Page 49 of Hers for the Weekend

Holly

Some of the Rosensteins and Old Ladies were settled for rest (Seriously, where were they all sleeping? Did Carrigan’s have secret extra rooms that only magically opened when you needed them?), while Hannah finally got everyone else in the shuttles to go to lunch at Ernie’s. Some of them were grumbling about not being able to eat here, where there was a famous chef, but Holly knew Mrs. Matthews must need the kitchen desperately for wedding prep. Therefore, lunch had become a Wedding Event.

Cole and Hannah, who were jointly in charge of this as the best man and matron of honor, took attendance at Wedding Events very seriously. Holly knew this, because she’d tried to sneak Tara off for a midafternoon quickie and been hauled back. How was she ever going to get enough of Tara, so they could go back to being just friends after this weekend, if she couldn’t get any of her?

“We’re going to the bar,” Hannah said in a tone that brooked no argument.

Hannah was kind of scary, in a hot way. This trip was teaching Holly a lot about her attraction to terrifying women.

“Isn’t one of the brides a recovering alcoholic?” Holly asked. “Why are we going to a bar?”

“It’s a small town,” Noelle explained. “If we don’t hang out at the bar, we hang out nowhere. But, trust me, I’ll be surrounded by three-quarters of the sober alcoholics in the greater Adirondacks. I’ll be fine.”

Holly raised an eyebrow. “What happened to the other quarter of them?”

“I don’t like them so I didn’t invite them,” Noelle said, shrugging, and walked off to herd Old Ladies.

Holly was still confused. “What are we going to do at the bar? At two in the afternoon?”

Hannah looked at her like this was a ridiculous question. “Eat lunch.”

“We literally just ate lunch,” Holly pointed out.

Hannah laughed. “Oh no, that was a light nosh. You haven’t spent a lot of time at Jewish family gatherings, have you?”

“I mean, not none. I did grow up in the Quad Cities, which has a long history of tight-knit Jewish community, so I went to a lot of b’nai mitzvahs,” she countered. “But I’m also Midwestern, so I understand the concept of the meal before the meal. Still…”

“Go with it,” Miriam advised. “We had to come up with something to get them all to Advent, and they won’t fit inside Collin’s diner.”

Ernie’s was dark and narrow, lined with wood that had soaked in generations of cigarette smoke. It felt like home.

Sawyer was behind the bar, while a woman Tara introduced as Ernie, the owner, was taking tickets and looking frazzled.

“The girl who’s supposed to be on the grill tonight is at home vomiting, so I need to be on grill, but I also need, like, three more waitstaff,” she explained, pulling out a pen and pad to take their order.

Holly gazed around their table thoughtfully. “What if I could get you one killer waitress and a line cook who’s famous in Australia?” she said, and Levi’s eyes lit up.

“Yes! Put me in, Coach!” He rubbed his hands together. “I will fry so many pickles.”

Ernie looked skeptical.

“I’ve been waiting tables for fifteen years,” Holly assured her. “I can get all these people served before Levi even has the tickets.”

“Oh,” Ernie assured her, “I’m not worried about you. I’m not sure I want to let Chef Angst over here near my griddle, lest he decide to start serving deconstructed tapas or something.”

Levi gasped in indignation. “I would never besmirch the name of your sainted grandmother Ernestine by soiling your deep fryer with fine dining.”

Ernie glared at him.

“Okay, I would,” he admitted, “but not right now. You’re way too swamped.”

She handed Holly her pad and paper. “Can you take this table?”

Holly saluted. “Roger that.”

Pointing at Levi, Ernie said, “Don’t screw this up.”

Levi grinned, and his beauty freaked Holly out.

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