Page 87 of The Billionaire Is Back

I whisper into her ear about the spanking and the tying up and the surprising relaxing effect it had on me.

“Hewhat?!” she yells out, glancing over at Grady with her mouth open.

I cover my face.

“Did you like it?!” she stage whispers.

I nod, totally unashamed by how much I liked it but a little embarrassed that Mrs. Barber is walking by.

“Oh, goodness. What did my boy do now?” she asks, rubbing my back.

“Oh, goodness! He is just so considerate. It’s so many things. Nothing I can— He does so many amazing things to me.”

“Foryou,” Vera says under her breath.

“Forme. So many sweet things are done for me. By your son.”

“Aww, that does sound like him. Mike and I are thrilled he’s finally locked you down.” She gives me a little wink before rejoining her husband and my parents.

“I guess the handcuffs are next,” Vera says somewhat quietly before busting a gut laughing.

“That is the last time I tell you about my sex life,” I hiss.

“Yeah, well, you’ll probably be gagged too, so youwon’t be able to tell me anything!” She’s turning red from laughing so hard.

I’m probably turning red from trying so hard not to laugh. “Why don’t you tell me why it was so important for Damien to play ‘Unsaid.’”

That gets her to stop laughing immediately.

She sighs as she glances over at him on stage and then pulls out her phone. “I’ve just missed hearing him sing. I miss that boy’s voice.” She opens up her camera app. “But don’t tell the boy because he’s impossible on a good day.” She starts taking pictures of Damien and then informs me, “This is just for his IG. I told him I’d take pics for him.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I will be deleting them from my phone once I send them to him,” she assures me.

I’m about to press Vera on that, since finding happiness with Grady is like being stricken with a glorious, benevolent disease—I want to spread this wonderful illness to my best friend so we can marry brothers, become legally related, and have babies that are cousins. But I catch sight of Crabby Crabberson entering the Sea Dog in a full flannel pajamas set, his messy old-man hair flopping around as he rubs his eyes. Oh no. Is he sleepwalking? He spots me and trudges over, stopping abruptly in front of me and resting his wrinkly old fists on his narrow hips.

“Clarence? Are you okay? Did you just wake up?”

“Yes. I set an alarm. No one should be up at this hour.”

“At nine p.m.?” Vera says. She’s not even trying to be snarky—she sounds genuinely bewildered.

Crabby ignores her. “Since your establishment has been closed,” he says to me, “I have been unable to make contact with you. I figured you’d be here tonight to enjoy some rock ’n’ roll music.”

I don’t say anything—because I don’t know what to say to that. I wait for whatever it is Crabby braved the streets at this ungodly hour in his pajamas to tell me.

“I’m willing to forgive you for the disruption to my daily routine and to continue giving patronage to your establishment…” He holds up a knobby index finger. “I can accept that you’ve made changes to the store. But I do not want the menu changed.”

“Well, that is actually the point of the changes, Clarence. Everything was too shiny and new. We’re going to go back a little to the old ways and the old style—remember?”

Hearing that seems to make Crabby the happiest I’ve ever seen him. Something resembling a smile etches its way across his craggy face. “Yeaaahhh.That’s what I’m talkin’ about.” He snaps his fingers. They don’t make a sound, but he snaps them. “The old’s got style.” He does some sort of weird old-timey shuffle dance toward me and takes my hand. “The old’s always got style.” He raises my hand to his dry, old lips to kiss it.

Oh, Crabby. If only you were a hundred and fifty years younger.

“C’mere.” I lead him over to the bar to where I set up the sample tray, chalkboard sign, and flyers. “Try one of my s’mores. It’s not hot anymore, obviously,but it’s still pretty good. This is the kind of thing I’ll be selling more of when we reopen.”

He takes a bite of my s’more sample, and it sort of looks like he’s going to cry. “We used to make s’mores when we went camping.” He sniffs. “My Rosie and me.”

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