Chapter Three
Derek
Wow. What a mess.
I adjusted my face mask as I walked away from the flying debris at the far end of what would soon be the kitchen. Under the billowing dust of the remains of the old, chipped black-and-white flooring, the exposed wires, and AC ducts, I could see the finished product. Bonne Terre was going to be the coolest new eatery on the street. No, in the city…no, the state. They’d be talking about our modern aesthetic and the fabulous cuisine up and down the coast, demanding to know when we’d open nationwide.
All right, maybe I was getting a little ahead of myself. It looked like a bomb had gone off in here. But that was to be expected at a demo party.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and headed toward the front door to get a better angle for a photo, humming to an old Drake song blaring from someone’s Bluetooth speaker. I snickered at Evan’s dance moves, then laughed outright when Christian beaned him on the stomach with a half-empty water bottle.
Gabe was right. We were lucky.
Our friends rallied around us in a big way. A dozen or so guys and their boyfriends and a few girlfriends came by for an impromptu pre-construction party. They smashed part of the wall we’d decided to open between the kitchen and the dining area, jimmied tiles off the floors and countertops, and pulled old fixtures from the walls. My friend Chelsea served mimosas and played deejay. It was pure chaos…the fun kind.
I’d spent the past few weeks finalizing plans with the contractor, dealing with permits, and ordering equipment and supplies. On Monday construction would begin, and we’d be one step closer to making this crazy dream of mine a reality. Sure, there were still a few important details to handle, like lighting and staffing. I spent an hour pre-champagne chatting with Mitch and Chelsea about marketing ideas. And Phoenix was supposed to be here any second to go over lighting.
I took another sip of bubbly from my red Solo cup and smiled. Speak of the devil.
Max and Phoenix sailed through the door a moment later. Max greeted everyone with a cheery, “Wha’s up?” before giving me a sheepish look. “Sorry we’re late. I had to cover an open house this morning, and Phoenix had play practice.”
“Rehearsal,” Phoenix corrected with an affectionate eye roll.
Max kissed his boyfriend’s temple, then smiled at me. “How can I help?”
“Um…” I glanced at the mini party behind me. Gabe had clearly lost control of his crew. Evan and Mitch were dancing with Chelsea and a couple of water polo hunks. I took another drink, angling my head toward Christian and Rory, who were chipping away at the tile countertops with Gabe and a few my old teammates from college. “They look more productive on that end of the room.”
“All right. I’ll start there and boogie later.”
“Thanks. There’s beer and bagels too. And champagne,” I said, raising my cup.
Phoenix pulled my drink from my hand and took a sip. “Oh, you got the good stuff.”
“Yep!”
I gave him a quick once-over when he handed the cup back. Phoenix was lean and graceful. He moved like a dancer and looked like a model. He had platinum-blond hair and blue eyes, and though he wasn’t traditionally handsome, there was something about him that made you look twice. He reminded me of Evan’s boyfriend, Mitch, sometimes.
They both had a confident queer energy I admired. It was cool to be around because every other guy in this room, gay, straight, or bi, was a typical jock. Myself included. I wore basic Levi’s and a Long Beach State sweatshirt while Phoenix wore black jeans, a long herringbone coat, combat boots, red lipstick…and a rainbow scarf tied around his neck.
Phoenix caught my stare, grinning as he untied the scarf and waved it like a flag. “I forgot I had this on. I found it tucked in the seat in Max’s car. Must have been from Pride and since that was five months ago, that car obviously doesn’t get cleaned often.”
I chuckled. “So…you said you might have a manager in mind for me?”
He slipped the scarf halfway inside his pocket and nodded. “I do indeed! You remember my friend Braden, right?”
“Of course—I invited him and Elliot this morning. I think they’re running an all-day volleyball clinic.”
“Oh, right. Well, Elliot’s ex, Drew, is a restaurant guy. He’s done it all…busboy, waiter, bartender. He just started grad school, and I think this could be one of those situations where a couple of beginners could help each other out. You mentioned that you only want a part-time manager…”
“Yes. Initially, anyway. But I don’t think I should hire anyone’s ex. Sounds like trouble.”
“Normally, I’d agree. But Elliot and Drew are on good terms. Here’s what I’ll do…” Phoenix pulled his cell from his pocket and dislodged his scarf. I picked it up and tried to hand it over, but he was busy tapping on his screen. “I’m forwarding everyone’s contact info. Braden’s, Elliot’s, and Drew’s. You can talk to them and feel out the situation. I know he’s qualified, but you have to feel comfortable with all your new hires…especially a manager.”
“Thank you,” I yelled over the music and an uproar of laughter.
“No problem. I—oh my God! Why am I yelling? I’m obviously a cocktail or three behind,” Phoenix huffed, glancing toward the action.
I motioned for him to get going, chuckling when he leaped over a pile of dust and dirt, then danced his way to the makeshift bar. I tipped back the last of my cocktail and turned to join him just as the door opened.
“Derek?”
Oh. Fuck.
“Mom. Hi.” I gave her a sheepish half smile and tried not to fidget like a kid as she cast a critical look around.
“We had an appointment at noon. Did you forget I was coming by?”
“We said Sunday.”
We’d definitely said Sunday. There was no way I’d plan a friend demo party the same day my mother wanted a tour.
Some parents could hang out with their twentysomething-year-old kids and their friends without requiring a special event. Not my mom. She kept a strict calendar, and she didn’t appreciate deviation. If a party was going to happen, she wanted advance notice and a proper invitation so she could gracefully bow out if it didn’t sound like her kind of thing. I couldn’t fault her logic. No doubt I’d inherited my mom’s type-A tendencies…just like I’d inherited her dark-blonde hair, blue eyes, and golden skin.
“I have a tennis match tomorrow. I certainly wouldn’t have double-booked myself.” She craned her neck for a better look at the torn-up café…or shenanigans in the background, and frowned. “This is a mess.”
I fidgeted with the rainbow flag in my hand and gave a half laugh. “Yeah, I know. But it’s going to be great. Let me grab the plans. I can walk you through them and uh…do you want some champagne?”
My mom’s incredulous expression was tinged with irritation. Okay, nope…she was straight-up annoyed.
“I can’t hear myself think in here.” She cocked her head and frowned. “Is Gabe dancing with a girl? Did you break up? I thought he was a part owner. If you two are on the outs, this is not the time to—”