Slow Simmer

1. No Parade

1

NO PARADE

Ford

I yawned and stretched, my back cracking in protest. I’d been up since four this morning for my flight from Los Angeles to Pittsburgh, and my body felt every bit of the time difference. The clock in my rental car claimed it was quarter to nine, but I’d have bet anything it was closer to midnight.

The truth was, I hadn’t spent much time back here since high school. Sure, there were the obligatory holiday visits, but otherwise, I’d stayed away. Workaholism ran in the family. Dad and I had that in common.

Not that I’d come back just for a vacation. A couple of weeks ago, my siblings started in on me.

Hailey: Something’s off with Dad.

Max: He’s losing interest in Ross Films. We need you.

Sean: You’re his favorite. Go home.

I figured a call would take care of it. Dad and I had always been able to talk things through. I gave him a ring, but he wasn’t biting. Every time I tried to steer the conversation to something personal, he dodged and brought up the film his company was shooting in Italy. I finally had to face it—if I wanted answers, I needed to see him face-to-face.

So, here I was, back in Sewickley, Pennsylvania, for a few weeks. I needed a break from Hollywood anyway. Some downtime and my dad’s advice might help me decide on my next film.

That was before Dad ditched me. Or, more accurately, his delayed flight from Italy meant I’d be spending my first night here without him.

Dinner first, then sleep. I stepped out of the car into the quiet parking lot. The Ohio River was just a stone’s throw away, and the only sounds in the night were the breeze through the trees and the lapping of water on the shore. A formal restaurant gleamed upstairs, but the bar on the ground floor seemed more my speed.

As I pulled open the door, I glanced down at my phone to check for messages—and walked straight into a pair of red Converse high-tops.

I caught the woman’s elbow to keep her steady and found myself staring into wide, startled brown eyes. She was cute, her brown hair pulled back into a ponytail with vibrant blue tips. She wore jeans and a Wonder Woman t-shirt that hugged all the right places. Not your typical Sewickley style, but I liked it.

Her takeout bag slipped from her arm, and I barely managed to grab it before it hit the floor. “Sorry,” I said, tucking my phone away. “My fault.” I flashed the smile that had smoothed over plenty of LA blunders.

She wasn’t having it. Her face tightened into a scowl, and she clutched the takeout like a shield. “Walking while texting? What, are you twelve?”

Okay, ouch. Deserved. “Can I make it up to you? Maybe buy you a drink?”

She spun on her heel, eyes narrowed in disbelief. “Do you actually expect that line to work?”

Before I could answer, she held up a hand, silencing me. “Don’t answer. I’m not interested.”

With that, she turned and strode away, blue-tipped hair swinging as her ponytail mocked me with every step.

“I’m losing my touch,” I muttered to the empty parking lot.

Letting the door swing shut behind me, I glanced at the chalkboard sign by the vacant hostess stand. The kitchen was still open for another twenty minutes. Time to order some food and lick my wounds.

Ribeye. That would hit the spot. I bypassed the stairs leading to the second-floor restaurant and entered the bar.

My gaze locked on the view of the Ohio River through large, garage-door-sized windows. The full moon reflected off the water, lamplights glowing on the bridge in the distance. Picturesque.

I claimed a barstool with a prime view, inhaling the aroma of grilled steak. A broad-shouldered man with dark hair pushed through the door behind the bar and froze when he saw me.

“Ford Ross? Seriously?”

I blinked. “Conner? What the hell? You work here?”

“I don’t just work here. I’m half-owner.” Conner grinned, still rocking that signature spiky hair. “Congrats, man. I saw your Sundance win. Watched your speech on YouTube.”

I sat back down, grinning. I was damn proud of that award. “Thanks. It was a wild night.”

“You in town long?”

“A few weeks, maybe.” It all depended on how things went with Dad.

Conner leaned on the bar. “Figured you’d be swamped after Sundance. Thought you’d be lining up a big studio film.”

“There’s this thing called a cell phone.” I waggled mine at him. “Lets you talk to people no matter where you are. You should try it.”

He smirked. “Smart ass. So, you’re a hot commodity now?”

“What can I say? Everybody loves a winner.” I paused. “Until they don’t.”

Conner straightened. “You here for food or just a drink? Kitchen closes soon.”

“Ribeye special, medium-rare. And an amber ale.”

“Get the truffle fries too. They’re insane.”

“Load me up.”

Conner tapped the bar, poured my beer, then ducked through the kitchen door to put in my order.

I scanned the room with a director’s eye. Huge windows, a stage in the corner, tables spread out... clearly a music venue. Conner’s band days had left a mark.

He reappeared, sliding onto the stool next to me. “So, what really brings you back?”

A guilty conscience? I glanced down. “It’s been a while since I’ve taken time off. Sundance messed with my head, threw me into the spotlight. I need to clear it.” I paused, then added, “Dad’s stuck in Italy, flight got delayed. So, I’m crashing at my sister’s for now.”

Conner nodded. “Italy, huh? Vacation?”

I snorted. “Nah. He’s working. I don’t know the last time he took a vacation. His production company’s filming there.”

“Workaholic, like father, like son.” Conner grinned. “You’re staying with Hailey? She didn’t mention you were back.”

“Yeah, she’s out with her family right now. She told me to stop by here. Didn’t mention you owned it, though.”

“We opened Not a Yacht Club a year ago. Things are going great. Knock on wood.” Conner tapped the bar top. “It’s quiet tonight, but come back on a weekend—we’re packed.”

I chuckled. “Love the name. Not a Yacht Club. I remember you saying you weren’t into that yacht club vibe in high school.”

“You remember that?” He looked pleased. “Yeah. Figured a bar and music venue would be a nice alternative to the posh spots around here.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t track with that upstairs restaurant I saw. White tablecloths, great river view. Pretty posh.”

Conner grinned wider. “We cover all the bases. Thinking about adding kayak rentals too. You know, just to really stick it to the yacht club crowd.”

I laughed. “Wouldn’t that clash with your high-end restaurant?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’ll make it the classiest kayak rental around.”

“This town’s perfect for offbeat ideas like that. Who’s your partner?”

The kitchen door swung open, and a tall guy in chef’s whites appeared. Conner nodded toward him. “You remember Dante, right?”

I blinked. “Dante Bastiano? No way! What are you doing here?”

Dante rounded the bar with a grin, his gray eyes flashing with good humor. “Good to see you, Ford. Congrats on Sundance.”

“Thanks, man.” We shook hands. “If I’d known you were the chef, I would’ve ordered Italian. Your mom’s lasagna is still the best I’ve ever had.”

“I’ll let her know.” Dante’s scarred hand gave mine a firm shake. “Moved back a couple years ago. Conner and I decided to partner up.”

“How’d that happen?”

Conner jumped in. “Just luck and timing. We had similar ideas, so we went for it. Dante handles the food; I do everything else.”

“You should learn to cook if you’re running a restaurant,” Dante muttered.

Conner shrugged. “You keep saying that. I keep ignoring you.”

The door swung open again, and a guy in a “Gillette Construction” shirt dropped onto the stool next to Conner. Spitting image of him. His brother, Kincaid.

Kincaid shot Dante a pleading look. “It’s after nine, but tell me you can still get me dinner.”

Dante scowled. “You’re lucky I’m cooking for Ford. I’ll throw on another ribeye.”

“Thanks, man.” Kincaid glanced at me, giving a quick nod. He didn’t recognize me.

“Either get here before nine or learn to cook,” Dante said, disappearing back into the kitchen.

Conner turned to Kincaid. “Wasn’t tonight your cooking class with Heather? Why aren’t you there?”

“She bailed after last week. They wanted her to cut up raw chicken.”

“Vegetarian?” I asked.

“No. Touching raw meat grosses her out. She has a weak stomach. You should’ve seen the way she reacted when I came home with stitches on my hand after I tore it open at a construction site. She can’t stomach the sight of blood.”

“Bro.” Conner raised one eyebrow. “Can you say, high maintenance? Why’d you let her move in after her roommate kicked her out? Should’ve sent her to her parents.”

Kincaid’s jaw tightened. “Fuck you. At least I’ve got a girlfriend.”

Conner snorted. “If she was my only option, I’d choose being single. Too much work.”

I kept quiet, but I agreed. After my divorce, I’d dated too many women who just wanted the perks that came with my job. Being alone was better than being used.

To ease the tension, I nodded at Kincaid’s shirt. “You’re in construction? Maybe you can help me. I’ve got a house in town that needs some work. Plus, my sister says Dad’s place needs updating.”

Kincaid’s annoyance shifted to interest. “What kind of work?”

“Not sure yet. I haven’t been to the house in a while. What’s your specialty?”

“Renovations, repairs, additions. I’ve got a great paint crew too.” He handed me a card, jostling Conner in the process. “Gillette Construction. You new to town?”

“I grew up here. Conner and I go way back. We met years ago.”

Kincaid squinted, then shook his head. “Sorry. Should I remember you?”

“Probably not. Last time we saw each other was at Conner’s graduation party.”

“Ford went to Middlebridge,” Conner added. “Us public-school kids didn’t mix much with you private-school ones back then.” He shot me a tight smile. “Still don’t.”

“Must be it,” I mumbled. I hated that line of demarcation that ran through so many of the relationships in this town—the public-school versus private-school one.

An awkward silence stretched until I broke it. “Think you can swing by tomorrow for an estimate?”

“Sure. I’m free around three.” Kincaid pulled out his phone to set it up.

Just then, Dante reappeared, ribeyes in hand. “Here you go.”

I cut into the steak, taking a bite. “Damn, this is good.”

“Wait till you try the fries,” Kincaid said, digging into his salad.

I did. My eyes rolled back as the flavors hit. “You weren’t kidding.”

Dante smirked. “Glad you like it. Want me to feed you every day while you’re in town?”

Conner poured himself a glass of water. “Plenty of places deliver. Plus, I’m a frozen pizza connoisseur.”

Dante shook his head. “You own a restaurant. Have some pride.”

Kincaid laughed. “Conner couldn’t cook if his life depended on it.”

“Which is why Dante’s the chef,” Conner shot back, “and I handle everything else.”

“Good plan,” Kincaid said. “Considering you once set Mom’s kitchen on fire.”

“I was ten!” Conner protested.

Dante rolled his eyes. “Enough. You two need to learn how to cook. I’m starting a class.”

Conner blinked. “You expect me to learn to cook? No way.”

Kincaid snorted. “Tried that with Heather. Didn’t go well.”

Dante crossed his arms. “That’s because I wasn’t teaching. We start Monday. Be here.” He looked straight at me. “That includes you, Hollywood.”

I chuckled. “What the hell. Maybe I’ll bring my dad too.”

I doubted he’d come, but it was worth a shot. Reconnecting wasn’t going to be easy, especially not with Dad.