Page 80 of Missed Sunrise
Bree gave me an unimpressed look. “I got that for you, you turd.”
I smiled, secretly loving this evidence that Bree was planning to ask me to help at some point. “Thanks, Cher.” I pulled my phone from my pants pocket to transfer it to the apron’s but noticed an unread text from my dad.
Dad
Enjoyed our run yesterday and today, son. Looking forward to tomorrow.
Dad
Drink lots of water, we’re doing weights tomorrow too.
My smile surprisingly stayed on my face as I typed out a quick reply to let him know I felt the same, a sense of peace filling me as I locked the screen and slid my phone into the apron pocket.
I looked up to find Bree watching me curiously, but I just shrugged and then straightened like a soldier when Liem swung through the saloon doors with his own apron around his waist. He came to an abrupt halt and beamed as he took us all in, looking as pleased as I’d ever seen him. Unless another Lott relative was hiding somewhere, it seemed we were all congregated in the small dining area. Monny was seated behind the counter, his prosthetic leg leaning against the wall behindhim, and Mrs. Lott was unlocking the front door, having just flipped over the Open sign.
I really had made Liem late.
Mildly panicked, I automatically sought out Vinh. “What’s my assignment?”
His dark eyes, twins to Liem’s, twinkled as he said, “I’m not the boss.” With a small smile and kiss on the cheek for Bree, he turned on his heel and went back into the kitchen.
Smug as shit, Bree tugged my elbow to the ordering counter. “You’ll be with me for the start. We usually take turns serving or working in the kitchen, but you’ll be up here the whole time, as you haven’t had the Vinh Lott kitchen safety training.”
I bumped her with my hip. “This will be just like old times.”
She smirked at me. “Nice shirt.” Her eyes trailed down to my pants then, and her eyebrows rose in surprise and recognition. Thankfully, she skipped making a comment in favor of hurriedly communicating a few instructions about procedures before we threw ourselves into the madness of Fat Tuesday on the Gulf Coast at one of the only breakfast spots in town.
If I were found dead at the end of this rush, and this were a very niche game of Clue, I’d wager it was a hungover tourist in a bayside biscuit shack with a plastic spork.
Never in mytwenty-three years of existence had I encountered so many people feral for biscuits.
Feral for Sinbad, feral for Larry the Lobster slot machines, feral for crab-leg-and-prime-rib night at the Fortuna buffet, sure…. I’d seen those.
My feet ached from the morning runs and serving the insane number of locals and tourists alike who came in specifically demanding to try the Mardi Gras special displayed right beside the register on a tabletop chalkboard easel that read:
MARDI GRAS SPECIAL: MONNY’S DREAM BISCUIT
The biscuit was green and purple, and I wasn’t sure if calling it a biscuit was accurate. During the first short lull of the morning, Monny had insisted I try one, and I had to admit, after devouring three in quick succession with a bemused Bree looking on, that they were delicious. They tasted like a King Cake, a biscuit, and a scone had a butter-and-food-dye-forward baby, and I was hoping there would be some left for me to take back to the boat at the end of service.
The little treats had given me a boost into the next wave of customers, and eventually a grand switcheroo took place after a heated but hushed argument between Ari and Monny. It ended with her forcing him into his wheelchair and rolling him out the back exit for a break, me taking over the register briefly during the change, and Liem swapping places with Bree, who went to the back to sort out a break schedule for everyone else.
She gave my shoulder a squeeze and me a thankful smile as she left, and then Liem appeared by my side, tying a clean white apron around his waist. There wasn’t time to talk as a new rush of customers came in, but we shared a long look that spoke of camaraderie, among other things.
Things I couldn’t think about right now.
My eyes flicked between customers and Liem near constantly, and from the moment he delivered his first platter of food, I moved from entranced to full-on hypnotized.
His movements were beyond graceful, and the smiles he offered came so easily, each one turning me green with envy at those receiving them.
And then there were the boots.
How did he make a simple pair of black boots look like that?
Even the healing cut in his eyebrow—which I had inspected thoroughly and surreptitiously at the gazebo this morning—only enhanced his aura. He was a combination of soft pinks and dark blues, like the perfect spring morning when you woke early with raw, unencumbered excitement in your heart for the day ahead.
At one point when I caught sight of that cut again, I remembered his scraped palms and stood up, only to sit down again. He would say something if his hands hurt, wouldn’t he? I hadn’t noticed any discomfort earlier when I ran my fingers over the palm of his left hand, which had been the worst of the two.
Our eyes continued to meet at irregular intervals, and I made no move to hide my interest.
