Page 23 of Unreasonably Yours
Cillian
“Hey!” Oliver says. “Where do you need me?”
“Thank fuck,” I huff. “We're dangerously close to running out of glasses.”
“On it,” he says, already grabbing a tub.
A burst of laughter filters down from the side of the bar Dad has been holding down for the past hour. I lay my hands on the back counter and allow my head to hang for a few precious breaths.
“Show's not over yet, boy,” Dad says, reaching for a bottle by my head.
“I know.”
He nudges me with an elbow. “You alright?”
“Yeah.” I manage a half-assed smile alongside the half-assed truth. Maybe together they'd equal something believable.
It wasn't that the bar was packed. Or even that we were short. Both happened on the same night plenty of times in the past. It’s just that those times hadn't been preceded by my cousins coming close to blows in the kitchen—their yelling loud enough that the whole bar heard.
I'd sent them both home for different reasons.
Ginelle was, justifiably, too worked up and Joey too fucked up to finish their shifts.
The worst part was that it just had to happen on a night Michael was covering bar back duties. I maybe could've gotten away with keeping the situation quiet, given Joey one last chance, but as it stood, I was fresh out of free passes.
“The cavalry has arrived. Nobody panic!” Lucy announces as she steps behind the bar.
“Took you long enough,” Oliver ribs as he grabs another tub of glassware.
“Shouldn't you be on a date?” Lucy asks him as she passes a half apron to?—
“Toni?” My brain cannot comprehend why she’s here, why Lucy’s handing her an apron, or why she’s putting it on.
“That is my name.” She flashes that dimpled grin at me.
“I was on a date,” Oliver answers Lucy's question. “And trust me, I'd rather be elbows deep in stale beer.”
“Woof,” Lucy says, eyes focused on the table map she’s sketching on a piece of receipt paper.
“Understatement,” Oliver says as he backs into the kitchen door. “Thought you two were going to a movie?” He asks Lucy and Toni.
“We ended up burning things instead,” Lucy says, as if it's the most normal thing to do on a Thursday night. “Ok, so it's pretty easy. Table numbers—” She begins to explain to Toni.
“Hold on,” I interrupt. Without further explanation, I gently take Toni's arm and pull her into the kitchen.
“Fuck outta my kitchen unless you're cooking or cleaning!” Michael declares. He switches his focus from the grill to me and Toni. “Oh! Hi. You're...Toni?”
She nods. “I am.”
“Michael,” he introduces himself with a nod. “Nice to meet you. But?— ”
“Get the fuck out of your kitchen?” she finishes with a good-natured tone.
“Please and thank you!” He tosses over his shoulder as he flips a burger.
“For fucks sake,” I grumble leading Toni into the small walk-in.
“I should get out there?—”
“Why are you here?” I ask as soon as the door closes.
She cocks an eyebrow. “Lucy said it was a 911 situation. Figured that meant all hands on deck.”
“Not yours.”
She holds her hands up, examining them. “What's wrong with them?”
I sigh, enveloping her hands in mine. They're soft—the fingers petite and supple—beautiful things. “Nothing at all. But you don't need to do this. You don't?—”
Toni lifts our hands, quickly kissing my knuckles, causing my stomach to fill with static. “I know. But I want to.” She doesn't wait for my response, just frees her hands and leaves me momentarily stunned in the walk-in.
“You ever wait tables, darlin'?” Dad asks when Toni steps back behind the bar, me hot on her heels.
“Yes, sir,” she nods, studying Lucy's map. “Since I was twelve.”
“Excellent!” Dad looks over at me. “We got people waiting, son. Let's go!”
“Right.” I nod, absently watching Toni grab a couple plates, hopping into the fray without hesitation.
“Don't you have work to do?” She teases as she walks past me.
“Yeah, we're not here so you can slack,” Oliver says as he brings clean glasses back.
“Oh, fuck off,” I say, rolling my eyes even as a smile pulls at my lips.
To her credit, Toni catches on fast. Within thirty minutes, she's running food and clearing tables like she's been here for years. I try to send her home when we close the kitchen, but she shrugs me off, joining Lucy to knock out the side work for the last hour or so.
As much as I hate that she felt obligated to be here, I'm grateful for the extra hands, and strangely happy that those hands belong to her.
“Sweet Lulu, lock that door before anyone straggles in here!” Dad bellows when the last patrons leave. He grabs a bottle of whiskey off the top shelf, lining up glasses for everyone.
“Get off that leg, boy,” he instructs me as he pours.
“I'm f?—-”
“I wasn't askin'.” Dad slides Oliver a shot as he hops onto a barstool. “Far as I know, my name's still the one on all the paperwork. Get out from behind my bar and sit your ass down. Now.” His voice drops an octave with the last word.
“Dad voice!” Lucy, Oliver, and Michael all chorus.
By default, Mickey O'Sullivan was the non-confrontational sort.
I could count on both hands the number of times he'd raised his voice at me or my brother.
Even through the years of watching him run this place, I'd seen him end more bar fights with a joke or gentle word than a shout.
That meant when he got stern, it was noticeable enough that the tone earned the moniker of “Dad voice” among the family.
He chuckles, passing Lucy and Toni their own shots.
I scoot the stool beside Toni over and rest an elbow on the bar.
“Stubborn ass,” he grouches, passing me my drink.
I could admit that was true, but right now, I'm more worried about my leg deciding to clock out the moment I get off it when there were still closing duties to see to. “You raised me.”
Dad chuckles. “That shite comes from your mother's side.”
“I'm telling,” Michael teases.
“And I'll call you a liar before God,” Dad says.
Lucy leans over, saying to Toni in a stage whisper, “It comes from both sides. That's why they're like that.”
“Hey!” Michael and I protest in unison.
Dad bellows one of his signature booming laughs. “You may be right, Lulu.”
“Ha. Ha.” Michael mocks. “One of us has a pregnant wife to get home to.” He lifts his shot.
Dad nods. “Thank you to our friends for having our backs tonight. We'd have been cooked were it not for all of ya.
“Here's to cheating, stealing, fighting, and drinking.
“If you cheat, may you cheat death.
“If you steal, may you steal a woman’s heart.”
My eyes flick to Toni, who watches Dad deliver his toast with a soft smile.
“If you fight, may you fight for a brother.
“And if you drink, may you drink with me.”
“Sláinte!” We chorus.