“I can evolve,” Dusty said.
Nico turned enough to watch Dusty pass. “Your staff always like this?”
“Do you mean useful?”
“I mean colorful.”
“They’re mine,” I said.
He faced me again, and for one second, he went still enough that the noise around us seemed louder.
Then the front entrance filled with a wave of sunburn, perfume, beach bags, and damp flip-flops dragging sand across my floor.
Taryn lifted her hand from the host stand. “Nella, I’m seating eight on the patio unless the sky opens or someone confesses to a seafood allergy.”
“Seat them. Push the calamari cones. Tell them the limoncello margarita is almost ready for people with sophisticated palates and poor impulse control.”
Nico nudged the cup with one finger. “It still needs acid.”
“I didn’t ask you.”
“You handed it to me.”
“I handed it to you so you’d have something in your mouth besides threats.”
He laughed.
He didn’t laugh loudly or like a cartoon villain. It came out low and surprised, and for one awful second I wanted to hear it again. I grabbed the lime squeezer and looked busy before he saw too much.
“What did your office tell you?” I asked.
“That you’re late.”
“I know I’m late.”
“That you’re overextended.”
“I know I’m overextended.”
“That you signed terms you don’t have room to ignore.”
I tightened my grip around the squeezer. Lime juice ran over my thumb, sharp and cold.
Nico went still for one beat. He didn’t move. He didn’t reach for me. He didn’t make a show of noticing.
I set the lime shell aside. “Did your office also tell you that I’ve got five days?”
“They did.”
“Then why are you here on day one?”
“To make sure you understand the difference between a courtesy window and a miracle.”
The fryer hissed behind me. A blender kicked on. Somebody on the patio cheered because a drink arrived on fire. It wasn’t supposed to be on fire.
I pointed toward Shay without looking. “If that’s the spicy pineapple, blow it out and charge them two dollars extra for drama.”
“Already did,” Shay said.
