“A professional photographer? Nice.”
“No. He runs a boxing gym that his dad opened for him.” I sprayed another working surface with the cleaning spray.
“What does boxing have to do with photography?”
“Nothing. But heshouldbe a professional photographer. So maybe this project will help convince him to try again or to try differently or something.”
“Our restaurant project?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’m putting too much faith in his ideas, but I have zero. What about you? Have you thought of how we can bring in more atmosphere?”
“I’m barely keeping my head above water with just running the place and the additional social media posts.”
“I know,” I said. “Thank you.”
“A four-week honeymoon is sounding nice this summer.”
“Take eight weeks,” I said.
She latched the handle on the fridge, and we left the kitchen and headed for the dining room. Presley and Lucas were there, wiping down tables and sweeping. Angel passed Raya the zippered pouch from her register.
“Did you already tip yourself out?” Raya asked.
Angel patted her pocket as her answer. “See you all tomorrow.”
I let her out the front door and relocked it while Raya went to the main register that we’d closed out earlier to combine the funds.
It was late. We closed at eleven on the weekends, but people always stayed past closing, even when we shut downthe kitchen and bar at ten forty-five. And as a newish restaurant, we were not trying to make enemies. The customer was doubly right in the first couple years of business. At least, that had been our motto. Word of mouth was one of the best marketing tools for good… or bad (we were learning).
“Was that your boyfriend earlier, Sutton?” Presley asked.
“No, just a friend.”
“That she kisses,” Raya added.
Presley raised her eyebrows. “What happened to Nate?”
“Nosy,” Raya said with a laugh.
“He broke up with me a couple months ago.”
“Ouch,” Presley said.
“I think I came out ahead.”
Raya laughed.
“What about you?” I asked. “How’s school?”
“Hard,” she said. “And busy.”
“What are you going to school for?” Lucas asked.
“Teaching,” she said.
“That’s cool,” he said. “My major is nursing.”
“My mom would love you,” I said. “She wishes I would’ve become a nurse.”
