Page 80 of Kyle

“With…?” I drag out the word, reminding him.

“Oh, right. With an entrée purchase.”

“What’s the limit on the margaritas and pitchers?”

“Two margaritas per person and two pitchers per table.”

I give him a thumbs up. “Make sure the servers get the food orders. I’m not giving away booze for nothing. I want repeat food customers.”

“Got it. No food, no special.”

At the door, Brandy is set up at the hostess podium, prepared to seat people, a stack of menus at the ready. I give her a hug.

“Thanks for doing this on your day off, hon.”

“I’m glad to help, Kyle. And if the prospect needs help, I’m an experienced bartender.”

“Gonna quit your day job?”

She bites her lip. “Maybe I can fill in on weekends.”

“Let’s hope the place takes off first.”

“Oh, it will. I’m sure of it. Especially with the University so close.”

I walk to the door and step outside. My entire club is out there dressed in street clothes, making it look like we’ve already got a crowd waiting.

I spot my president and walk over and give him a back-slapping hug. “Thanks for everything, Prez. You’re a big part of making this happen.”

Cole grins. “I believe in you, Kyle. You’ve always had that go-get-‘em work ethic. I know you’ll bust your ass to make this a success.”

“Gonna try.”

“In the meantime, you can park the food truck at the clubhouse.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.”

“And maybe do a Sunday barbeque for us now and then.”

“I knew there had to be a catch,” I reply with a chuckle.

“There always is, brother.”

My mother rushes over. “I want to get a group shot. Everyone, bunch together.”

We all put our arms around each other and my father points up at the sign.

She gets a good shot and I give her a hug. “Thanks, Ma.” Then I turn to the crowd. “Come on in, everyone. We’re officially open!”

There’s a round of applause, and everyone files in. There are even several actual customers mingled in. My crew knows to take care of them first.

Green stands on the sidewalk with flyers, waving people in. He winks at me, then continues on like a carnival barker.

“Come on in, folks. Best food on the block. Try the homemade onion rings. You’ll see I’m not lyin’. Two-dollar margaritas. Five-dollar pitchers. You can’t beat that with a stick, mister.”

I chuckle and walk inside.

Soon the place is bustling with business.

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