Chapter Ten

Lou-Lou!

Outside of the wait staff running around like black-tied chickens with their heads cut off, Lou-Lou’s is dead quiet up front and we own the kitchen in back. The cooks are out in the alleyway smoking their last cigarettes before the dinner rush sends them into the weeds, while I stuff my face with a steak taco that is heaven on a white plate. Normally at Lou-Lou’s, I would have to suffer through tapestry plates of bacon wrapped dates and octopus with kale and crispy leeks that wouldn’t put a dent in my raging appetite. Which is why I never come here. I’m not afraid to eat. Fortunately, Lincoln whipped up the perfect soft-shelled tacos, a hot basket of homemade tortilla chips, along with his secret guac, and two cold bottles of Dos Equis to wash it all down with. Sitting on stools at a stainless-steel table occupying the middle of the kitchen, I blush when Lincoln uses his thumb to wipe hot sauce from the corner of my mouth. At first, I think he’ll lick it off his thumb but he wipes it on a napkin instead. Hiding my disappointment, I sink my teeth into this amazing taco, notching another worthy dent in the fresh tortilla shell while staring at the wet spot on his t-shirt. After a healthy dose of white vinegar and baking soda, the bird shit is magically gone. Poof!

“How’re you feeling now?” he asks me, using a clean rag to mop up a spot of guac from the table.

I swallow. “High as fuck,” I reply, taking another bite. “I think you roofied me.”

Lincoln frowns at a passing waitress who gives us a doubletake. “She’s kidding, Taylor,” he tells her, trying to smile.

“No, I’m not,” I yell back with my mouth full.

“It’s just an edible lollipop from Colorado,” he explains, watching Taylor push through a swinging door leading to an elegant dining room centered around a beautiful fountain where locals feel the need to propose to their girlfriends on a regular basis. The door swings back and forth through the air behind her and Lincoln swallows hard.

“That’s not funny, Sienna,” he hisses at me, lowering his voice. “She’ll call the cops. She was attacked one time on her way out of Texas Roadhouse!”

Throwing my head back, I laugh out loud and immediately begin choking. Covering my mouth, I reach for my beer and knock it over. Lincoln jumps back, narrowly avoiding the golden stream rushing between his legs.

“God, between you and the stupid bird, I can’t catch a break today.” He throws a rag onto the table, blocking the flow. “I’m starting to have a bad trip!”

I laugh even harder and take a long swig of his beer to clear my throat. “I’m sorry,” I pant. “But come on, was she really attacked at a Texas Roadhouse?”

“Lou-Lou!” a high-pitched voice sings out from across the room, literally scaring the living daylights out of me. I turn to see a balding man in a shiny suit and tie sashaying toward us. There’s a silk handkerchief folded like a burgundy flame in his breast pocket, and a dejected look pulling on his jowls. “Lincoln darling,” he says, tenting his hands like he’s about to pray. “I am so sorry to hear about your brother, Jackson.” He sets a soft hand on Lincoln’s wrist. “My sincerest condolences, my friend.”

Smiling, Lincoln wipes his mouth with a cloth napkin. “Thank you, Lou-Lou. And thank you for the flowers,” he adds, nodding at me. “This is Sienna.” He stuffs a chip, loaded with his out-of-this-world guacamole, into his mouth. “Jack’s wife.”

The dejected look on Lou-Lou’s face turns dreadful but I’m used to that by now. “My dear, it is with extreme sorrow to make your acquaintance. My condolences to you as well.”

I shake his hand and toss a chip into my mouth. The hot sauce on the tacos is so damn hot you have to keep eating or the burn will settle in. “Thanks. Hey, you should really put this stuff on the menu. It’s amazing!”

Two servers with black ties and aprons stop and stare, mortified looks brimming in their eyes.

Lou-Lou clasps his hands behind his back and bends for a closer inspection of my plate, inhaling deeply through his nose. “Mmmm, and just what is this white trash delicacy you have brought into my kitchen like a disease, Lincoln?”

“The ultimate hangover cure,” he replies, grabbing a clean rag from a nearby stack and tossing it over a shoulder.

“Try it,” I say, holding out the last bite of my taco.

Lou-Lou waves me off, nose wrinkling in disgust. “No, thank you.”

“You have to,” I say, forcing it into his mouth.

Hesitantly, he chews like he’s eating tinfoil. His eyes bounce between us. Frowning, he pulls the perfectly folded handkerchief from his breast pocket and shakes it out. He swallows and his eyebrows go up. “Ooh-la-la! I hate myself for loving it,” he says, dabbing at the corners of his mouth. “Everyone out! You’re all fired,” he says to no one in particular, waving the handkerchief through the air like a white flag.

“Now, Lincoln!” he says, folding it back up. “Please take all the time you need, my friend, but when might we expect your triumphant return to Lou-Lou’s?” Glancing around, he softens his voice. “The kitchen is falling apart without you. Just last night, I had five dishes returned. Five!”

“That wouldn’t happen if you only served these tacos and guac,” I tell him, taking another pull of Lincoln’s beer.

Arching an eyebrow into his shiny forehead, his eyes drop to the mangled mess on my plate. “Yes, well…”

“I hope you’re not letting that duck go out like that!” Lincoln snaps at a skinny cook with a long beard. “That sonofabitch is still quacking! Get it right!”

“Yes, Chef!” the man replies, removing the plate from the server’s window and dumping it into the trash.

Grinning, Lincoln tosses me a playful look. “Actually, that duck looked perfect. I just like fucking with Stew.”

“Lincoln,” Lou-Lou groans. “That was a fifty-dollar plate.”

Lincoln arches a skeptical eyebrow at him. “I can come back tomorrow night,” he declares, popping the last of his taco into his mouth.

Eyes brightening, Lou-Lou claps his hands two times. “Splendid!” Setting a warm hand on my wrist, he lowers his voice to a soft whisper. “Open bar for you two tonight. Everything on the house.”

“Really?” I blurt, cramming a new taco into my trap. “Thanf-foo,” I say, spitting something across the table.

“My pleasure, Sienna,” he replies, twirling a finger through the air and spinning on his shiny heels. “Lou-Lou!” he cries out, strutting across the kitchen and disappearing into the dining room.

I stop chewing. “Does he always announce himself like that?”

“Coming and going,” Lincoln breathes out, tipping his beer back to find it already empty. “Great guy though.”

I watch a waiter hurry past with a gray tub of silverware topped with a small stack of burgundy napkins. A big man dressed in a gray chef coat with black trim comes in through the backdoor, the smell of cigarettes clinging to him like cologne. He stares at me before looking behind him.

Turning back to me, he shrugs. “What?”

“You need some help on the grill tonight, Tex?” I ask, dunking a chip in the guac pool. “I watch The Pioneer Woman all the time.”

He blinks at me before looking at Lincoln. “I like her,” he says, heading for the sauté station.

“Hey, do you guys make lemon pancakes?”

“Nope.”

“Don’t you get hot in that?”

He looks down at his chef coat. “Yep.”

“Marcus can handle the heat,” Lincoln says, pulling two beers from a built-in cooler beneath the counter. “Best goddamn sous chef this side of the Skunk River.”

“Thank you, Chef,” Marcus replies, pulling out some pans. “I think.”

Pushing my plate away, I take the cold bottle Lincoln passes me and cool the hot sauce scorching my tongue. Swallowing with a relieved sigh, I notice Lincoln and Marcus staring at me. “What?”

Marcus grunts. “Thirsty much?”

My nails drum against the steel table, heavy-lidded eyes shifting between them. “Did somebody say shots?”