Dylan’s hand shot out, fast and strong, his grip like a vise made from titanium. Damn. Alex squared his shoulders during the handshake, drawing on core strength to match the ex-firefighter’s tight clasp. Both men smiled, and Dylan’s eyes flitted away, fast, as if he weren’t quite convinced this meeting was a good idea.
Alex had to agree with him.
Laura gave him a warm hug that reminded him of his own mother’s embraces, sweet and confident, caring and pure. You knew where you stood with them both, knew you were welcomed and appreciated exactly as you were. No pretense, no airs, no affect.
That was refreshing.
Josie was a skittish little dog by comparison when he watched her give out hugs and handshakes, her body trembling a bit, as if all the kinetic energy drained her muscles and bones to the point of the shakes, removing some essence that made her come unglued. Time would improve it, he hoped, but it pained him to watch her struggle with something so casual and social, a little bit of protocol that he didn’t think twice about. Someone’s arms opened and you went in for the brief connection. A kiss on the cheek was a nice gesture. A handshake was a hello.
But for her, it all seemed to be land mines. When they were done, he would take her back to her—their—apartment and fix her a drink, and they would succumb to a few episodes of whatever new season of television she’d discovered, binge watching on the couch until their imaginations were full of someone else’s life, one easier to digest and analyze. Her nervousness would be purged and he would touch her in ways that charged her batteries, deepened their intimacy, and made life more comfortable for her.
An island of two.
That was for later, though. Right now, he had reluctant alpha men he was supposed to corral into some sort of pseudo-therapy masquerading as lunch. And he had to act like he liked it. One cheesy grin coming up.
“You having a stroke, Alex?” Madge cracked as she settled Mike, Laura, and Dylan in the booth next to him and Josie. “You look like an altar boy who just drank all the communion wine.”
The group laughed and he let them, though Josie gave him the side eye. “Just smiling,” he said in as bland a tone as possible. The tip of Josie’s toe bounced against his shin. She fidgeted like this when she got nervous, and mistook his leg for part of the table.
“Cut it out, then,” Madge said. “You look creepy.”
“I look creepy when I smile?”
“When you smile like that.”
The grin faded all too quickly as the front door jingled, opened by three people, two of whom he liked and one he could do without.
“Josie!” Darla squealed as she rushed in and took over the room. Her eyes were big and wide as she looked around Jeddy’s.
“You act like you’ve never been here,” Josie said, taking in Darla.
“Not in the daylight, and not sober. Is the food good? Last time we were here I was so drunk I thought I ordered deep-fried Kit Kats dipped in tartar sauce.”
“You did,” Madge said dryly.
“And you let her?” Alex asked.
Madge shrugged. “Can’t stop stupid. If I did, we wouldn’t have two-thirds of our customers.” She gave Dylan a hard look that made him do a double take.
“What does that look mean?” he asked.
“Whatever you want it to mean,” she said sweetly. A little too sweetly, while patting Dylan gently on the cheek and then marching away to seat an eight-top group that had just come in.
Dylan gave everyone perplexed looks. “Why does she pick on me?”
Darla scooched in next to Josie and flashed Dylan a grin. “I’ve heard she only does that if she secretly likes you.”
“Or is preparing to use you in a ritual druidic ceremony as a blood sacrifice,” Mike deadpanned.
“Not sure which is worse,” Dylan mumbled.
Laura elbowed him playfully in the ribs. “Hi, Darla!” she said with a chirp that was a little too friendly. Alex gave Trevor a nod and a wave, then extended the same courtesy to Joe, who hovered above the group, stiff as a board and with a face you could turn into a kitchen counter. It was polished granite, without a trace of personality, and hard as could be.
And where all the worst messes took place.
Trevor, on the other hand, was all friendly smiles and handshakes, though Alex sensed a bit of apprehension in him as well. Darla’s voice was just a notch too loud, half a standard deviation off center, just nervous enough to make him wonder what in the hell these six (seven, including Josie) expected from today’s talks.
He knew one thing, though: they expected great food. And would get it.
Madge cruised by. “No need for menus. I have Caleb cooking up a collection of everything.”
“Everything?” the group intoned together, then laughed. All except Joe, who just stood there, bugging Alex more and more by the second.
“Everything you could want,” Madge added. “Coconut shrimp, our new strawberry lobsters, the toffee pistachio crepes…”
Laura pretended to wipe drool from her mouth. “Yum.”
“And the same old crappy coffee.” Madge slid a series of carafes and white mugs their way, followed by a practiced swish of the hand as she sailed two pitchers of cream on the tables like a champion shuffleboard player.
“How do you do that?” Laura asked. Alex dug into his coffee, needing whatever fortification he could have for what was coming.
“Do what?”
“Slide it down the table so not one drop of cream is wasted.”
“Practice. Lots of practice.” Madge winked and disappeared. The scent of something garlicky wafted through the restaurant, followed by a distinct fryolater sound, like hot oil being breached by an ascending whale.
“That woman is a machine,” Mike said in admiration.
Alex frowned slightly, then tried to shake it off, but Laura—always perceptive—caught the micro-change in him. She reached for his hand and frowned. “What? I know she had a heart attack recently…”
He didn’t want to violate Madge’s privacy, so he played it simple. “She’s fine.” His shaky smile must have been as bad as Madge had thought, because Laura’s look of alarm didn’t make matters any better.
“Is she in bad shape?” Laura asked, persistent. The tone of their private conversation must have been such that it set everyone on edge, because suddenly more sets of eyes were on him. Darla sat next to Josie across from him, and Trevor next to her. Joe stood at the end of the booth, while Mike had sat next to Alex. Laura and Dylan were right behind them, in the low booths, her neck twisted.