Page 4 of Happy Endings

He turned back to the pile of tickets and resumed filling drink orders. Business had been slow. Very slow. It was now mid-August, so he couldn’t blame the empty seats on the locals leaving town for summer vacations. There should be more customers due to the sweltering late-summer heat. People would rather eat out than heat up their own kitchen.

Being the only man in a room full of women waving vibrators around was going to be awkward as hell. But the restaurant needed every dollar it could get. Chain stores and hipster restaurants had practically taken over their neighborhood, and a small storefront like Mama Hazel’s couldn’t compete with the franchises and the dairy-free, gluten-free,taste-free eateries two blocks over.

The revolution had begun shortly after his mom passed away about eighteen months ago. He thought the newness would wearoff and people would grow tired of trendy, overpriced restaurants at District Market. Suburbanites eagerly hopped the Red Line to show off their smoothie bowls and quinoa tacos on social media. District Market continued to draw foot traffic away from the businesses that had supported their community for years.

“Two pitchers of margaritas.” Keisha shouted the order over her shoulder as she ran into the kitchen. His sister was doing double duty waitressing and keeping the buffet well stocked while their cook cranked out the food.

Andre smiled and pulled out two plastic pitchers. He could never be mad at his sister for long. She got a kick out of pushing his buttons, but she worked hard to help run their restaurant since their mother passed away. She was the only family he had left.

His sister had taken care of their mom while he’d spent two years finding himself in New Orleans. Instead of coming back to DC when his mom asked him to, he’d made excuses. After this bartending competition, he promised. Then there was another one. One more.

He should have been in DC to hold their hands when the doctor delivered the diagnosis that Mama had breast cancer. Instead, Keisha had to bear the burden. He’d let them down then.

Andre had dropped all his obligations in New Orleans and flown home. Mama’s diagnosis was grim. Doctors had caught the cancer too late. The last six months of her life had not been enough to make up for his selfish two-year stint in the Deep South. So much time wasted.

Mama had built this restaurant from almost nothing while raising the two of them on her own. He’d do everything in his power to keep her hard work and passion alive. Like make margaritas at a private bachelorette party.

“Could you make one of those half a pitcher and take it to table three? I need to run back and grab more waffles.” Keisha walked past the bar with a tray of fried chicken.

“Got it.” He wiped his hands and picked up a pitcher. A quick glance at table three revealed two women happily tearing into his mom’s secret chicken recipe. A woman with long black hair with her back to the bar and a white woman with red hair were leaning into each other in an intimate conversation.

Grabbing two glasses, he coated the rims with salt and set them on the serving tray with the pitcher. It was odd that bachelorette party guests would order only half a pitcher. He’d slung drinks enough for bachelorette parties in the Quarter to know that getting drunk was a highlight for the ladies. At least half of a pitcher was better for business than two glasses of water.

Instead of weaving through the full dining room, he swung around the side. Seeing a man walk through the crowd might make the guests feel uncomfortable. Better to disappear as much as he could.

This entire situation was getting more awkward by the minute. What would the neighbors say when they learned Mama Hazel’s had turned into a private sex toy pop-up? He was pretty sure his little sister didn’t even consider how this could hurt the restaurant’s reputation. It was too late to worry about the consequences now. He would find another way to bring more people to the restaurant.

As he came closer to the table, something about the Asian woman seemed familiar. He shook away the feeling. Thinking about New Orleans and Mama had him out of sorts.

“Evening, ladies. My sister tells me you’re thirsting for margaritas.” Andre flashed a smile and set the pitcher on the table.

“Well, bless your heart.” A southern drawl oozed out of the redhead’s mouth as her green eyes flashed daggers at him. He’d lived in New Orleans long enough to know those words were meant as an insult.

“Reina!” a familiar voice rang out.

Andre froze. He closed his eyes. It couldn’t be her. That woman just sounded like her because New Orleans had been on his mind.

Still, he could never forget that lilting voice. He opened his eyes and forced himself to turn toward her. Yes, it definitely was—

“Trixie.”

She was more beautiful than ever. The black hair she usually wore in a ponytail cascaded in waves down her back. Her dark brown eyes bore into him, and her pink lips held a forced smile. Soft, full lips that he’d kissed almost every day for nearly two years. Until—he took a deep breath. An ache settled in his chest. Andre plastered on his neutral bartender smile.

This Friday night sucked.

“Long time no see, Andre Walker. Or should I say ‘Tre’?” She did not sound happy to see him.

“What are you doing in DC?” he blurted. When her question registered, he replied, “I’m a third.”

“Third?” Her brow furrowed.

“My full name is Andre Walker III, after my father and his father. Growing up everyone called me Tre.”

When he’d moved to New Orleans four years ago, he needed to be his own person, not connected to his mom or the restaurant. He’d dropped his childhood nickname, Tre. With the city’s French history, “Andre” fit right in. Going by it made him feel more grown-up. People automatically treated him like an adult.Unlike people here, who couldn’t see him as anyone but little Tre, Hazel’s boy whose father died when he was young.

“You left bartending in New Orleans to tend bar in DC.” Trixie pulled the napkin out of her shirt and stood up. “Guess you’ve moved on and up.”

Behind him, Reina snorted.

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