Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 143382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 717(@200wpm)___ 574(@250wpm)___ 478(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 143382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 717(@200wpm)___ 574(@250wpm)___ 478(@300wpm)
Quick debrief: Tragically, Raye’s sister had been snatched at a playground nearly two decades ago. Also tragically, just two months ago, the men of Nightingale Investigations & Security had located her remains and obtained a confession from the man who abducted and murdered her, even though law enforcement was unable to solve the crime for nineteen years.
See what I mean about these guys (including Eric) being able to take care of themselves and the ones they cared about?
With what they did for Raye and her dad, it seemed like they could do anything.
And one might want to admit that this happening was the perfect segue to sharing about Jeff.
It also wasn’t (says me, though I was finding myself in the minority).
“Raye was going through a lot,” I pointed out.
“Yes, but I wasn’t,” Harlow clapped back.
She then flounced out.
Crap.
She was right.
But I thought she was also wrong.
I didn’t wear a server apron. It would mess with the line of pretty much any ensemble I put together (today, a fitted, black muscle shirt, black cropped cords and black fisherman sandals).
So I dumped my bag in my locker and headed out to the front of The Surf Club.
Clearly, there was no real surf to The Surf Club, considering Phoenix was landlocked.
Even so, SC was the hippest, chillest, awesomest hang in The Valley.
Case in point: the colorful mural at the back. The plants all around. The mismatched tables and lamps and seating areas and beanbags. Lucia’s excellent fusion food. My fabulous cocktails.
And then there was Tito, our boss and the owner, a man who knew the art of silence, because he didn’t talk much, but even so, he often had a lot to say.
He also looked like a diminutive Santa, but one who wore Panama hats, shorts, Hawaiian shirts and flip flops. The hat might change to a fedora, or a bandana. The flip flops might be slides worn with tube socks or red Keds. The shorts veered between madras to Bermudas, or, if he was feeling sassy, board shorts.
But always, a pair of shades covered his eyes.
Even at night.
There was no denying Tito was a weird guy, but I embraced weird. The minute I met him—when he recruited me from the speakeasy I worked at downtown—I hadn’t even seen The Surf Club, but I knew I wanted to work for him.
In the years since, my instinct proved right.
When I made it behind the bar, I got a chilly reception from Luna, who was there making someone a coffee. I also got a frosty glance from Raye, who was out, dropping some of Lucia’s Mexican hot chocolate French toast on a table.
This vibe permeating the air meant I also had Tito’s attention from where he sat, in what I considered his “office.” This was the back corner booth by the massive plate glass window that spanned the wall and afforded a view of the raised beds, which contained Lucia’s herb garden, and our paloverde-adorned parking lot.
Tucked with his plethora of books, journals, and holding his ever-present iPad, Tito didn’t move, even after I lifted my chin in greeting to him when I caught his eyes.
He just watched me.
Tito might be quiet, and for the most part unobtrusive, but he didn’t miss anything.
And he was the most generous man I’d ever met.
Even though tips were good, he paid over minimum wage, for one. He offered great insurance as well as contributed to a 401(k), for another. And if you were in a jam, he somehow always intuited it, even if you didn’t tell him, and extra would be in your pay envelope…in cash.
This had never happened for me, because I’d never needed it, but I knew it happened.
In other words, the crew at SC didn’t change much because Tito was loyal to us, so we were loyal to Tito.
I turned from Tito to Luna.
“If you give me The Hand, I’ll shoot you,” I warned.
“If you don’t understand why Harlow, specifically, but all of us collectively are hurt by you not sharing, you aren’t the person I thought you were, Jess.”
Ouch.
Luna was much like me, calling ’em as she saw ’em.
But that was below the belt.
She turned from me to put a latte in front of a woman sitting at the polished-ash bar.
When Raye came back and stabbed an order into the computer like she wanted to put her finger straight through the screen, I decided to let them stew.
I didn’t keep myself to myself to hurt them, and if they didn’t already know that, then, well…they weren’t the people I thought they were either.
I made coffees, took orders, dropped food, bussed tables and shook the occasional noontime cocktail through the lunch rush, and things were just calming down, when Lucia did the unimaginable.
She left the sanctuary of her creative palace (aka: the kitchen), and with a strange look on her face, she approached Tito in his office.