Page 118 of Common Goal
Eric laughed, partly with relief that the tension had been diffused. “I can’t remember the last time I ate pancakes.”
“Well, that’s depressing. There’s a diner nearby that serves them all day. I checked.”
“You checked out pancake options before our hike?”
Kyle shrugged, still smiling. “I’m from Vermont. We take our pancakes seriously.”
Oh god. This version of Kyle was dangerously enchanting. When he was cheerful and flirty and playful, it took down all of Eric’s defenses. He wanted nothing more than to press Kyle against a tree and kiss him breathless.
But Kyle had already resumed his trek down the mountain, leaving Eric to trail, spellbound, after him.
An hour later they were sitting in a cozy booth at a classic New Jersey diner. Their server had just dropped off two large plates of pancakes. Eric tended to eat nutrient-packed, high protein meals, and pancakes were mostly empty calories, but he could indulge this once. They smelled amazing.
Eric watched as Kyle poured an ungodly amount of maple syrup on his pancakes.
“Vermont,” Kyle reminded him again when he caught him staring. He slid the bottle over to Eric, who poured a modest drizzle on his own plate.
Eric moaned when he had his first bite of pancake. “Oh my god. These are so good.”
“Right? You shouldn’t deprive yourself of pancakes.”
“I don’t know if you’re a good influence or a bad one.”
“Clearly good. Before you met me it was a dark existence of no pancakes and weak orgasms.”
Eric nearly spit out his next bite of pancake. He managed to swallow. “That’s true.” Itwastrue. His life had been far from terrible before, but Kyle had made itfun.
Kyle was smiling at him now. His cheeks were still rosy from their hike, and his hair was a mess from being stuffed under a hat.
God, he was cute.
Eric tried not to imagine a life with Kyle based on their incredible day together. This day was a special one, and he shouldn’t let it mislead him into thinking they could have this every day. That they could be more.
What he hadn’t thought about all day was his retirement. The statement had, he assumed, been posted on social media and on the Admirals website that morning, but his phone was turned off and he was blissfully unaware of the reaction to the announcement.
“How are things at work?” he asked.
Kyle seemed surprised by the question. “At work? Fine, I guess. Gus has been even more absent than usual. I wish he cared more about the place. He only shows up often enough to make sure we haven’t changed anything. God forbid we improve the place.”
Eric had heard Kyle complain about Gus many times. He didn’t seem to hate the man—he had actually described him as a sweetheart—but he was frustrated by Gus’s apathy toward his business.
“What would you do with the place?” Eric asked. “If you were in charge?”
Kyle blew out a breath. “Well, for one thing we’d have a great cocktail menu. Including zero proof cocktails,” he added with a wink. “The décor could use some work. Probably an overhaul, really. I like the cozy tavern vibe, but it shouldn’t feel worn out and dirty, y’know?”
“It could use a bit of fixing up,” Eric agreed. He’d had the same thoughts about the bar himself. A bit of money and effort could make a world of difference to the place.
“Aram has mentioned wanting to organize more events there. Build more of a Kingfisher community.”
“That’s a good idea.”
“And we actually have a really good chef, but you wouldn’t know it. Lucy is way too talented for that place. If she had free rein in that kitchen, we’d have an incredible menu.”
Eric took all of this in, considering it. “Sounds like you guys have been thinking a lot about this.”
“Foryears. Oh my god. I love the place, seriously, but it needs help. I don’t know why Gus doesn’t just sell it. Although the new owners might just gut the place and fire us all.”
That would be a shame. The Kingfisher had really grown on Eric.
