Page 83

“We’ll find a few minutes to say hello,” I tried to reassure her.

“A few minutes! Shane, I want to get to know him,” she protested.

I waved her off. “Worst-case scenario, we’ll invite him to our table. That’s what you do with chefs.”

“An excellent idea,” Nash agreed.

I immediately cut him off. “That was a joke.”

“It’s not a joke—it’s a brilliant idea!” he continued undeterred.

My mother’s eyes lit up. My father put his hand on her forearm reassuringly. “Honey, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“But it was Shane’s idea,” she insisted.

“It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a joke!” I tried to defend myself.

“No way, Shane!” My brother grinned widely that I was afraid his grin would split his face in two.

I glared at him angrily.

“Why are you hiding him from us?” Nash couldn’t resist.

“Stop it!” Lorena was the only sensible person at the table.

“Thanks, Lorena!” I hoped that would end the conversation.

Sure enough, the four of them started talking about their schools, and I enjoyed not being the center of attention anymore.

“How are the students here?” my mom finally wanted to know.

I gave her a meaningful look. “Take a look around,” I whispered. “The people around us are my customers.”

She perused the guests out of the corner of her eye. “Oh!”

I chuckled. “It’s not that bad. There are a few special cases everywhere. But my last ski safari, which I got back from today, was cool. Everyone followed the rules and my instructions. They had fun in the evenings, but the next day everyone was fit again and we arrived safely.”

“You’re happy here?” my father wanted to know.

“Of course.” I picked up a mushroom from my plate. “It’s a great place.”

Nash leaned back in his chair with a satisfied hum. “The food is excellent.”

Everyone agreed with him. And, of course, he was right. I didn’t know if I had ever eaten so well.

“I think I should tell the chef.” Nash waved for a waitress.

“No!” I exclaimed immediately.

“I don’t know,” my father muttered.

“It would be polite to tell the kitchen how good the food is. It has nothing to do with anything else. It’s common courtesy.”

“Mom, not you too!” I scolded.

By the time I turned back to my brother, a waitress was already at our table. Of course. No guest had to wait a minute here.

“Could we speak to the chef, please?” Nash cooed.