CHAPTER FIVE
Raven
Every single conversation I had with Parker only reinforced to me that I was making mistake after mistake.
The first mistake was going to my parents.’
The second was not biting the bullet and canceling the food for the summer until I actually had my shit together.
The third was hiring him.
The fourth was letting him cook for me.
I didn’t want to not serve Greek food at Dirty because I was ashamed of my heritage. I wasn’t lying when I told him that—In fact, I was more than proud of it. I loved every bit of who I was and who my family was.
Most days.
I was scared. For whatever reason, Whiskey Key had never been able to hold down a Greek restaurant. I didn’t know why—I’d never been to the others simply because I knew my mother could cook better than they could. Hell, I could cook good Greek food. I’d been raised on it, and if I couldn’t cook Greek, my mom insisted she wouldn’t teach me to cook at all.
Which is great...Unless you want to live with your parents forever.
I was lucky. I had the cocktail side to fall back on, and that was always the plan. If it all went ass up, I knew I could rip out the kitchen and use that area for more seating or something. Sure, it would be a cash drain, but there were always options.
I wanted the food to succeed, though. Badly. I wanted to have something fun and unique that made people want to come back.
Now, I had more fear. What if Parker was so good that nobody would ever come close to his standard? Of course, that was a slightly irrational thought, but from what I could remember, the man could cook his way out of a death sentence. A sharp decline in quality when he eventually left would be more than I could handle.
I was a control freak with my business. I knew it. Telling Parker to get his own damn kitchen staff was a battle in itself—I wanted to vet and interrogate the people he was calling, but I couldn’t. The kitchen was his domain, and the people hired to help him had to be his choice. It’s like having a mini-manager.
The only reason I was okay with leaving the bar completely in Sienna’s hands was because I knew I wouldn’t be leaving the building and because, well, I wouldn’t be leaving the building. I was there if an issue arose and I could deal with it.
I had issues.
Dirty was my baby, and also my—not crazy—grandmother’s legacy. There was a reason she’d left me money when she’d died. The reason was this bar and her love of a good cocktail.
I didn’t want anything destroying that.
Even hiring Parker was a leap of faith. Maybe telling him that I’d rather have a crab flick my clit than trust him was a step too far. The guy wasn’t going to poison me. He wouldn’t want my family’s wrath. Not even he hated me enough to risk it.
The big problem that kept smacking me in the face was the fact I did trust Parker...With food.
Nothing else.
I didn’t even trust him to flip me off correctly.
I also didn’t trust myself. He was the ultimate thorn in my side, the biggest pain in the ass I’d ever have. He was more annoying than stepping on a Lego. Stubbing my toe paled in comparison to the frustration of being around him on a regular basis.
But, dear god, I was attracted to him.
I was attracted to him and his dark hair, his full, smirking lips, and his deep, cocky voice.
I didn’t know how to stop it, and it only made me hate him more. How dare he be so hot? What right did he have to be so goddamn handsome? His looks didn’t match his personality—not to me, anyway.
There was nothing I wanted more than to punch that attraction out of myself, fire him, and pretend I was still in a Parker Hamilton drought. One I’d very much enjoyed for the past few years.
Yes, that was it.
The Parker Hamilton drought had been so enjoyable that, now, I was Parker Hamilton drunk. And not the good drunk—the wheezing, sobbing, over-apologizing for breathing kind of drunk.
There was simply too much of him in too little time.
That wasn’t going to get any better, given that he was now my employee. A fact we both loathed. It was evident when he spoke to me this morning. He liked it no more than I did.
I didn’t have to be a genius to figure out that he was only working for me out of pity for my brother. I wanted to know how much Ryan was paying him to work for me. He was either paying him or he had dirt on him. Dirt that, if it existed, I wished I could know.
There wasn’t dirt. Parker wasn’t that kind of guy. He never had been, and I don’t think he had that kind of bone in his body. He was the kind of guy who would rather chew his own foot than cheat on a girl. He’d never dream of not holding a door open for a woman, and he would always pay for dinner.
He just wasn’t that kind of person to me.
Then again, I was hardly that kind of person to him.
I didn’t know how we’d get through however long we had to work together, but I knew it wouldn’t be pretty.
***
“If you don’t want him,” Camille whispered, leaning in toward me, her eyes on Parker, “Can I have him?”
I side-eyed her. “What is he? A kitten I picked out of the parking lot?”
“No, but I kinda wanna pet him like he is.”
I jerked my elbow into her side so she sat up straight. “Cut that shit out,” I told her. “I’m not listening to you fawn over him like a newborn baby.”
“Are his toes that cute?”
Lani leaned forward and looked at Cam. “You’re seeing Xavier, remember?”
Cam rocked her head side to side. “So are two other girls, so I’m not thinking we’re on the serious side of the line.”
I rolled my eyes.
She knew better than to get involved with Xavier Ryan. He went through women the way a public bathroom went through water. I had my money on the fact she was only sleeping with him to piss off her brother, Brett.
“Gee, you think?” Lani drawled. “I thought he was proposing anytime.”
Camille punched her.
I took a sip of my drink. “I don’t know why you’re seeing him.”
“He has an eight-inch dick,” she responded without missing a beat.
“You can find them on the Internet without baggage,” I reminded her.
My brother blinked at me. “I joined this conversation at the wrong time.”
I grinned. “Serves you right for eavesdropping. Did he kick you out of his kitchen?”
Ryan’s eye twitched. “He’s a little uptight in the kitchen. I retreated before we reached rabid, hungry tiger level.”
I dropped my eyes and put my straw in my mouth to hide my smile. Dear god, if Parker really was that bad, this entire thing was going to go up in flames.
“At least he’s passionate,” Lani reasoned.
“So are hungry tigers,” Camille added.
“I can hear you, you know,” Parker yelled from the kitchen over the sound of things frying and sizzling and cooking. “Shut up!”
Ryan had a point. He even glanced at me with raised eyebrows and a small smile.
I shifted forward in my seat. “What is he doing in there?”
“Cooking,” my brother answered. “It’s somewhat stressful, you know.”
“I’m going in there.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I’m sorry, do you own that kitchen?”
He didn’t answer.
I mimed zipping my lips with a smile, much to the amused giggles of my friends, and got up. We were sitting in the back, outdoor area of the bar. I’d closed it off to the public tonight, leaving the side area for anyone who wanted to venture outside or needed to smoke. It was quieter at the back, the only real sound the low hum of the music from the main bar area. It was occasionally broken by the crashing of the waves if they were a little rough, but otherwise, the only hint that we were by the ocean was the gentle breeze that wafted over every now and the light scent of salty sea water it brought with it.
That was a stark contrast to the kitchen. The moment I stepped through the back door into the kitchen, I was hit with the thick heat that even a Floridian summer could only wish to emulate. It was almost as if I’d stepped into one of the deepest levels of hell.
The sound of cooking was stronger here. The sizzles and frying and sssh-zz-whrr-ing noises that made up a busy kitchen buzzed all around the air, bouncing off the plain, white walls until they vibrated across the stainless-steel surfaces.
And in the middle of it was Parker Hamilton. His t-shirt was almost slicked entirely to his body thanks to the heat, and it held firm to his strong back where the fabric flattened against his spine before it bunched right above his waistband. The tiny gap between the cotton and jean hinted at his tanned skin. I had to physically drag my gaze from that strip of skin.
I needed food before I had another cocktail...And I’d only had one.
“What do you want?” Parker asked without looking at me.
“I’m being nosy.” I clasped my hands in front of me and peered around. “It’s pretty hot in here.”
“I didn’t notice.” His tone was dry. “Why are you here?”
“You can’t throw me off that easily.”
“I was hoping that was code for, “Five minutes, go away.””
“No chance.”
“Raven? Go sit down and send Ry in here. I’m almost done.”
“What did you make?” I asked, reaching up onto my toes. I never asked him to make anything specifically, and all he’d told me was that he was essentially cooking a buffet of things from the menu. I had no idea what to expect, and that was why I was peering at all the things beneath the hot light thingy on the other side of the kitchen.
“I need Ryan’s help,” he repeated, cutting through my nosing. “Five minutes.”
One look at the concentrated furrow of his brow had me backing away. This was serious for him, and his passion somehow shone through in every word. If he needed my brother’s help, I’d give it to him—begrudgingly, but still.
“Ry, he wants you,” I said as soon as I stepped back outside. The jugs of the Pussy Pounder I’d made earlier were still holding strong on the table, although one round of drinks would kill the first jug.
Camille grabbed the jug before I’d taken my seat. She poured the red drink into all our glasses with such elegance that the orange slices I’d chopped up and added for extra flavor all plopped into our glasses, splashing the liquid everywhere. Red droplets splattered across the black, glass surfaces of my outdoor tables, and I wiped them up with a napkin.
Lani smirked.
“Make room!” Ryan said, carrying out a giant tray from the kitchen. He had to turn sideways to get out of the back door.
That drew a tiny wince from me. The idea was to have food served out here, too. It wasn’t always a day from weather hell, after all...
Ryan put one tray on the table behind Camille. Parker brought up the rear with another tray that he set on the table behind me. The warm, homely smell of the Greek seasoning filtered through the air. Instantly, that deep part of me that always roused with the scent of what I counted to be home sprung to life.
My eyes flitted across the dishes of hummus and calamari until they landed on the gyros plate. The kebab-like meat took up half the plate, just dipping into the glob of tzatkizi sauce on the side of the plate. Pita bread that was obviously warm from the soothing scent of it was on the other side of the plate.
“I’ll just take that...” I reached over and picked up the plate.
Both my brother and Parker hid a smirk.
Gyros was my weakness. Hell, if he had this done good, the rest of the menu could be screwed.
Wait, no. That was my stomach speaking.
I didn’t pay much attention to the distribution of the other dishes across two tables as I tucked some meat and sauce inside a pita bread. The bread was so soft and fluffy, and there was no doubt that Parker had baked this earlier today. It just had that...light feeling that fresh bread had.
He watched me with amusement glinting in his eyes as I bit into the pita bread.
The classic, simple taste of Greece exploded in my mouth. Literally exploded. I was smack-bang in the middle of a freaking foodgasm, and if I were alone, I’d be moaning my way through it. It was so damn good.
“Good?” Parker asked, his amusement giving way to a hint of smugness.
I swallowed and dabbed the corner of my mouth with a napkin. “It’s not bad,” I answered.
Yes, it was good, but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of finding that out just yet.
It didn’t matter much, though. The upturn of his lips said it was good and he knew it.
The slight arch of his eyebrows told me he’d play this game if I wanted to.
“I think I just came,” Camille muttered, holding a skewer with what looked like pork souvlaki on it. “Why haven’t I eaten this before?”
“At least someone appreciates my skills.” Parker glanced at her before sitting down between Lani and Ryan.
I flipped him the bird when Camille winked.
“Two dinners in one week,” Ryan said, mostly to his plate. “What was I thinking?”
“This is your penance for not working for me.” I nudged him with my elbow. “You’re being judged and this is your payback.”
“Shit. Do you think they’ll know if I pretend to be religious for the next two weeks?” He turned to meet my eyes. “Yia-Yia will have my ass for breakfast if she thinks I don’t practice anymore.”
“You don’t,” Parker pointed out. “You go at Christmas because she calls you every year on Christmas Eve and you feel guilty.”
She did that to me, too.
She also liked to drink and believed I was doing Christ’s work by feeding people cocktails and that he would forgive me for skipping church during such a stressful period.
I was going to take it. Take it, record it, and run with it.
I also suspected she liked me more.
Yia-Yia was a strange woman.
“This is really good,” Lani said, steering the conversation back to the here and now. “I’m kind of annoyed Raven’s been hiding you. Can you cook for me every day?”
Great. He’d even charmed the reporter.
“I haven’t been hiding him,” I told her, grabbing some calamari. “Avoiding him, yes, but not hiding. Besides, he’s been in New York for years.”
“Almost four years isn’t years,” Parker retaliated.
“Is it more than a year?”
“Well, yeah...”
“Then, it’s years.” I grabbed my glass and met his gaze. “And not nearly long enough.”
His response was a smirk followed by a bite into a ring of calamari. He held my gaze just long enough for Lani to cough and draw my attention.
She raised her eyebrows quickly in a silent question.
I shoved the rest of the calamari into my mouth.
Whatever.
***
Mom: Flight lands at 9pm. Me and Dad are driving up to get everyone. Breakfast tomorrow.
Me: Let me know when, I’m up until close.
I tucked my phone back into the drawer beneath the register and took a deep breath. As glad I was that my family wasn’t landing until late, giving me an extra twenty-four hours of peace and Parker an extra day in my kitchen, it didn’t seem like long enough.
I’d made the decision to open for food tonight. Only for three hours, but it was important that we had some kind of flow going before my family came here to eat every night. After all, over the next week, more and more of my family would arrive.
I was still not happy about being the central point for the reunion. I didn’t even know why we needed a reunion. It wasn’t like it had been ten years since we’d all been together. The kids wouldn’t even remember us, they were that young.
Yeah. I wasn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect of having kids in my bar either. Dirty simply wasn’t made or designed for functions. It was enough hard work to make it right to serve food.
I picked up the stack of menus Brett and Camille had arranged to be printed overnight.
“They’re good, right?” Brett asked, wiping his hands on his jeans.
I nodded. “Thank you for getting them done quickly. I feel so unprepared.”
“Do you want me to come serve food?”
My eyebrows shot up as I looked at him. “I want people coming in here to eat food, not to want to eat you, Brett.”
He grinned. “Six months ago, I would have been all over that offer.”
“I know. I still pinch myself just to make sure I’m not dreaming and that Lani has actually tamed you.”
“I didn’t say she’d tamed me. She gets all my wild.”
“That’s way too much info.” I laughed anyway. “Are you busy or can you take the board out to the front for me?”
“I’ll take it out. Where is it?”
“In my office. Thanks.” I walked across the bar and put the menus by the door. Sienna had already agreed to be my front-of-house girl until we hired another member for waitstaff. I kept a few menus back for the bar in case people wanted to eat there and almost collided with Brett on my way back.
“What’s this made of? Rock?” he huffed, righting it in his grip.
“Oh, come on. I move that twice a day without complaining. You could put someone’s eye out with your arms—stop whining.” I slipped the menus in the upright file holder next to the register and turned back. He was bumping his way out of the door, and it wasn’t until a familiar figure showed up and grabbed the door and held it open that Brett successfully got the board outside.
“What’s with the torture?” Parker asked, gesturing to Brett.
“Torture my ass,” I replied. “He’s just being a wimp.”
“Hey,” Brett said, coming back inside. “Just because you’re stressed doesn’t mean you get to be a shit to me.”
“The fact the first words you said to me two years ago were ‘Nice ass, how does it look in the air?’ does.”
Parker’s lips twitched. “I don’t know if that’s awful or brilliant. Slightly inclined to lean toward brilliant.”
“Brett Walker.” Brett stuck out his hand.
“Lani’s boyfriend, right? Parker Hamilton.”
They shook.
“He’s my kitchen bitch,” I told Brett before he could speak.