Everyone’s showered and changed out of work gear, but we still kinda look like a sports team that wandered into the wrong venue.
The banter starts the very second we sit down.
“Place smells amazing,” Taylor says, nose in the air. “But if I don’t get a steak the size of my head in the next ten minutes, I’m gonna start eating the tablecloth.”
“Same,” Mikey groans, slumping dramatically. “I’mstarving. We should’ve hit the bar first, got a couple beers in us, then come here for dessert.”
Taylor snorts. “You’d be face-down in a bowl of pasta after two pints, Mikey. We’d have to carry you out.”
Everyone laughs, and I grin along with them, but I keep quiet.
It’s easy to listen. These guys are funny without even trying. I’m still the new guy, still figuring out where I fit. Saying the wrong thing feels like a risk I’m not ready to take yet, especially after my attempt at a joke back in the hotel flopped.
Mikey kicks my shin lightly under the table.
“Danny, you good, big man?” Mikey asks. “You’re awfully quiet over there.”
I shrug, cheeks warming. “Just taking it all in. Nice change from site sandwiches.”
That gets a couple of chuckles, and I relax just a little.
Taylor leans forward, elbows on the table like he owns the place. “So what’s the plan after this? We eating and getting the hell out, or what?”
“Bolting,” Mikey says firmly. “There’s gotta be a dive bar around here with cheap beer and a pool table.”
I clear my throat. Everyone’s looking at me now, and my heart does a little flip. “Actually… I looked up a couple places nearby,” I say. “There’s a spot called The Chainsaw two blocks over… craft beers on tap, decent reviews, pool tables, and they do late-night tacos if we get hungry again. And there’s O’Malley’s just past that. Classic Irish pub, live music on Fridays, supposed to be packed but friendly.”
Silence for half a second, then Taylor grins wide. “Listen to the new guy doing homework. The Chainsaw sounds perfect.”
Xander raises an eyebrow, impressed. “Damn, Danny. You just became our official nightlife scout…”
Taylor reaches over and fist-bumps me. “Respect. I was ready to wander around like idiots for an hour.”
Warmth spreads through my chest.
They actually liked my suggestions.
I didn’t sound like a total dork. Result!
I duck my head, hiding a shy smile behind my water glass. And then the food starts arriving…
Servers in crisp white shirts glide over with tray after tray—platters of grilled fish, perfectly seared steaks, colorful roasted vegetables, fresh pasta that smells like heaven. My mouth waters instantly. But what really catches my attention is the man walking out with them.
He’s not one of the regular servers. Oh no, definitely not.
He’s shorter than most of us—maybe five-ten or five-eleven—but he carries himself like he owns every inch of the room. Dark hair swept back, sharp cheekbones, a neatly trimmed beardwith a hint of silver at the edges. His chef’s whites are pristine, sleeves rolled to show strong forearms dusted with hair. He’s talking directly to Xander, voice low and confident, gesturing with one hand while the other rests on the back of an empty chair.
I can’t hear everything, but I catch the gist: everything tonight is on the house. All of it. A thank-you for the affordable housing project.
Before I know it, the crew erupts in cheers and grateful shouts.
Xander stands to shake the chef’s hand, and the guy, Olivier, smiles, but it’s a controlled smile, like he’s used to being in charge.
Damn.
Damn, damn, and triple-damn.
He’s hot. Like, unfairly hot. There’s something about the way he moves—precise, deliberate, totally in command—that hits me square in the chest. And lower too.
