“Hell, I was about to tell everyone how amazing you are under pressure. That Madeira sauce for the chicken was the bomb. You need to give me the recipe.” He nudged me. “Did you know he’s self-taught?”
I gazed at him thoughtfully. “Yeah.” Before he could open his mouth to answer, I kept going. “And you? Because you can talk to me from tonight until tomorrow, but there is no way in hell you’re going to convince me you don’t have professional training.”
He accepted a glass of red wine from Ricky, and I took mine. That cocky grin I remembered resurfaced. “I’d like to tell you about it. From tonight until tomorrow morning.”
The implication of us spending the night together was obvious. And while my gut tightened and the voice in my head screamed at me not to fall for his bullshit again, I wasn’t ready to shut the door on him. “I have to wait for Mike and help clean up and do the receipts for the night.”
“Nice crowd for sure.” He sipped his wine. “They enjoy the food?”
“You know they did.”
“I was in the kitchen. How would I?”
His measured, even tone irritated me while my nerves ran rampant under my skin. “Well…they did, okay?” I took a hefty gulp of my wine, enjoying the warmth blossoming through me.
Mike opened the door, took one look at us, and I knew the exact moment he realized it was Frisco sitting there. His brows shot up, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a knowing grin.
“Well, hello, kids.” He snickered. “Dad’s home.”
“You’re a riot.” I pushed up off my chair and finished my wine in one gulp. “How’s Jasper?”
Serious now, Mike took my seat, and Ricky scrambled to get him a large glass of wine. He settled into his chair with a grunt. “I took him home. His hand is sore and swollen, and I had to insist he stay away for at least the week.”
“Absolutely,” I said. “If you can get some people to cover the tables, I can help with the cooking until he comes back.”
Mike drank down half his glass and yawned. “Who’d you get to cover tonight?” He slanted a look at Frisco, who sat quietly. “Don’t tell me you waited tables.”
“No way, Mike,” Luis began eagerly. “Frisco helped in the kitchen, and thank God he was there. It’s like he was a miracle sent to us.”
Frisco’s eyes brightened. “A miracle? I like that.” He preened, and I rolled my eyes.
“You?” Mike’s eyes popped out of his head. “What the hell are you talking about?” he asked, clearly stunned.
“I can cook.” Frisco shrugged and finished his wine.
Luis snorted. “Man’s being modest. Frisco knows his way around a kitchen as good as you, Mike. Maybe better.”
“Is that so?” Mike sent Frisco an assessing look over his wineglass, which Frisco met head on, with a slight uptick to his lips. Tension rose between them, even though Frisco’s expression remained unperturbed. Was he taunting my brother? I hoped not. “You in the restaurant business?”
“You could say I’m invested in it.” He sipped his drink. “You’ve impressed me with what I’ve eaten here.”
“Iimpressedyou,” Mike said flatly, eyes narrowed in thought.
“Yes.”
There were so many things not being said, but I didn’t have a grasp yet as to what exactly. To my surprise, Mike said nothing further to him, but I knew he had a boatload to lay on me.
“Torre, I can’t thank you enough. You really saved my ass, and I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t stepped in.”
“Shut up. You’re my brother. The one thing you never have to do is thank me. It’s what family does. I’ll always be here for you.”
He lifted his glass to me. Since we were kids, Mike and I had stood by each other. There was no one I trusted more.
“I really appreciate it. You guys are the best.” He paused. “And Frisco, thanks as well. I don’t know how to pay you or what—”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He brushed Mike’s objection away. “My pleasure. I was happy to be here to help.”
Luis and Ricky left for home, and I washed out the glasses and hung them to dry.
