Page 113 of Lesson In Honesty

“Sure. I’ll drop the keys by for you later.” A picture of elegance and grace, the Mistress passed the keys absently from hand to hand.

“Perfect, appreciate it.” Mack eyed up Sierra, then the box. With a decisive nod, he ducked and tucked his shoulder into her stomach, flipping her over so she dangled down his back, and secured her legs against his chest.

“You—you buffoon! Put me down!”

“Not really in the mood to fight,” he replied, spinning around and scooping up the oversized box with his other arm. It was an awkward fit; God only knew what the girls had sent.

“We’re supposed to have lunch at the restaurant,” she wheezed.

“Good girls get meals in fancy places. Troublemakers get whatever I don’t burn.”

“Oh God. Are you going to burn the kitchen down?”

“My cooking is questionable sometimes, but I’ve never been accused of cuisine arson.” Fully loaded, apparently unconcerned she was too heavy and the box too cumbersome, he squeezed through the doorway and strolled through the Nursery without a care in the world.

“This is ridiculous!” Adopting a pleasant tone, she beseeched, “This isn’t necessary, Mack. You’ll put your back out or drop me—”

He snorted derisively.

Thumping a fist weakly on his ass, she hissed, “Put me down, you big oaf!”

“Buffoon, oaf… anything else you want to add?”

Recognizing the tone and the amount of trouble she was in, Sierra zipped her lips shut and seethed all the way back to the cabin.

Liam

At five o’clock on the damn dot, he walked out of the bar as the early birds started coming in. Most of them veered toward the restaurant, but he held the door open for a group of five who wanted a liquid appetizer before their meal.

All day, he’d been dreaming of the couch, his woman, and the man who was an enigma and a familiar entity rolled into one. He felt as though he’d been pawning Sierra off on Mack while he got the bar and his extended role as manager under control.

The hours here were substantially different, longer, with more responsibilities. Avalon and its members would fit into Serenity ten times over with room to spare; tending to his duties took more time than he’d anticipated.

Because he’d thought ahead earlier, he slipped into the restaurant, waving at a couple of the waitresses as he made his way through elegantly presented tables with their polished wineglasses and cutlery, candles and origami napkins.

Looking fresh in his clean chef whites, Allan met him at the counter. “Making the most of your early finish, Liam?”

“God, yes. I feel like I’m neglecting my sub.”

“She knows she’s loved. Things will settle down in a few more weeks when all the problems are ironed out and everybody finally gets the hang of their routine. Jonah doing okay over there?”

“He just lacks confidence. He’s starting to relax and engage with clients now, rather than disengaging his mouth from his brain and losing himself in his social anxiety.” Liam tapped his fingers on the countertop. “He sticks with it, he’ll be coming after my job one day. He’s got the knowledge, the intelligence, the flare for showmanship when he forgets to be anxious. I’m pleased with him.”

“That’s good.” Nodding in approval, Allan glanced over his shoulder. “Yo, Petey! Liam’s here for his food.”

“Got it right here, Master Liam, sir.” A skinny boy, who couldn’t look more than eighteen if he tried, brought a stack of pizza boxes to the counter. Floppy brown hair dripped over his forehead to shield big, dark puppy eyes from view. “One cheese with extra cheese, one pepperoni, and one fully loaded, sir.”

In actuality, Petey was twenty-three. Originating from some bumfuck town in Nebraska, he’d been bullied his entire life by kids and adults alike. He was skinny because his parents kicked him out on his eighteenth birthday and left him to fend for himself.

All because he was autistic.

Liam hadn’t pried too deeply into the boy’s history. Elias divulged the basic details simply as a courtesy—Petey wastechnically under Allan’s leadership as the chef, but Liam was the boy’s manager.

How Petey dragged himself out of Nebraska and into Elias’ sights was a story for another day, one for him to tell himself if he wanted people to know.

“They smell fantastic, Petey. Did you make them yourself?”

“Yes, sir. I asked Allan if I could when I knew they were for you.” A small, hesitant smile trembled over his mouth.

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