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“Let’s table that forever,” he says. “New topic. Guess who’s coming in this weekend?”
“Hmmm?” I try to think of any out-of-towner friends who might be visiting. “No idea. Tell me.”
“Hey, Chari. Hey, Devon.”
I spin on my stool. Our doctor, also an old family friend. And only two years older than me. Colleen has always been a prodigy. Homeschooled in high school, she was skipping grades and attending medical school when her classmates were still getting drunk every weekend in college.
“Hey, Coll.”
I’m tempted to pull her aside and ask her about the smoke I’ve been smelling lately—Google suggests it might be a brain tumor—but I hesitate, trying to be mindful of the fact that Colleen has no more desire to work on a Friday night than I do.
“You want to ask her,” Devon says under his breath. And maybe he doesn’t outright laugh, but it’s obvious he wants to.
“Seriously, I’m telling you it’s true. It happened again last night.”
Unlike my brother, I still live at home. But I’ve resisted the urge to tell my mom about the whole smoke thing. Like Devon, she thinks the only health problem I have is an incurable case of hypochondria. I caved and told him about the smell anyway, something I now regret.
“When I’m in the hospital having brain surgery, you can apologize then.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
Devon is too busy looking at Colleen’s backside to listen.
“You know, she’s single again,” I taunt, mindful of our bet. Besides, Colleen has had a thing for Devon since, well, forever. It would be cool to see my brother date someone he actually likes.
“Not gonna work.”
Ugh, would people stop opening the door? I really need to get out of the Northeast. Bridgewater might be adorable, especially in the fall, and lots of people would probably love to live in a small lakeside town, but every winter the weather seems to get colder and colder.
“I’m not going to say anything about the cold, but can we please move down there?” I point to the other end of the bar, turning my back to the door.
Devon ignores me, ordering yet another drink. If he weren’t drinking Angel’s Brew, I’d be giving him a lecture right about now, asking about his designated driver for the night. But not anymore. Not thanks to . . .
“Enzo’s coming in.”
Enzo?
I try not to react. Devon watches me like a hawk, as he always does when his BFF comes up in conversation. And it tends to happen often. The fact that Angel, Inc. was cofounded by someone from our tiny town is basically a daily discussion.
“Wow.”
What else is there to say? I haven’t seen my former crush in years. Except on the news. Or when I social media stalk him. At least I’m not alone. Pretty much everyone wants to know what Enzo DeLuca is up to.
“Yeah, I know. Cool, right? I haven’t seen him since last summer.”
“When he flew you to the Bahamas on his partner’s family jet?” My brother was so impressed by that jet that he talked about nothing else for weeks afterward. Seemed a bit excessive to me, as if there weren’t a million flights from New York to the Bahamas.
Whatever.
“I talked to him last night. He’s coming in for the opening.”
Which makes sense. His brother Tris is finally opening his restaurant after talking about it for as long as I can remember. Unlike my own family of three, the DeLucas are like their own little gang. Enzo is the only one who moved away permanently. His brothers, Gian and Tris, and his sister, Lusanne, all remain in Bridgewater, most of them working for the family business in some capacity.
How many meals had I eaten at their home, envying their big, joyful family? I’m more than grateful for our own little tribe of three, but there’s just something about the DeLucas who have invited us, Mom included, to more meals than I can count.
Something about Enzo.
My brother is watching me closely.
