Beautiful Sacrifice (Maddox Brothers #3)(12)

“Then why follow through with it?” Chuck asked.

“Because he played along when I lied to my parents,” I said with a grin. “He doesn’t care anyway. He’s just looking for an easy lay.”

Chuck stared at me with a blank expression, and then he slowly backed toward the double doors until he was out of sight.

Phaedra burst out laughing. “You’re going to be the death of that man. He loves you like his own. Let him believe you’re a virgin.” As soon as the words had left her mouth, she froze, and her eyes widened. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.”

“I think he already knows I’m not,” I said, making a show of dismissing her apology.

Noticeably shaken, Phaedra went back to preparing her world-famous sun tea.

I stood up and walked around the end of the bar. I hugged her from behind, resting my chin in the crook of her neck. “It’s okay,” I said softly.

“Damn my big mouth”—she sniffed—“and damn my small brain.”

I turned her around, waiting until her eyes met mine. “Damn your soft heart.”

Her bottom lip quivered, and then she pulled me to her chest for a quick squeeze. Her wrinkled hand patted my back. “We don’t have any of our own. You and Kirby are it. Now, get out of here. Get some work done, for Chrissakes,” she said, returning to her pitcher of tea.

I reached back for a napkin and handed it to her. She held it to her face, dabbing her eyes I imagined since her back was still turned to me.

“I said, get,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am.” I rushed around the bar and picked up my plate. I stuffed the remaining pieces of pancake into my mouth while walking toward the kitchen.

Pete—round, bald, and frowning—stood next to Chuck, helping with anything else prep-related as he did every morning.

Hector was already at the sink, polishing the silverware. “Good morning, Miss Falyn,” he said, taking my plate. He pulled down the sprayer and rinsed off the round white plate made of something between glass and plastic.

“For the hundredth time, Hector—”

“Don’t say, Miss. I know,” he said with a sheepish grin.

Pete smiled. He was marinating chicken, keeping to himself.

The three of them, in addition to Phaedra whose creations had made the Bucksaw famous, made up the kitchen staff.

Chuck was mixing his special sauce with a blank stare, his mind somewhere far away. He wiped his wet cheek with the back of his wrist and continued chopping. He glanced at me then and shook his head. “Damn onions,” he said, wiping the other cheek.

“Uh-huh,” I said, dubious.

Phaedra wasn’t the only softy in the family.

With a wry smile, Pete glanced over at his boss and then continued with his duties.

I helped Hector roll silverware. Then I refilled the Coke syrup in the soda fountain behind the bar, cleaned the windows, and double-checked that the dining area was sparkling clean.

Gunnar dropped Kirby off at eight o’clock sharp, and she stood at the front door with her arms crossed, like she did every morning. I wasn’t sure why she insisted on coming in so early. We didn’t open until nine.

I opened the door and then locked the door behind her.

“I’m here!” she announced as she walked across the dining room, another thing she did every morning.

“I’ll alert the media,” Phaedra deadpanned.

Kirby stuck her tongue out at Phaedra and then winked at me as she pushed through the double doors, letting them swing violently behind her.

“You’re gonna break those damn doors one of these days!” Phaedra called.

“Sorry.” Kirby was rushed but sincere, her dark ponytail swishing as she carried the salt and pepper canisters.

As she began to refill the shakers on each table, they exchanged knowing smiles.

“I’ve known that brat since she was a latchkey kid,” Phaedra said, shaking her head at Kirby.

“I can hear you,” Kirby called back.

“Good!” Phaedra snapped. “I’d make myself a grilled chicken panini with pickles and chipotle mayo every day, right about the time Kirby would pass by on her way home from Columbia Elementary.”

Kirby smirked. “And she’d always magically lose her appetite.”

“Just because I knew you’d be ravenous by the time you poked your little crow head into my door,” Phaedra said, her tone a mixture of sass and silly. “She would talk nonstop with her mouth full, carrying on about her day, while she annihilated my poor panini, and then she wouldn’t even say thanks before wiping her mouth with her sleeve and walking the few blocks to Old Chicago where her mom waited tables.”