CHAPTER 2
REID
REID could just kill Grayson. He was going to find that pathetic excuse of a man, yank him up by his shoelaces, and strangle him with them.
When he had the time. Which wasn’t now.
Reid received the call fifteen minutes ago from Sasha, his restaurant manager, letting him know that Grayson was a no-show and nobody else could take the evening bartending shift. That made them short-staffed on one of the busiest nights of the year, St. Patrick’s Day. Not only did the locals like to make a night out of it, but it happened to fall on a Saturday this year, which meant folks anywhere from Salem to Seattle would be making a little weekend getaway on the coast out of it. That translated to more patrons than usual.
And really, Reid knew he should be grateful to be in this position. To not be in this position would mean that his restaurant had failed and he would probably be back to bussing tables and washing dishes.
Still, he couldn’t help but give Grayson a mental lashing as he jogged back to the restaurant. His attempt at taking the afternoon to run errands before the evening rush burst into flames.
As Reid drew to a halt one block away from the restaurant, he noticed a little black compact car, a rental, sitting at a red light. The driver stared right at him. Or at least Reid thought so. It was hard to tell with the fancy sunglasses over his eyes. Who wore sunglasses in this weather?
“Better go, hon,” he murmured as he drew to a halt, seeing the light turn green. He heard the car behind Mr. Fancy tap its horn. The man behind the wheel seemed to startle; then the car jolted forward. Reid smirked in flattered amusement as the man drove away.
It was hard to think that his once gangly frame had blossomed into a body that could turn people’s heads.
Too bad the man was obviously from out of town, or Reid might have gone a few rounds with him.
Laughing it off, Reid continued on to the restaurant. Gail’s Place sat in the heart of downtown Seaside and gleamed with a fresh coat of light blue paint that Reid and a few of his friends had put on last fall. Reid bought the place almost six years ago, shortly after his mother, Gail, had passed away. He had taken his meager inheritance and invested it into his restaurant. His vision had been to continue his mother’s presence in the community. While she had been alive, she had made her home an open and inviting refuge or meeting spot for the community. It wasn’t uncommon to hear locals planning to head to “Gail’s place.” With a lot of elbow grease and help from many of the locals who had known her and wanted Reid to succeed, it was one of the best up-and-coming restaurants in the town.
All the same, Reid was glad to be on the back end of winter, with the promise of spring and a healthy summer season just around the corner. This winter had been financially tighter than he had hoped and made him seriously consider closing his doors for part, or all, of the next one. But he liked staying open for the locals. They had invested in this place just as much as he had, and he didn’t want to fail in his vision for the restaurant. He also didn’t want to leave his main crew without a job for those long winter months. He’d made it work up until now. He’d continue to make it work.
Reid ducked into an alleyway between his restaurant and the neighboring building, jogging up the stairs. When he had purchased the building for the restaurant, it had included its own apartment upstairs. Reid had sold anything that wouldn’t fit into the apartment and had moved in. It had been difficult to sell his mother’s house, but he knew her memory lived in his restaurant.
Opening the front door, Reid tucked his keys back into his pocket and made a beeline for the pantry. As though summoned, a gray-and-white bullet made of fur shot out in front of Reid, tripping him.
“Leo, watch out,” Reid said, shaking his head at the cat.
After a solid two months of loneliness in the new place, a gray tabby had shown up out of the blue and demanded to be let inside. A huge storm had been blowing through town at the time, and feeling sorry for the cat, Reid let it in and fed it some fish. Afterward, the cat had refused to leave. Reid had taken him to the vet to make sure he didn’t belong to anybody else, and after five years, it was safe to say that Reid and Leo were a match made in heaven.
Reid grabbed a can of cat food out of the pantry and Leo’s ceramic dish. Reid had made it in a ceramic art place that had popped up downtown and the tourists seemed to love. It was at least two sizes too big, more suitable as a dog dish than a cat dish, but Reid liked it. He had painted Leo’s face and name on the side.
“Sorry, buddy, but Daddy’s gotta go to work. Here’s dinner early.” Reid popped the can open and dumped its contents into the dish. Leo weaved between Reid’s legs, clearly concerned with Reid having to leave him for the night. At least, Reid liked to think so. Reid placed the dish back on the floor, and Leo dove in, face first. “Don’t stay up too late partying,” Reid said as he backed out the front door and shut it behind him.
Thundering back down the steps, Reid made his way back onto the sidewalk and then through the front doors of Gail’s.
The rainy weather outside made for dim lighting in the restaurant, but the large, simple chandeliers overhead more than made up for the difference. Clean, dark gray carpet lined the floor. Simple, dark wood tables were spaced evenly apart, enough for each table to have some privacy. His watercolors lined the subtle, neutral gray-blue walls, each scene representing an aspect of Seaside, his home. He had purchased the space for one reason, and that was the feel of openness. People could breathe in here, even with a full house. Only a few tables were occupied in the dining room, and one person sitting at the bar. The rush wouldn’t begin for another few hours yet.
Jake, one of his best friends and waiter, stood behind the large oak bar, wiping it down. His dark skin looked like melted chocolate in the dim lighting of the bar, his black hair closely trimmed to his scalp. He was a tall man, lithe, and could always best Reid in a race.
“Hey, Reid, sorry about all this,” Jake greeted with a shake of his head when Reid drew near.
“It’s fine, Jake. Not your fault,” Reid said, offering an easy-going smile. “Grayson’s gonna have some splainin’ to do, though.”
“You’ve been watching late night re-runs of I Love Lucy again, haven’t you?” Jake asked, shaking his cleaning rag at him.
“Guilty,” Reid said with a sheepish smile. “Can’t help myself.”
“No, but you can help the rest of us by not quoting it, old man,” Jake said.
Reid slipped behind the bar and began to check stock on his staples. “How’re we doing so far today?” he asked, ignoring Jake’s comments. He had a few more months until he turned thirty!
“Pretty steady overall. Several regulars said they’d be back tonight. Stock looks good. Taps are ready to go when you are. Sash went to go check on Grayson. She should be back soon.”
Reid stopped his check. He trusted Jake. “You haven’t been able to get a hold of Grayson?” he asked, concern growing behind the frustration.
Jake shook his head. “Tried calling, but it’s just going straight to voicemail. Sash volunteered to see if he was dead.”
“Jake,” Reid admonished. But even he could admit to himself he was a little worried. “Thanks for sending her.”
“You bet.”
They continued to talk shop and make preparations for the night ahead, cleaning up shop and making sure they had plenty of glasses prepped.
The bell at the front door chimed. Reid and Jake glanced up to see a woman with a shock of black hair curled into a bob around her chin walk past the entryway and into the bar area. Sasha wore tight black pants and a tight, low-cut black shirt that showed off ample cleavage and her tiny waist. Reid knew she dressed that way for the tips, and she wasn’t ashamed to admit it. On her days off, she could usually be found in her baggiest sweats, curled up on her couch. A bright yellow jacket covered it all, and a giant tote bag she said her grandmother crocheted as a gift for Christmas was slung over her shoulder.
“So?” Jake asked, impatiently.
Sasha lifted a perfectly groomed eyebrow at Jake’s tone. “He’s sick. Fever. Didn’t even know what time it was. I made him some soup and tea, then dumped his ass back in bed.” She ducked into the back for a moment, returning without her purse or jacket. “He says he’s really sorry.”
Shame and a little embarrassment washed over Reid. He felt guilty for assuming the worst in Grayson. It’s true that Grayson could sometimes be unreliable and flighty, but never when it came to the job.
“It’s nothing,” he said. “I’ll check up on him later, make sure he’s doing alright.”
Sasha nodded. “How does the dining room look?” Jake and Reid looked at her blankly. Sasha rolled her eyes and scoffed at them before she took off to handle it herself.
“I swear, I’d lose my mind if it wasn’t for her,” Reid said. Jake hummed in agreement.
Reid had made Sasha his restaurant manager not even one year after opening, with the agreement that she could still pick up a wait shift every so often. He hadn’t regretted it one day since.
The afternoon picked up after that, passing quickly. The dinner rush had hit early and was well underway when Julie Flores, his head chef, poked her head out from the kitchen.
“Reid, phone call.” She ducked away before Reid could thank her.
He usually kept his cell phone upstairs during working hours, and people who knew him knew to get in touch with him through the restaurant main line. But there was only one person today who would be making an effort to get in touch with him.
Reid ducked into the back, taking a moment to appreciate the barely restrained chaos that was his kitchen. People shouted to one another, working together in a cohesive unit that Reid couldn’t understand. A heady mixture of scents and steam surrounded him, stealing his breath. This was his. He had made this, and he loved seeing it in action. It was going to be a good night.
“Gail’s Place, this is Reid,” he said when he picked up the cordless phone from the counter, pouring every ounce of snooty professionalism into the receiver and biting back a grin.
“Cut the shit, Reid. You know it’s me.” The deep, rough voice sounded like it was coming from the bottom of a well.
Reid snickered. “Hey, Linc. Did they really bury you this time? This connection is shit.”
Lincoln Holt, Reid’s best friend and brother from another mother, heaved a sigh. “I don’t have to take this from you. I could have called my mom. In fact, I probably should have called my mom. She’s going to have my hide.”
Reid laughed outright. “Sorry. For what it’s worth, I’m glad you called. And I’ll do my best to protect you from your mom.”
Lincoln clicked his tongue. “I don’t need protection.”
“That’s right. I forgot I was talking to the big, tough soldier,” Reid teased.
“Don’t you forget it,” Lincoln snapped. Then his tone sobered. “Happy St. Patrick’s day. It’s over here, already, but I thought I’d call before my day started and make sure you had enough beer for the town.”
“Christ,” Reid said, leaning up against the side of the desk and folding one of his arms across his chest. The first St. Patrick’s Day after the bar and restaurant had opened, Reid had run out of food and alcohol much sooner than he had anticipated, much to the consternation of his customers. It had nearly ended in blood and tears. Jake had had to hold back several fists. In the end, everybody had forgiven him, and it had been one of the toughest learning experiences he’d ever had. Some of the locals still hadn’t let him live it down, including Linc. “Should have known. Could have let Julie just hang up on you instead.”
“Aw, don’t be like that,” Lincoln simpered. “You know I just miss you.”
Reid’s chest tightened. Lincoln and Reid had been inseparable since Lincoln had helped Reid drive away a couple of bullies in elementary school. To hear Lincoln tell it, Lincoln had saved Reid from a colossal ass whooping. Reid had simply been trying to help a girl keep her pink pencil case, which the bullies had wanted to take from her. The fact that she had cute red pigtails hadn’t hurt.
They had journeyed through life together. They had been each other’s first kiss when they both realized they liked men, but that had resulted in determining they felt more like brothers than anything else. Lincoln had held Reid close when Gail had been diagnosed with cancer. Reid had held Lincoln close when he had enlisted in the Army and been deployed to Afghanistan the first time. And when Gail had passed, Lincoln came home and helped Reid get his feet back under him.
It had been nine months since the last time Reid saw Lincoln. He was coming up on the end of his tour, after which Lincoln had said he would come home for a vacation. Reid had already offered him his couch or to put him up at Dylan’s inn.
“I miss you, too, Linc,” Reid said, forcing his bright smile to shine through the phone line. “Any news? When are you coming home?”
Lincoln sighed. “Don’t know yet. We have another scouting mission coming up, which is why I wanted to call. It’ll be for a couple of weeks, I think, so you may not hear anything from me for a while. I’ll let you know when I’m back though.”
“Be safe out there,” Reid said, feeling the worry creep up his shoulders.
“Always am,” Lincoln said. “Good luck tonight. I’ll see you soon.”
Reid didn’t dwell on the fact that neither of them could know that. “Thanks, Linc. You, too.”
They hung up, and Reid stared at the phone for a moment, wishing it could somehow transport Lincoln back home. He worried, he knew he worried, and everybody teased him for being the mother hen, but Lincoln was his family. He didn’t know what he’d do if he lost him, too.
Shaking himself, Reid took a deep breath and shifted his focus to the night in front of him. It was going to be a long one.
Walking out into the bar, Reid caught a glimpse of the entryway, packed with people. One man stood at the concierge’s podium, throwing his hands up in the air and glaring impressively at the host. Poor Michelle kept her calm, though he could see the tension in her shoulders at the customer’s antics. The man’s voice was raised, exclaiming that he had stopped at no less than three other establishments before coming to this one, and he couldn’t believe the wait times for a single person. He also had some choice words for the state of Seaside, which made Reid’s shoulder’s tense in indignation. But he could understand a frustrated customer would say anything in the heat of the moment.
Detouring, Reid walked up behind Michelle.
“Good evening,” he started calmly, offering the man a polite smile. “Can I help with something?”
The man drew quiet as he caught sight of Reid. His large, deep brown eyes stared right at Reid with rapt attention. Reid took the opportunity to observe the man more closely. The dark brown hair looked artfully disheveled, dusted with enough gray to make the man look distinguished and sexy. A trim goatee surrounded his mouth, which hung open slightly in surprise. The exposed olive tone skin at his throat practically begged to be worshipped. He stood a little shorter than Reid, which wasn’t hard to do with Reid’s 6-foot-2 frame but was fit and compact.
“I was just telling Mr. Brewer here about our wait times for the dining room, but I’m sure a spot would open up in the bar soon,” Michelle said.
That seemed to wake up Mr. Brewer. He snapped his mouth shut and returned his hypnotizing gaze to Michelle, releasing Reid from its spell.
“Forget it. I’ll find somewhere else. This is ridiculous.” Mr. Brewer shoved his sunglasses back on his face before turning on one’s heel and marching toward the front door.
Those sunglasses! In this weather!
Vertigo hit hard as Reid realized this was the man in the car.
“Wait!” Reid called, against his better judgment. He couldn’t distinguish if he was genuinely trying to appease a potential customer or trying to get on this very attractive man’s good side. Either way, it was too late now. Mr. Brewer was already turning back around to face him.
“Mr. Brewer. I’m sorry for the frustration you’ve gone through tonight. Come with me, and I’ll take care of you.” Reid couldn’t stop the blush from creeping up his face as he realized what he had just said.
An eyebrow lifted over the edge of Mr. Brewer’s sunglasses. Then he reached up and pulled the sunglasses off his face. It took Reid another moment before he realized the man was waiting for him to lead the way.
Feeling off-kilter, Reid turned and escorted Harris into the bar, thanking Michelle on their way. He heard a couple of people mumble in irritation behind them and winced. He’d make a point to tell Sasha and Jake that their checks should be discounted for the slight.
“Jim,” Reid said, tapping the shoulder of one of the locals who had finished his meal long ago and sat engrossed in the basketball game on the screen above the bar. “Think I could convince you to hang out in the back to watch the game?”
It took a moment, but Jim nodded, still zoned in on the game. Gathering his beer, he hopped off the stool and headed behind the bar toward the door. Reid cleared the space of dishes and trash, taking it into the back and dumping it into a bin to be sorted. When he returned, he grabbed a cleaning rag and wiped down the space, gesturing for Mr. Brewer to sit.
“Can I get you something to drink? On the house,” he said with his friendliest smile.
The man slid into the seat and contemplated Reid for a moment before quirking his lips and sending Reid a wink. “I’m usually a whiskey kind of guy, but I’m feeling adventurous. What would you recommend?”
Reid almost choked on his tongue at the innuendo. This man was flirting with him! And despite his own resolution to not flirt or sleep with tourists, Reid’s heart sped up to an uncomfortable gallop in response.
“Well,” he began, clearing his throat against the sensation, “we have a limited edition Scotch ale from Deschutes Brewery called the Spiritual Awakening that you’ll have to try. It’s been aged in some old Scotch barrels. Might be worth a try.”
The man nodded, his eyes clearly taking in Reid’s chest and arms. “Sure.”
Reid grabbed a glass out from behind the bar and set it beneath the tap, feeling a flush crawl up his neck at the man’s blatant behavior. As he pulled, he gave Mr. Brewer another discreet once-over. The man really was criminally good looking. He looked like he belonged in a suit and tie, posed effortlessly on the cover of GQ magazine.
“Is this your first time in Seaside?” Reid asked. Customers loved to talk about themselves and their experiences.
What he wasn’t expecting was the pained wince his question created.
“Yeah.” The man didn’t offer any other explanation, so Reid let it go.
“What’s your name, Mr. Brewer?” he asked.
“Harris. What’s yours?” he asked, that flash of a smile returning. Harris had a simple, straightforward way about him. As though he knew exactly what he wanted and it wasn’t that hard for him to get it. To find that directness focused on him made Reid shiver.
“Reid Colburn.” Reid placed the glass in front of Harris. “Go ahead.”
He watched as Harris picked up the glass, peered into it, and took a ginger sip. Then his eyes widened, and he took a bigger drink. Reid grinned in satisfaction.
“Wow,” Harris said. He set the glass down and licked his lips, drawing Reid’s eyes to the soft, red flesh. “You know, I’m not usually one for craft beers. I’m a simple man, and all these breweries are just making a simple thing much more complicated than it needs to be. But this,” Harris took another sip, “this is good.”
“Glad you like it,” Reid said. Then he plucked a menu from the holder mounted to the side of the bar and placed it in front of Harris. “Take a look and let me know what you’d like. I gotta check on some other folks.”
Reid left Harris to peruse the menu, refreshing drinks and chatting with other customers. But even while he remained busy, his attention stayed hung up on the newcomer. By the time he came back around to Harris, the man was staring at him again, chin resting in one hand, the other drumming a simple rhythm on the bar. Reid smiled at him, ignoring the swooping sensation in his stomach.
“What’ll it be?” Reid asked.
“Since I liked your first recommendation, I thought you could give me another,” Harris said, a suggestive smile playing on his lips.
Reid knew Harris meant something off-menu. Preferably in a bedroom. Reid also knew he should shut this down now. It had gone on too long already. He plastered on a distant but friendly smile and said, “Fish ‘n chips. We use rockfish, which has a richer fish flavor if that’s what you’re looking for. Cod can be a little bland. We have cod, too, if you’d prefer.”
Harris pushed the menu toward Reid, all traces of his flirtatious behavior gone. “That sounds good. The rockfish.”
Reid kept the smile on his face, though a hollow ache had suddenly bloomed behind his stomach. Disappointment. In himself for not going along with Harris’ suggestive behavior and letting himself have a little fun. He was surprised to find that he wished he had given a different answer, that maybe the night could have taken a different turn for both of them. He resisted the urge to try and salvage it, to flirt back with Harris.
“Coming right up,” Reid said instead, heading toward the kitchen.
Julie’s kitchen was on top of it tonight, and Harris’ order came up quickly. Harris ate in silence, though Reid felt the weight of those incredible eyes. They held a sad mystery in them, one that Reid wanted to discover. But Reid had his hands full with drink orders and customers at the bar, the night picking up rapidly. The Irish drinking songs had already begun in the dining room, much to Sasha’s chagrin.
“These men know nothing,” she groused. Reid laughed. Sasha had immigrated from Russia only a short time ago. Reid didn’t know much of her past besides what Sasha had been willing to share. He knew she used to be a ballerina, but she remained stubbornly closed-lipped about the rest. Including the family she left behind. Her thick accent threw a lot of customers off at first, but she was generally friendly unless you said the wrong thing to the wrong person.
“They’re still paying customers, Sasha,” he said as she hefted another heavy tray full of beer.
She muttered something in Russian as she wandered off. Harris snorted and laughed at his end of the bar.
“She’s got a mouth on her,” he said.
“You understood that?” Reid asked, curious.
“Yeah,” Harris said, finishing off his beer. Reid noticed that his plate was empty, with only a used lemon slice and a little bit of tartar left in its bowl.
Reid’s curiosity and interest in the man ratcheted up ten-fold. It had been hard enough to convince himself to stick to his principles without Harris proving to be even more interesting.
Instead of asking Harris how he knew Russian or even what Sasha had said like he so desperately wanted to, Reid gathered Harris’ plate and took it into the back. Then he printed Harris’ tab and slid it his way with an easy smile.
“I hope you enjoy your stay in Seaside,” he said and left Harris to it, though every ounce of his being screamed in protest as he walked away.
A few minutes later, well after Reid had watched Harris slip out the door without so much as a wave goodbye, Sasha picked up Harris’ receipt and let out a sharp curse in Russian. At least, Reid had always thought it was a curse. She said it a lot. Reid abandoned the drink he had been pouring and made his way to Sasha’s side.
“What is it?” he asked, looking over her shoulder. Then he choked on air as surprise shot through him.
Large loopy letters spelling out one-thousand dollars resided on the tip line.