“Hiya, JJ!” Bea calls out from behind the glass pastry case.
“Hey, Bea.” I lift my hand in greeting.
“I’ll be right over to take your order.”
I sit across from my brother, that same smug look that’s always on his face is still there. The guy’s face is worse than mine in the resting bitch face department. It’s a good thing he turned out to be a cop. He could never work in a field where he needs to be nice to people. They’d run in the opposite direction immediately.
Nash, unfortunately, is a spitting image of our father. He acts like it doesn’t bother him, and since he doesn’t look at himself all the time, I guess it doesn’t. His hair is just as dark and thick, both on his head and his beard. What really makes him look like our dad are his deep-set eyes and nose. I hate that the similarities give me a small spike of anxiety when I see him because I know he’s not our father, but the trauma is so bad that even the reminder of him gets to me. My brother has done a lot for me, Hollis too, especially when we were younger, so my reaction to him only makes me feel guilty.
“Glad you made it,” he says.
“Told you I’d be here.”
“How’re my favorite guys?” Bea asks as she reaches the table, smiling brightly.
She’s Nash’s age, a few years older than me, and not that we’re friends, but we’re friendly. Ever since Nash and I saved her business—according to her, anyway.
Nash and I were at the bar across the street, came out for him to have a smoke, but saw smoke coming from the building. He called it in, but I broke in and handled the situation, which was an oven that was left on with a big pan of muffins inside. Now she refuses to let us pay for a damn thing, so we always leave a hefty tip.
And this table service? It’s only for us. Everyone else has to order at the counter.
“Peachy,” I say.
“Yeah, that,” Nash laughs.
“You too always have something going on.”
“Well, with jobs like ours, it’s hard not to,” Nash says. “You got any of those banana nut muffins left?”
“Of course. And a coffee?”
“Yep.” He looks at me.
“Coffee, too, please. And a breakfast sandwich. Whichever is easiest.”
“You got a problem with vegetables?” she asks.
“Not last I checked.”
“Good,” she says with a smile. “We’re trying out this new omelet. You can let me know what you think about it.” She leaves us alone, and I lean back in my chair, waiting for Nash to tell me what’s going on.
Soft instrumental music plays in the background as cars honk outside. People walk by on the sidewalk, rushing to where they need to go. Looks like rain, so they should hurry up.
“How are you, JJ?” he asks, tapping his finger on the table mindlessly.
“You called me here, Nash.”
“Humor me. How’re things? Have you talked to the Senator?”
“Why do you hate him?”
He scoffs, looking at me in disbelief. “Are you kidding? He treats you like shit.”
“No, he doesn’t.”
“Yes, he does, and you can’t argue otherwise.”
“He—”
