Page 50 of Good as Gold
My brother Nash surprises me by making a rare visit to town and invites me out to dinner. I’m pretty happy to say yes. I don’t see him that often, and I like a free dinner as much as the next girl.
“Meet me at Speakeasy,” he’d said. “Is eight o’clock too late?”
“If anything, it’s too early.”
“Why?” he’d asked.
“You’ll see.”
Sure enough, Speakeasy is jammed to the gills when we meet up at the front door. “Holy shit,” Nash says, whistling under his breath as he peers through the front door at the line of people waiting for a table. “I guess all of Dad’s projects are doing pretty well, yeah?”
“True story. We could ask them to bump us to the top of the list, but I’d feel like an asshole.”
He laughs. “Got another idea?”
That’s how we end up walking into the Gin Mill ten minutes later, even though I swore I’d steer clear of this place for a while.
Naturally, the man I’m avoiding is right there behind the bar, looking devastating in a tight-fitting henley, his hair pulled back into a man bun, his sleeves pushed up onto muscular forearms.
“Hey, isn’t that Matteo?” my brother says. “What’s he doing back in town?”
“Helping out while Alec is on his honeymoon,” I say in a matter-of-fact tone. “And he’d probably ask the same question of you.”
“I’m here for the usual reason,” Nash says. “To get new ink.”
“I figured.” My brother values his favorite tattoo shop a lot more than he values his relationship with my father. Not that I blame him.
He pats his left shoulder. “If I say something annoying, don’t slug me here.”
“Noted.”
“Do you mind eating at the bar?” he asks after scanning the room. “Looks like our best option.”
I hold back my sigh. “No problem. There are two seats on the end.”
“Let’s grab ’em.”
When I sit down in front of him, Matteo’s eyes widen in surprise. “Hey, girly. Didn’t expect to see you tonight.” His eyes move to my brother, and he grins. “Or you. What’s up, Nash?”
“Just passing through on my way to Montreal,” my brother replies. “You?”
“Visiting the family.” Matteo scoops ice into a glass and pours gin over it. “But I stayed away so long they put me to work.”
“I see that.” Nash chuckles.
“What can I pour for you guys? You having pizza, too? Kitchen closes in about forty-five minutes.”
“We’ll get our order in right away, then.” Nash grabs a menu off the bar. “What’s your favorite pie?”
“I like ’em all,” Matteo says. “But tonight I put in a lot of orders for the one with serrano, feta, and onion jam. Sounds weird, but it’s amazing. Then there’s a Caesar salad pizza, which also sounds odd, but tastes great.”
“One of each?” I say to my brother.
“Done,” he says. “And I’d love a Goldenpour, please, because God forbid, I sit in this town and order something from the competition.”
Matteo laughs. “Couldn’t have that, could we?”
But Nash is not really joking. My father is a very difficult man. He values loyalty above all other qualities in a person, and I don’t think he’ll ever forgive my brother for working for a competitor.
