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“No problem. And our unexpected guests had a great night. Bet Petty Officer Warren proposes to his girl by the end of the weekend.” Atlas chuckled as he wiped down the bar top. “Doubt anyone even noticed the difference in the sauces between the first and second seatings.”
“Hopefully not. Grandma would be proud.” My dad’s mom had been short like me, with similar flyaway hair and the sort of plucky spirit that would have appreciated Atlas’s ingenuity.
“I remember her from one of my early visits.” Prior to spending his senior year here in Kringle’s Crossing, Atlas and his jet-setting parents had been semi-regular, if highly unpredictable, visitors. “And then later, your grandpa was still around when we were in school. He was a card.”
“Yeah.” I glanced around the room, all the tables for six, eight, and even ten. Atlas made it hard to avoid thinking about who wasn’t here.
“At least you and Gabe have carried on here, keeping the traditions going.” Atlas had the same tone that out-of-towners often adopted, idealizing small businesses and minimizing how much pressure those same traditions could exert.
“It’s mainly Gabe.” I had to give credit where credit was due because, for all Gabe could be a pain, he was also the driving force that kept Seasons going. Through a complicated will dated prior to my unexpected birth, Gabe had inherited all the responsibility that went along with owning and running a fourth-generation family business. Finishing with the glasses, I turned to start rolling flatware but misjudged and crashed into Atlas. Again. “Whoops.”
No dripping sauce this time, so I could better appreciate how damn solid he was, especially his firm grip on my arm.
“Better watch your step.” He smiled as he delivered the warning. He had one of those naturally devilish smiles aided by the cleft in his defined chin, the type that made him always look like he was thinking something dirty, even when he likely wasn’t. And it was ridiculously easy to get lost in those brown eyes. Almost a decade ago, he’d grinned at me at Gabe and Paige’s wedding with the same kind and bemused expression, launching years of fantasies and longing. The memory alone had me wobbling as he righted me.
“I’m not usually this clumsy.” I suppressed a sigh as he released my arm.
“You’re probably just tired.” He shrugged, all humble like he couldn’t pull four of these shifts back-to-back. “Been a long day for you, Gabe, and the crew.”
“Says the guy who did how many international flights?”
“True that.” He gave a weary chuckle. “Can’t wait to get to Gabe’s and crash.”
“About that—”
“Night, Zeb.” The last table was finally leaving, the women donning their wool coats in a cloud of expensive perfume amid hugs and promises to call. Petunia, who’d made the reservation, waved jauntily at me. “Don’t let that brother of yours work too hard.”
“I won’t. See?” I gestured over to where Gabe was helping Paige into her coat. “We even made him eat pie.”
“Good boy.” Petunia patted my cheek. And this was why I had such a love-hate relationship with Kringle’s Crossing. I couldn’t imagine calling another zip code home. However, whether I was twenty-eight or eighty, I would always be a kid here.
That sour thought clung to my brain cells as we made it through the rest of the cleaning. Paige and her mother had long since departed, followed by the teen servers and bussers we employed for special events like this, and finally, Nix and the kitchen crew headed out, leaving only Atlas, Gabe, and me.
“Wow. Thank goodness. We did it.” Gabe slumped into a nearby chair as I wound up the vacuum cord. The dining area was so clean one would never guess at the earlier chaos. “Only a few minor hiccups.”
“Everyone seemed happy.” In a bid to avoid Gabe listing all the things that could have gone smoother, I forced a smile. “That’s the important thing. A number of people mentioned coming back for small business Saturday to shop, so here’s to hoping business stays good.”
“Yup.” Gabe actually returned my smile. “Oh, we got a last-minute booking for a holiday wedding rehearsal dinner.”
“Noooo.” I groaned as I stowed the vacuum in the nearby cleaning closet. “I mean, great.”
“Not a fan of weddings?” Atlas asked. His boundless energy finally seemed to be flagging as he sat next to Gabe.
“Zeb? He’s a hopeless romantic.” Gabe laughed before I could give him a brotherly poke. “It’s the bridezillas he doesn’t like.”
“And the bridesmaid-zillas.”
“One wedding, Zeb. One wedding.” Gabe laughed, traces of his old humor appearing. Turning to Atlas, he explained, “These college girls went a bit overboard with the demands. And one kept hitting on everyone, Zeb included.”
“Sounds miserable.” Unlike most dudes who might crack a crude joke, Atlas sounded genuinely sympathetic.
“Eh.” Case in point, Gabe waved a hand like earning uncomfortable flirting was a badge of honor. “Probably happens to you all the time, am I right?”
