Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80555 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80555 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
“Told you.” Magnus smirked.
“It’s funny how different kids are,” I mused as I took another slow drink. “One of my other kids, Rowan, landed a TV show part that starts filming in the summer. I wish he’d think about college, but acting is his dream job.”
“He’s made it to a few karaoke nights here.” Magnus nodded with easy approval. I was still working on that emotion where Rowan’s future was concerned. “Amazing set of pipes. He’ll do fine in Hollywood, I bet.”
“I hope you’re right.” I exhaled hard, spinning my glass on the polished bar top. “As a dad, I still worry.”
“It’s your job.” Magnus sounded like he’d delivered the “it’s my job to worry” lecture a time or ten himself. “Now, what’ll it be for food? You don’t want too much alcohol on an empty stomach.”
“Believe me, I learned that lesson in college. What goes with dessert tequila?” I asked as he handed me a menu. Lord, I was tired of making decisions. My job as lead paramedic. The house. The kids. Even with my friends, I was the decisive one. The person who set the schedule and followed up.
“You asking me to choose?” Magnus’s smile widened to a mischievous grin.
“I guess I am.” I glanced away lest the wattage of that grin or its wicked promise make me combust on the spot.
“Any allergies?” He scooped up my menu, moving to type on one of the tablet screens they used for taking orders.
“No, and I’m not picky.”
“Good.” Magnus winked at me, and I needed another gulp of tequila. Yep, this had been a bad, bad decision, yet it would be rude to leave before the food arrived. Luckily, Magnus was busy for a bit with a patron at the far end of the bar and then speaking with one of his servers, leaving me to my tequila and brooding. Though my thoughts were dark and cloudy enough that I was almost grateful when Magnus returned to place three little plates in front of me.
“Congrats, you get to try three of our new small plates.” Magnus gestured with a flourish as he also set down another flute of tequila. “You’re looking at smashed potatoes with local cheese and chives, stuffed artichoke with house-made lemon-garlic aioli, and steak bites with a burgundy reduction. I’ve paired them with a reposado tequila to complement. Enjoy.”
“I will say your food here is always top-notch.” I went right for the potatoes with their crisp edges and fluffy centers to soak up some of the first shot before I even thought about sipping the new drink. “Do you come up with the menu yourself?”
“Some.” Magnus’s tone was humble, but The Heist had a growing following among locals and tourist foodies. Since opening, the place had gained a reputation as a welcoming, inclusive space, but recently, its additions to the thriving Mount Hope food scene kept diners returning. “I’ve got a pretty good kitchen crew, finally, and I like letting them experiment, bring me fresh ideas. Other dishes, like the steak tips, are inspired by past travels. I drew flavors from a dish I had in Dijon, France.”
“It’s amazing.” The meat was meltingly tender with a dark sauce rich with wine and onions with a hint of brightness. I took a small sip of the new tequila, letting it warm the back of my throat. Magnus undoubtedly had more important things to do than chat with me, and letting him drift away again would be the smarter move. But my mouth opened anyway. “Maren said Diesel spent part of the year after graduation backpacking through Europe?”
“Yep. He’s got the travel bug like me.” There was that fatherly pride again, an emotion I recognized well, even if I would have been a nervous wreck sending an eighteen-year-old off to find his way through another continent.
“I’ve never been outside of the West Coast.” Why that admission sprang from my throat, I had no clue. It wasn’t something I ever dwelled on. I’d been as far south as Arizona and as north as Seattle, all for practical travel reasons, but Magnus’s obvious gusto for travel gave me pause.
“Well, I’m glad I can bring you a taste of France then.” Magnus offered another of those impish smiles. “And you’re about to have an empty nest. Maybe you can travel more then?”
“Maybe.” I frowned, taking a minute to sample the artichoke, which was spicy enough to be something I couldn’t get away with serving the kids or Montgomery, but addictive, like my favorite guilty-pleasure sweet-chili chips. “John still has another year of high school. He’s hoping for a football scholarship. Wren will be a freshman, but they’re looking at some early-college STEM programs that would replace the last part of high school.”
“Smart kids. And see, you’ll have the house to yourself in no time—”