“Were you staring at my butt?” I accuse him, frowning.
There’s no shame on his face as he shrugs. “It was there,” is all he says. “Are we doing this or not? I don’t have all day.”
Actually, he does. His schedule is clear for this event. Janel spoke to his agent and manager to confirm as much. “Come on,”I say, walking toward the entrance. “I’ll introduce you to the owners. Their names are Beverly and Vincent, but they go by Bev and Vinnie. You’ll love them. This place is their passion project.”
I’m not paying attention to whether he’s listening, because I’m excited to see the people who acted like grandparents to Kourtney and me. If it weren’t for them, my sister and I would have struggled more than we did. A lot of people refer to them as Fairbanks’s grandparents.
As soon as I step in, I’m wrapped in the same cozy atmosphere that smells like lavender, sugar, and spices. It’s a good thing I ate this morning, or my stomach would be rumbling right now. Then Bev would force me to sit down, lecture me about being too skinny, and make me eat at least half a meal before letting me help.
I smile and wave at a few familiar faces lingering at the tables off to the side, already eating their late morning meals. “Hi, Abe. Hi, Babette.”
The elderly couple lifts their hands in waves as I make my way to the back, where I know the main group of volunteers is.
I can feel a pair of eyes on me the entire time, but I pay no mind to Moskins. He’ll see how tight-knit everyone here is and understand why it’s easy to remember names.
When I push the kitchen door open, I ignore the photographer and journalist setting up in the corner. Instead, my focus goes to the white-haired woman whose smile is big and broad and wrinkling her aged face.
“There she is,” Bev greets, opening her arms for me.
I ditch Moskins by the door and walk over to hug Beverly. Warmth fills my chest the second she wraps her arms around me. For someone so petite, her strength is overwhelming. I swear one of my ribs pops from the pressure she squeezes me at, but I don’t mind at all. I love hugs. I miss them. My parents used to be the best huggers in the world, and that trait didn’t rub offon Kourtney. She’s not unloving—she’s the most loving person I know. She’s just not a physical person, which makes my heart a little sad sometimes.
“Hi, Bev,” I say into her shoulder, absorbing a few more seconds of warmth. “Thank you for letting us come here today.”
Beverly and Vincent Walters used to be a power couple in New York City until they retired and moved to Fairbanks fifteen years ago. They’ve had a summer house and family ties here most of their lives, and wanted to give back to the community they’ve considered their home after years of successful stock trading in the Big Apple. Their son, daughter, and all their grandchildren are here too. The entire family, kids included, will come during the holidays to help serve huge turkey and ham dinners for those who need it most.
Since Kourtney got married, she doesn’t come as often. Apparently, Brad doesn’t like her being around “these people,” as he refers to them. But nothing could make me stay away. It doesn’t matter if it’s Thanksgiving or Christmas, I’m bundled up in my holiday best with a smile on my face and a ladle in my hand.
Screw Brad.
“You and your friends are always welcome here, sweetie,” she answers, pinching my cheeks lightly.
I don’t bother correcting her about who the man behind me is. If she wants to believe we’re friends, then I won’t tell her otherwise. It’s easier than explaining the real reason the six-foot-three hockey player is standing in her kitchen. When I suggested this little setup, she knew it would involve a camera and a journalist, but she didn’t ask any questions. Knowing Bev, she’ll try getting a story out of him at some point today. She’s good at that.
To my surprise, Moskins appears beside me with his hand extended. “It’s nice to meet you, Bev. I’m Moskins.”
Bev is five feet tall on a good day, so it’s comical watching her look up, up, up at him as they shake hands. “It’s nice to meet you, dear. We’re always happy to have extra hands on deck. It’s been a busy summer for us.”
Vinnie comes in with his usual purple frilly apron tied around his waist. It was a joke gift from Bev that she never thought he’d wear. But he dons it proudly every single day with a smile on his face.
“I see you brought an entourage today,” Vinnie greets me, pulling me in for a one-armed hug and kiss on the temple. He pulls back to study Moskins. “He looks sturdy. I have some boxes I need moved around, and he looks like he can get the job done.”
“Moskins,” I say, “this is Vinnie. Vinnie, this is Thomas Moskins. He is at your service today. We both are.”
The plans for today are simple. After we get a good few photos of him serving the clientele, we’ll talk to the journalist to answer some questions and spend the rest of the time helping out. It’s clear-cut. Easy. As long as he plays along.
Vinnie shakes Moskins’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you, son. Welcome to Our Open Table. We appreciate you taking time out of your busy day to help us out.”
The familiarity in Vinnie’s words tells me he knows exactly who Moskins is. I suppose I’m not surprised. He’s always talking about sports to whoever engages him in conversation.
“Kourt says hi,” I tell Vinnie, seeing the fondness on his face grow. As someone who took in his own siblings after their parents left, he has a soft spot for my sister. He sees a lot of himself in her stubborn demeanor.
“She better stop in and see me soon,” he says, pinning me with a look. “Her boy too. It’s been too long.”
I know it’s not Brad he wants to see, but Luca. I’m pretty sure we’re on the same wavelength when it comes to believing Kourtney can do way better than the man she married. Butneither of us is willing to say it because she’s unyielding about her choices.
Moskins watches me as I smile at the older man. “I’ll drag them here myself.”
He tweaks my nose the same way he did when I was thirteen, before turning to Moskins. “Shall we get started? The lunch rush is going to come any minute. Best to prep.”
