.
“They must be right on the other side of that wall.”
“Yeah,” George said, his amusement evident. “The couch in my office is against that wall.”
“George Patras, you are the coolest boss anyone could ever have.”
He shrugged. “They’re good kids. They deserve it. If there’s money in my future, Zac’s gonna be a big part of it. He spends a lot of time here. His—and Ginger’s—happiness, and well-being are key to the restaurant’s prosperity. Wouldn’t you agree?”
She reached for her glass and raised it. “To Zac and Ginger—long live their passion... and that amazing bread he makes.”
“Hear, hear.” He clinked his glass to hers.
Zac howled, louder than before, his bay reverberating staccato with his orgasm. There was one last, solid pound against the wall and a bottle of De Kuyper’s Triple Sec tumbled from the shelf and exploded on the floor, providing the perfect, yet messy, exclamation point.
