Page 21 of Next Season
Not likely.
Communicating nuances in English was difficult for me. It was easier to brush off misunderstandings and blame them on a language barrier than to admit I didn’t know how to talk about my queer experience…the things I’d been through, the people I’d lost along the way.
No, it was better to stay in the kitchen, where expectations were simple. I cook, they eat.
I read Riley’s text again and decided that joking about the healing effects of tuna salad was the safest option.
I’m glad you’re feeling better, I replied.
Nolan burst into the kitchen before I could chastise myself for being a pussy. It was just as well. I needed a distraction, and Nolan was always a pleasant one.
He looked happy, well caffeinated, and if I were a crass individual, I might add, freshly fucked this morning. Good for him. The downside of befriending this particular ex was that I was familiar with his, um…how do you say it—post-sex glow?
“Bon matin.”
“Good morning, sunshine. And yes, the sun is shining. Could you believe that storm last night? It was nuts! My mom told me a few shingles blew off her roof last night. How’d you fare?” Nolan asked cheerfully.
“My shingles are fine.”
He chuckled. “Good to know, but that wasn’t what I meant.”
“Ah, you were asking how the rain made me feel. Like psychology, eh? Well, Nolan, it made me feel wet,” I huffed sarcastically.
I could have added horny and that I’d taken care of that by giving his husband’s friend a hand job and jerking off later at home, but…TMI? Perhaps a little.
No, I wasn’t ashamed of what had happened between Riley and me, and it would have been nice to talk about it with someone I trusted and who knew me well. However, I couldn’t say a word without outing Riley, and I would never do that. My feelings about the matter were best kept to myself. That hand job might have been a step on his road to sexual discovery or a “one time only, never to be repeated” fluke.
All I could offer was tuna and a friendly ear if Riley needed it. My hand was also available, because you know…horny.
“Oh, no. Did you get caught in the rain?” he asked.
“Something like that. Now, I have a menu to organize, so how can I help you?”
Nolan narrowed his eyes and tilted his head the way he did whenever he sensed a bigger story. It was very hard to hide anything from Nolan Moore. He was the most intuitive person I’d ever met, and though he might not press me for details now, he’d store the information in a secret compartment in his head and refer to it as evidence later. Just wait.
“Well…” He perched on a wooden stool in front of the butcher block island, shooting one last curious glance before continuing. “I just got off the phone with a woman from Pinecrest who wants to host her parents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary here the second weekend in December. One hundred guests. It’s two months from now so we’d have plenty of time to plan, but the holidays were good to us last year and I’d hate to disappoint anyone who was thinking of doing a smaller party on that date. We’re only taking reservations one month out now, and it feels wrong to eliminate a popular day without giving notice, but…what do you think?”
Now this was one of the many reasons I’d fallen for Nolan. Okay, yes, he was boyishly handsome with dark hair, pretty eyes, and a sexy body. But he was also kind and thoughtful, and he was always looking out for the people he cared about. To him, this was a serious debate between one family’s happiness versus the many who’d potentially be disappointed if the date they’d hoped to host a holiday party was hijacked early.
I, on the other hand, was not sentimental. To me, it came down to math.
“Which makes more money?”
Nolan sighed. “The party, but—”
“We do the party.” I smiled at Nolan as I tucked my cell into my pocket and resumed reading my prep notes.
“It’s not that simple, JC. This is the sort of thing that pisses folks off enough that they start going elsewhere for breakfast or drive into Fallbrook for dinner or—”
“Nolan. There’re no good restaurants in Fallbrook. Don’t worry.”
He raked his teeth over his bottom lip. “What if we hosted the party inside and opened the outdoor patio to the public? We could get one of those all-weather tents with heating lamps.”
“That might work, but if it was stormy like last night, the tents wouldn’t be an option. We could do a waiting list for regular reservations or block the date until a week ahead of time. Even then, you never know with Mother Nature.”
“True.”
I listened with half an ear to his what-if scenarios. I appreciated that he sought my advice regarding the diner, but it frustrated me too. I hadn’t brought up the subject of ownership in a year. That last discussion had been brief, and while not entirely negative, it hadn’t gone my way. I wanted to become part owner of the diner. Period, end of sentence.