Never Getting Back Together

EIGHT

"Oooh, he did." Liv plucks one of the menus from Francie's hands and starts perusing the dessert section.

Francie shakes her head. "Mama is going to murder that boy."

"Only if I don't get to him first," I say, watching Betty bend down and plant her palms on Chance and Kelvin's table.

"Hi, guys," she says. "I hope you didn't have plans for the rest of the weekend because guess who's draining and refilling a sixteen-thousand-gallon pool that mysteriously turned green this afternoon?"

I can only see the back of Chance's head from here, but his pale ears turn bright red. If we didn't already know they were responsible for Gary's dye job, those ears alone would be a dead giveaway.

Kelvin, on the other hand, is still smiling. To be fair, I've never seen Kelvin without a smile on his face. He's one of those people who are perpetually happy. Having a good time is Kelvin's M.O. With his dark skin and swoon-inducing dimples, he's an attractive guy. Too bad he's got the maturity level of a thirteen-year-old. As do Chance and Ty.

"Sorry, Betty," Kelvin says, flashing her a grin that could charm the habit off of a freaking nun.

"Yeah, me too," Betty says, voice dripping with false sincerity. "I'll see you and your third musketeer at seven tomorrow morning. And bring a towel. You're going to need it."

"But I—" Kelvin starts, but Betty cuts him off.

"Kelvin Jones, do not make me call your grandmother."

"Yes, ma'am," he says, staring at the tablecloth.

"We'll be there," Chance adds, sounding a little too eager. He's always been a suck-up, especially for a guy who's pranked every person in this town at one point or another.

"Alright, then." Betty whirls on her heel to face us and mouths the word 'boys.'

I agree with the sentiment, but I know exactly which boy was the brains behind this scheme, and he isn't sitting in the dining room.

I turn to Francie. "Where is he?"

"In the kitchen. Go ahead." She tilts her head toward the back of the restaurant. "Let's get you a table," she says to Liv and Betty.

They follow her as I cut a path through the tables that glow in the candlelight. The smell of freshly baked bread makes my mouth water. I can't remember the last time I ate them, but my tastebuds will never forget Marco's bread bites, light and airy with gooey garlic butter. Eating one would almost be worth the inevitable flare-up the gluten would cause.

I push the swinging, stainless steel door to the kitchen a little too hard. It bangs against the wall, making a few of the cooks jump and glance up from the simmering pots that litter the stovetops. The air is heavy with the scent of basil and pesto.

"Quinn!" Marco Rossi walks away from the row of immaculate white plates he's inspecting on the counter to give me a hug. "Are you here to place an order or to see your favorite old man?"

I laugh, hugging Marco back. He is truly one of the greatest humans on the planet. "Both."

"You want the gluten-free meatballs with a side of asparagus?" Marco's eyes crinkle. They're the same shade of brown as Ty's. They emanate warmth and comfort, like melted chocolate. The gray hair at his temples has settled in over the last few years, only making him more charming.

"That would be perfect." I give Marco's hand a grateful squeeze. "I have to admit, I'm here to yell at your son, though. Is he here?"

"Aaaah." Marco bobs his head in understanding. "No doubt, he has it coming."