Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 90098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Why they visited this time of year was beyond me.
As I headed to another table to take an order, I cast a glance toward the doors and saw Bella barging in.
“Sweetheart! Your boots—kick off the snow, please.” Everett was right behind her.
“Oops!”
I grinned to myself and reached the table of two late lunchers. “What can I get’cha, gentlemen?”
“I’ll have the same as always—Double Trouble with fries and a Coke,” the first said, closing his menu.
“No problem.” I turned to the other guy.
He hummed. “Can I get the beef dipped?”
One beef dipped, got it. “’Course, hot or sweet? With or without mozzarella?”
“Hot, thanks. Yes on the mozz. And a Coke.”
“You got it. I’ll be right back with those drinks.” I grabbed the menus and returned to the bar, where Bella was busy rambling to Adam about her and Dad’s new plans.
“Really? In this weather?” Adam chuckled and winced.
Bella flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Daddy, the weather is always good for dress shopping. Okay?”
Whoa. Ship a kid to California, and they came back as a princess.
“She get that behavior from you?” I asked Adam.
“What the fuck?” Adam was immediately offended. “Ask that one. He spoils her.”
“I most certainly do not,” Everett argued. “She suggested shopping because apparently you want her to have a new dress for some dinner we’re attending soon.”
I snorted under my breath and went to put in table nineteen’s order.
“Meanwhile, nobody’s taking me shopping,” Bella huffed.
“We were gonna eat first, princess.” Everett called her by the right name.
Damn.
Maybe I’d lost my influence on Bella, but I had one more hope. One more kid in my life. My nephew. Who… I checked my watch. Should be here any moment.
My little sister hadn’t been nearly as screwed over as I had in our parents’ retirement plan. She’d already been itching to move back to Chicago, so when our folks had literally given her their house, just like that, they’d made her day. This was their big bon voyage into retirement. Sarah got their house; I got the Clover. She had a nice home with very few mortgage payments left in a decent school district, and I had a sports bar in the Loop that’d been a sinking ship the past ten years.
One could say I was bitter—but not for the reasons some might guess. I loved the Clover. I’d grown up here. I’d run barefoot all over these sticky floors. I understood Dad’s reasoning when he’d told me he was giving Sarah a home and me a future. I got it. It wasn’t a money issue. The problem was the motherfucking headache that came with this joint. Running it was painful, because we were always one bad move away from shutting down.
This’d been the Kalecki tradition for four generations now, though. I’d inherited it from my father, who had taken over from his mother and her two sisters. Before then, their old man and, originally, his uncle.
I was sure as shit never having kids—who the fuck could afford ’em anyway—so that left Chip. My five-year-old nephew with attitude problems. Or that’s what his teachers at kindergarten said. They knew fuck-all. He was just a kid. He was a cocky little runt, but he had a big heart, and he was protective of his momma.
I’d been the same way at that age.
And look at me now.
“All right, I’m punchin’ out. Jamaal’s here,” Adam said.
I was busy pouring beers, but I reached over and bumped his fist. “Take it easy out there, man. See you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, and get some fucking rest,” he told me.
I would. Later tonight.
I had a break in five minutes, though. Petey was already working on my dinner.
As Adam left, Jamaal emerged from the back, and I told him he could start with refills for our Senior Circuit. As in, Jerry and Malcolm. They’d been sitting at the bar since four o’clock.
“Christ, Pop. Don’t you ever go home?” Jamaal didn’t love having Malcolm here all the time, but I thought it was hysterical. When Malcolm got real lit, he’d start telling everyone what a cute baby Jamaal had been, effectively killing any attempt Jamaal might make to get his flirt on.
Innocent flirting was allowed after eight PM.
We liked big tips, and we could not lie.
“You know the answer to that, boy,” Malcolm replied. “Someone’s gotta keep an eye on Jerry.”
I smirked and headed for the other end of the bar, where three tipsy women were waiting for beers.
For the record, nobody needed to keep an eye on Jerry. Jerry just needed to go home to his fucking wife already. Poor Irene didn’t have it easy with him. I’d never met a crankier man than Jerry, and I was my father’s son.
“Trace?” I heard Julie call.
“Yeah?” I looked over my shoulder, only to see Chip had woken up from his very late, not-gonna-tell-Sarah nap. “Be right there!” I hurried up and put a charming smile on my face for the three ladies, and once they had their beers, I walked off.