WHEN DANI AND I GET to morning mass the next day, my parents, Deacon, Cami, and Carter are all sitting in our normal row, leaving the outside seats for us.
After church, Dani is quiet, sitting in the passenger seat of my truck with her lip between her teeth, like she does when she’s deep in thought or concentrating on something. It’s the same look she makes when she’s working on the perfect composition of a photograph. Normally, I love it, but today, it has me on edge.
Taking her hand, I bring it to my mouth and kiss it. “Penny for your thoughts.”
“Have you talked to Deacon yet about Alex and the restaurant?” she asks, pensively.
“Yeah.” I know she wants more of an answer than that, but not now. Not on our way to family dinner. I meant to talk to her about it this morning, but I didn’t have time. Or maybe I just pussed out.
“Good.” Dani sighs in relief. “I was worried you hadn’t. I just don’t want it to be weird at dinner.”
“It won’t be,” I tell her, giving her hand another reassuring kiss. It won’t be, because Deacon and I both know that disrupting Sunday dinner is the top of our mama’s shit list. “Don’t worry about it, okay?”
She looks over at me, giving me a small smile and a nod.
“What if Deacon wasn’t onboard with the restaurant?” I ask her, needing to get some of it out in the open before we get to the Big House, just in case Deacon decides to open his big fat mouth.
“What do you mean?” Turning in her seat, she faces me with a look of concern.
“I mean, if Deacon didn’t want to go through with the restaurant, but I did.”
She sits, thinking for a minute. Her brows furrow and I can tell by the look on her face, she doesn’t like it. Fear spikes in me, bringing me back to my realization from yesterday. If she doesn’t want me to go through with the restaurant, I won’t. Her approval and happiness is of utmost importance to me.
“This is something you really want?” she asks.
“Yeah, something I’ve wanted for a long time. And it’s not like I’ll have an opportunity like this again, Dani. Alex has a building. Do you know how much money would go into securing a spot like she’s inherited? I might not be able to save up that kind of money before I’m fifty.”
“Then, I say go for it.” She gives me another smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
“You sure?”
“Of course. You’d be in favor of me following my dreams. Of course, I want you to follow yours. But,” she starts, pausing. “Don’t fight about this with Deacon. Don’t let a restaurant come between you.”
“We won’t. I won’t,” I assure her. I know Deacon isn’t happy about the idea, but I think once everything is said and done, he’ll realize what a great opportunity it is. Maybe he’ll even be on board, eventually. “But let’s keep it between us for now, okay?”
She looks at me for a second longer, before nodding her head in agreement. “Okay.”
Sunday dinner goes off without a hitch, just like any other Sunday. We eat too much food, watch football, take naps, and go our separate ways as the evening begins to settle.
Deacon and I both show up at Grinders later that night, like normal, but we don’t say much. The few words we do exchange are business related. I figure it’s better to let a sleeping dragon lie so, I don’t bring up Alex or New Orleans. He was the one who said he wasn’t finished with the conversation. I figure if he has something else to say on the matter, he’ll say it.
The next morning, Dani gets up bright and early and takes off for the day to a photo session she has scheduled. She’s been filling her time with small projects on the side and she’s done some shoots for a local newspaper and one of the campus magazines. She’s also done a few more freelance jobs for Southern Style magazine.
I’m glad she stays so busy. It makes me feel less guilty for all the hours I spend at the restaurant. And all the hours I know I’ll be spending in New Orleans. If this thing with Alex goes through, there’s a good chance I’ll need to find some temporary housing in Nola. I know the hours Deke and I put into Grinders and Pockets in the beginning stages. Some weeks, we’d only get a few hours of sleep. But I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.
After coffee, I sit down at the desk in our living room and pull out my laptop in preparation for my scheduled phone call with Alex. Our meeting on Friday was to lay out a business plan and Mr. Wells, our silent investor, was totally onboard.
I received a text last night from Alex, letting me know that, if I’m ready to get started, she can have a contract drawn up by mid-week. I had initially told her I might need more time, because I thought I could get Deacon onboard. But after our last conversation, I know he’s definitely out, and I don’t want to waste any time.
When my phone rings beside me, I answer it and turn on the speaker.
“Alex,” I say, opening my laptop and firing up my email.
“Micah,” she replies and I can hear papers shuffling in the background. “You sound chipper for an early morning phone meeting. I’ve always had you pegged for a night owl.”
“I’m kind of both, an early bird and a night owl. Owning two restaurants will do that to you. Not to mention, high school football. Coach was always relentless with the early morning practices. I think I’ve been conditioned for a six a.m. wake-up call for the last fifteen years.”
“Ah, yes. High school football practice.” She sighs. “Those were the days. Guys in tight pants and with no shirts, all sweaty, running up and down the field. Y’all were the only reason the cheer squad practiced in the mornings during summer break. ‘Cause God knows nothing else could’ve got our lazy asses out of bed before dawn.”
I laugh, remembering.
“Who was it back then? Lisa? Jill? Julie?”
I laugh again, remembering even more.
“I don’t know,” I tell her, honestly.
“Too many to count or keep track of, right?”
“It’s just been a while.” I give her a smile and shake my head, hoping she’ll just drop this memory lane game and get down to business. I like to reminisce with the best of them, but I know where this is going and I don’t want to go there. Not anymore. And especially not with her. If this is going to work, we’ve got to keep things as professional as possible.
“It hasn’t been that long.” The tone of her voice dropping and insinuation dripping like honey. Alex always was a queen bee, luring unsuspecting victims to her hive.
“Have you talked to Mr. Wells?” I ask, bluntly cutting her off.
I’m not getting stung.
She clears her throat and immediately switches back to her professional voice. “Yes, we spoke on Saturday. He met me briefly at the building and brought one of his guys with him to check the integrity of the structure. He seemed pleased with what he saw and with our proposed business plan. He’s willing to meet both of us there again this Friday to go over the contract.”
“This Friday?” I ask, my heart speeding up at the realization of what I’m about to agree to—going into business with Alex Collins. Do I really want to do this? Am I making a mistake? Deacon’s warnings are ringing loudly in my head.
“You do want this, right?” Alex asks. “Your restaurant experience, paired with my business know-how, it’s a sure thing, Micah. We’ll be turning a profit in record time. I project an eighteen-month turn around on investment. If things go as well as I think they will, we could buy Mr. Wells out in two years and be partners, just the two of us.”
Her just the two of us has an emphasis on it that I don’t like, but all of the other things she had to say sound good. I want that. A successful restaurant in New Orleans. And not just New Orleans, but the French Quarter, a place brimming with culture and flavor. It’s the ideal place for a restaurant. A chance to try something completely different from Grinders and Pockets.
“This Friday.” This time, it’s not a question, it’s an agreement. “What time do you want me there?”