Page 25 of Hot Shot

My heart pinches, but I nod. “Good. Okay, as I was saying . . . we can set up a bar like this for the different kinds of beers. I’ll let you and Cade decide on that. And it would be good to come up with some interesting toppings for the burgers. I found this website . . .” I click on my computer, trying to ignore the fact that I feel like crying. “Caramelized onions. Sautéed mushrooms. Different kinds of cheese . . . guacamole . . . alfalfa sprouts. Oh! Maybe we need a veggie burger just in case some guests don’t eat meat.”

“Jesus.”

I bug my eyes out at him. “Come on. You run a restaurant. You know you have to have a vegetarian choice.”

“Yeah, yeah. I don’t get it, but I know.”

“And we need some other side dishes too, like salads and maybe potato chips. Okay, I’ll shut up now.” I close my eyes briefly. “You get the idea.”

“Yeah, I get the idea.” His words are laden with additional meaning. “Anything else we need to sort out?”

“Let’s just nail down the time and a few other details, and I’ll get working on sending out the invitations.”

Moments later we finish up.

“Okay, gotta go.” Marco stands. Hostility ripples off him in waves. “I have to install a security camera at the back of the bar.”

“Oh.” I blink as I stand, too. “Why?”

“Some little bastard graffiti artists keep defacing our property.”

“Oh. You’re doing that tonight?”

“No. I’m making an excuse to leave.”

My mouth falls open. “Oh. Well. Thanks for being honest.”

“I’m an honest guy.”

Yes. Yes, he is.

“I’ll keep you posted about the guest list.”

“Thanks.”

“I guess the Spanish lessons are off the table,” I say glumly. Why do I feel like this? Disappointment mingled with regret and confusion.

He turns and gives me a look, one eyebrow elevated. “I got the impression you want to spend as little time with me as possible.”

“Look, I didn’t mean to insult you. I’m just being practical here. Let’s not make something that’s already uncomfortable even more painful. We have to hang out because our friends are friends. It’s already weird since we don’t get along—” His hoisted eyebrow makes me pause. Okay, we do get along in some ways. “But . . . I wouldn’t mind learning some Spanish.”

The look he’s giving me lengthens, tension stretching out. “Okay.” He sits down again. “What did you say you’d been doing to learn? Some online course?”

“Yes.” I pull the laptop closer again and tap at the keyboard. “Hang on.”

My computer says, “Buenos días.”

Marco grins. “Really? That’s pretty basic. Do you knowanySpanish?”

“I took a little in school, but that was years ago.”

“Okay, you’ve got some basics. You must know how to say hello, goodbye, please, and thank you.”

“Buenos días. Adiós. Por favor. Grass-eeus.”

“Gracias,”he says, correcting my pronunciation.

I try again, softening the R. “Gracias.”

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