Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
WESTON
Wyatt
Why is there a tiny ass print on the wall in between the bay doors?
Did you fuck in my shop?
Answer me
I can see you read these
Me
Hey Wyatt, is my Charger buffed out yet?
What, so this is payback?
At least it wasn’t on your fucking priceless classic car.
This time.
But combat boots can do some damage.
Buff my fucking car out.
Heights Bites is in its first week of being open, and the place is buzzing . I take the last open table, in the front corner against the expansive plate glass window overlooking the center of downtown, as I finish texting my brother and wait for my date to join me.
The last couple weeks have been some of the best I can remember. Making bank painting by day, fitting in some motorbike repairs at night (I restored Ronnie’s and then a few more requests came in that have kept me busy when I can get over there), and then spending the rest of the night buried in Amelia.
She still spends some time with Van Gogh, but she sleeps with me at my place more often than she doesn’t. We haven’t labeled things between us, and a part of me can’t shake the fear that if I sneeze at the wrong time, she’ll run, but hell, things are good right now. Actually good. Even Sunday night dinners at my brother’s have been fun. Amelia’s gone on another girls’ night with Rory and Lexi too.
The only low point has been the slew of denial emails I got all at once on the lottery for the fireflies. This is the week they’re supposed to start, and not one of the dozen applications I filled out got chosen for the parking pass that would let us into the national park to see them.
Lexi flits around the cafe, tennis shoes squeaking, frizzy hair pulled back in a ponytail, eyes frenzied as she runs table to table, taking orders, refilling glasses, and taking people’s payments when they’re ready.
Only one other server is here helping her, a middle-aged Black woman who was my teacher in elementary school, Ms. Snow. She keeps pointing at her name tag, telling me to call her Wanda now, but I dunno, still feels disrespectful. Ms. Snow taught every damn kid in my generation, Rory, Wyatt, Lexi, and me included.
Wanda (I’m trying out the name) doesn’t use a pad and pen to take orders, she just remembers everyone’s special requests and dietary restrictions, which I’m more and more fascinated by the longer I watch the women work.
It takes about ten minutes before Lexi makes it over to me, a large vinyl-laminated menu in hand. “Sorry, West. Didn’t realize you were in my section. What can I get you?”
“I dunno, you haven’t handed me a menu yet,” I tell her with a smile.
She huffs while handing it to me and starts to walk away.
“Hey, I don’t wanna ruin your day, but could you bring another? My date will be here soon.”
Lexi’s mouth pops open. “Amelia’s coming?”
I shake my head side to side.
“If you’re seeing someone else, God help you, Weston Alexander Grady, I will grab a knife from the back and find a new, creative use for it.” Her face flushes when she says it, and I hope she’s not getting excited about harming me physically.
“No, no!” I decide to go with protecting the nads rather than the element of suspense or a life-threatening surprise. “My mom is meeting me here soon.”
“Oh.” Lexi’s frown relaxes, brows removing themselves from her eye sockets, and a smile comes out instead. “How lovely!” Turning on one sneakered foot, she scoots off to tend to another table.
Looking over the menu, I take in the staple diner dishes, mostly burgers and handheld sandwiches, though with some twists that feel a little more sophisticated than I expected to see. Back when this place was owned and operated by the Weiss girls’ father when we were all growing up, it was pretty much nothing but grease on the menu. Roasted red peppers and arugula on a steak sandwich with some fancy sauce definitely wasn’t there.
There’s also a whole salad section that’s not just a handful of lettuce with a couple tomatoes on top, that I have a strong suspicion was Rory’s doing.
I’m still marveling over the presence of a candied walnut and strawberry salad when my mom sits down in front of me. The menu is so tall, I didn’t even see her approaching over it.
“Mama.” Jumping up from the booth seat, I dash around the table to give her a hug.
“Hi, baby boy,” she says, eyes crinkling with warmth in the corners. That smile that never fails to come out when she sees me makes an appearance, and I give her one back, loving how her face lights up when I do. I may not be stoic and dependable like Wyatt, but dammit I make my mom happy.
Lexi hustles back to the table, hair messier than it was before somehow, cheeks splotchy and even redder than when I last saw her.
“You good, Lex?” I ask her.
“It’s always a great day at Heights Bites,” she says, biting the words out.
“I’m not sure if that was supposed to be a joke or a threat,” I say.
“Be nice,” my mom says, giving Lexi the mom look. “Now, dear, are you getting enough sleep? How about your water intake? Have you had your hormones checked recently?”
“I’m just fabulous, thank you so much, Mrs. Grady.”
“Yes, clearly. That’s why you forgot that for almost twenty years now, it’s Mrs. Suarez.”
Lexi stomps a foot, head tipped back to the ceiling as she breathes deeply.
“Of course. Sorry about that. Are we ready to order, Mrs. Suarez?”
“You were going to bring a second menu,” I remind her.
A squeal gets strangled in Lexi’s throat as she masks a murderous look with a terrifying smile, and she turns to run off again.
“Actually, never mind,” I tell her, calling her back before she can get anywhere and we never see her again, or she spits something poisonous in our food.
My eyes flit to my mom’s for a second. “You good with whatever?” I ask her, and she nods.
“Whole menu looks great. We’ll take whatever the chef recommends, both of us,” I tell Lex, and her nostrils flare out, jaw clenching, but she nods once. “Just no pine nuts for my mom. She’s got an allergy,” I say as she takes the menu from my outstretched hands, and she’s gone.
Good thing this is the only restaurant in town—aka our only choice if we aren’t cooking it ourselves—and every customer in here has known Lexi for decades, able to grant her a little grace, because that attitude she’s sporting isn’t about to win anyone over.
“Well,” my mom says, folding her hands on the tabletop. “This place is quite charming. A lot different than I remember it.”
Taking in the place, I have to agree. Soft light bounces off of the pale pink walls Amelia and I painted—nearly white, just a hint of color—with a muted tiled floor, a smattering of booths and tables, the tabletops a faux ceramic that gives it a grounded vibe. It’s a cute spot.
I’m amazed it’s open already. Wilder is the head chef (aka the bodega sandwich man) I’ve heard so much about, and he hasn’t been in town very long at all. He must’ve been busy to get this place going this quickly.
Truthfully, when Lexi is in the back the place is more than pleasant out here. Ms. Snow glides between tables effortlessly, refilling drinks, cracking jokes with patrons, and resetting tables in between guests.
Mostly it’s just Lexi’s frazzled energy that makes me feel like the roof is going to cave in on us at any second.
Must be stressful for her, having worked in the grocery store since high school, switching careers like this. She’ll adapt. I hope.
“They might still be working out some early kinks,” I say to Mom, watching as Lexi fumes, heading out of the kitchen with steam billowing behind her. It’s not figuratively coming out of her ears, it’s literally in a trail behind her as she leaves the doorway to the staff only area and re-enters the dining room. “But it’s got promise.”
“Nice of you to meet me here for lunch,” she says kindly.
“Schedule is lightening up now that I’m almost through the jobs I have lined up for painting,” I tell her.
“Are you now?”
She sounds so proud of me, for doing the bare minimum. Does Wyatt get the same favor from her?
“Yeah, downtown is all done now, at least with indoor paint.”
I point out a few places to my mom through the window we’re sitting by. The facade and window display of each storefront is unique to them, but there’s a cohesive energy running between all of downtown that hasn’t been there in a decade or more.
“The last couple businesses are all on track to be open in time for the soft opening next week, according to Rory. Then I just have a few more properties off of Main to wrap, but I’m gonna be done here soon,” I tell her.
“Does that mean this is goodbye?” she asks.
I reach a hand out across the table and clasp hers in mine, her skin so thin beneath my rougher, calloused fingers. It reminds me that she isn’t getting any younger, and I can’t bear the comparisons to Rory and Lexi’s mom that my mind draws of its own accord.
“I don’t think so,” I tell her. “Might stick around a while. I’ve been working on the Charger, and, uh, helping Wyatt out at the garage a bit lately. Working on motorbikes and ATVs and stuff.”
You’d think I just told her she won a trip to the Maldives. Her face lights up, eyes bright, and she pats my hand.
“That’s wonderful, honey. You two are getting on well, I take it?”
I nod at her in earnest at that. “Yeah, Ma. We actually had a pretty good talk a few weeks ago. I think we’re on a good path now.”
She gives me a nod of approval, but it didn’t come as a surprise to her so I’m guessing she’s already heard.
“Did he tell you?” I ask.
“My daughter-in-law did.”
“Of course.” For someone who hated the town’s gossip once upon a time, that girl sure can run her mouth when she wants to. I guess she’s a true Smoky Heights native in that way.
“She also told me you’re—” my mom leans in, whispering conspiratorially, “—seeing someone.”
“Guilty.” I hold up one hand, unable to fight my grin.
“Well, that’s just wonderful. When do I get to meet her?”
“I’m not sure yet, Mama.”
“Well, have you met her parents yet?”
I know things with her mom are complicated. And from what I know, her dad’s not in the picture. For the dozenth time, I wonder if that’s got anything to do with the little bits she has confided in me, about why she’s been on the road all this time. If that’s why she feels like she’s always a breath away from driving into the horizon and not looking back. And I wonder if I’ll ever figure out a way to ask her to open up to me that doesn’t spook her.
“Nah, not yet. It’s still pretty new.”
“Well, you better let me meet her before you meet them. I want dibs on the girl that won my prize of a son over.”
She gets another smile from me at that, but our moment is interrupted by Lexi practically dropping our plates on the table. My mom and I pull our hands apart abruptly, and we’re lucky we don’t get burned.
“Hot plate! HOT PLATE!” Alexis yells as she sets them down gracelessly in front of us.
“And what do we have the honor of trying today, dear?” my mom asks her.
Bless her for asking, because I have a feeling if I tried to Lexi would dump that hot plate in my lap. I’m not sure management should be quite so belligerent with customers, and I make a mental note to ask Rory who the owner is so maybe I can pass on an anonymous message to them that they might want to poke their head in once in a while and make sure their new manager is doing okay.
“This is a house-made five-cheese tortellini with local, farm-to-table pesto,” she spouts off from memory. But it’s like the memory pisses her off and she spits out every word.
“Wow, that sounds fabulous!” Mom says.
“I don’t remember seeing that on the menu,” I say, because apparently I am the idiot my brother thinks I am and I forgot how much fun it isn’t to piss off a Weiss woman.
“Don’t. Ask.” Lexi turns her back on us and strides off, when I realize we don’t even have any silverware.
“I’ll grab it,” I whisper to Mom, bolting out of my seat to steal two sets from a table in Wanda’s section.
“Ms. Snow!” I call out to her, waving them so she sees.
Her head bobs knowingly, already moving to replace the utensils. Tossing one onto the table for her, my mom grabs it and we both dig in.
The noises that come from the other side of the booth are ones a son should never have to hear from his own mother.
Then again, I’m enjoying this dish a little more than maybe I should be in public, myself.
One bite in, a shadow falls across our table. A large presence steps close, looming over us, and we both look up. My neck has to tilt farther back than I’d like to take him all in. A giant man in every sense, this guy is tall, broad, muscular, and got a little padding. Not that I’d say that to his face.
He is, as I’ve heard the girls say, a big boy . He’s also covered in tattoos, down his arms, across his hands and the backs of his fingers, between the first and second knuckles, but also up his neck, over his throat and even his chin. I’d be willing to bet there’s a lot more ink we can’t see beneath his chef’s jacket too. But with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, we can see a lot. And there is a lot to see with this man.
“You must be Wilder,” I say, hand out to shake his.
“Sure am!” His voice booms, deep and rich, for someone who looks even younger than me. I do my best not to flinch from his grip, but I think something crunched that shouldn’t have. Flexing my fingers beneath the table after he releases my grip, I try to assess and make sure my hand is still in one piece and I can keep painting as scheduled.
“Wilder Amante, Head Chef. And you are?” Wilder turns to my mother, putting all of his attention on her, and goddammit, I think her eyelids flutter under his charm.
“Virginia Suarez, happily married, thank you for asking.” She displays her left hand, wedding ring prominent, and he lets his head fall for show.
“Had to try. I’ve got a thing for older ladies. Keep this one safe.” Looking at me, he jabs a thumb over his shoulder toward my mom with a wide smile.
“Weston Grady,” I introduce myself, which gets me a thump of his oversized palm on my shoulder, jolting my whole body further down into the booth.
I have zero idea what to make of this guy.
Looks intimidating as fuck, like a linebacker in an apron, comes off like a giant teddy bear, and hits on my mom all in the span of fifteen seconds.
My brain is confused.
“How are we liking the chef’s special?” he asks, arms extended to his sides.
“Oh, it’s delectable,” my mom says, but I catch her eyes looking at more than the plate of pasta in front of her.
She’s literally had one bite and she didn’t even try the sauce yet, how does she know?
“Not bad,” I tell him, still trying to gauge the town’s newest resident and unwilling to go all in on him yet. My primal instincts say he’s dangerous, that he’s a threat, not to trust the wild smile on his face. Maybe his name suits him.
But my conscience reminds me that Rory knew this guy in New York, at least on a surface level. And she helped get him set up here at the cafe, or maybe it’s a diner? There’s some sort of background check with the New Heights program, I’m sure she told me something about that, she wouldn’t have brought him in if he’s the kind of dangerous the alarm in my brain thinks he is.
Urging my instincts toward what my head is telling me, I decide he’s good enough to be behind the cooking station at the one and only “real” restaurant the Heights has to offer.
Bottom line is if he stays away from Amelia, I’ll have no problems with him, even if some primitive senses deep within me are humming in warning. The man’s not my problem.
“So glad you like it,” he says, hands on the end of the table now, leaning over to get closer to us, like he’s sharing a secret. “That pesto is a family recipe with a secret ingredient, and I grew the basil myself. I convinced the boss to let me start an herb garden, next is gonna be a vegetable garden, if I’m lucky, but she’s a tough sell. I gotta keep working on her.” He winks at us, and I think my mom giggles .
“CHEF!” Lexi’s voice could shatter glass and thank God the lunch rush is over and there’s few patrons here besides my mother and me at this point.
“Whoops, gotta go,” he whispers to us at full volume, and then he lumbers off, back to the kitchen. “Coming, boss!” he hollers out to her as he goes.
Cheeks flushed, my mother looks at me and trills, “Well, he seems interesting.”