Read Online Find My Way Home (Harmony Homecomings) by Michele Summers - Free Book Online
Authors: Michele Summers
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Keith recognized her brother, the one he’d met earlier, handing her a martini with lots of olives as if he’d been expecting her. It figured everyone knew her since her brother obviously worked as a bartender. A waitress approached wearing a neon-pink, V-neck T-shirt with The Dog written across her chest in sequins. He refrained from rolling his eyes, figuring Bertie designed the blinding T-shirts as well.
“Table for one? Or would you like to sit at the bar?” she asked, smiling, her lips covered with matching hot-pink lipstick. A silly pink bow flopped around her blond ponytail.
“Uh, I’m with Bertie Anderson.” Keith motioned in Bertie’s direction. “We’ll need a table for two.”
The waitress’s smile grew even wider. “Certainly. Bertie always sits at the owner’s table toward the back. Follow me.” The waitress grabbed a menu from a lime-green painted basket tacked to the wall. Keith followed her around the noisy diners to a booth tucked into an alcove that was not completely hidden but hidden enough for a little privacy.
“Why does Bertie always eat at the owner’s table?” he asked as he slid across the booth and took the menu.
The waitress placed two cardboard beer coasters on the sparkly, silver laminate tabletop.
“Because she’s the owner,” she giggled. “With Cal. You didn’t know?”
“Know what?” Bertie appeared at the waitress’s side with half a martini in her hand. She still looked pissed. “Thanks, Sara Jean. I’ll have my usual and get Mr. Morgan whatever he’d like.” She scooted into the booth on the opposite side.
She owned a bar and she decorated? What else did she do? Give manicures at Floyd’s barbershop?
Keith ordered a beer, figuring he’d need the extra fortification to deal with the crazier-than-bat-shit situation he currently found himself in. He glanced out over the busy bar at people eating, drinking, and singing along with the band. The bar had a comfortable atmosphere, in a psychedelic, morning-after, hangover kind of way. Fresh bread smells and the sizzling sound of grilling meat seeped from the kitchen, making his stomach growl. He turned back to Bertie and met her gaze. From the way her lips formed a definite frown, Keith knew he had some sucking up to do.
“I’m sorry for insulting your…uh…creative talents,” he said, trying not to grin. Her frown deepened. He cocked his head, thinking how that expression looked all wrong on her animated face. Her plump pink lips were made for hot, wet kisses, not frowning. Keith recalled the exact texture and succulent feel of her perfect mouth pressed against his…
“Oh, forget it,” she said, snapping him out of his kissing fantasy. “These loud colors and funky interiors draw a lot of people here. Cal and I wanted to do something different when we decided to renovate.”
“Looks like you’ve cornered the market on different,” Keith added, noting the crown molding painted in a black and white geometric pattern. “How long have you owned the place?”
Sara Jean appeared with their fresh drinks and took Keith’s order for the house special: marinated grilled chicken breast over spicy black beans and yellow rice. Bertie ordered a salad with grilled mahimahi on top.
“We inherited it from our parents.” She licked the rim of her fresh martini glass, and Keith all but guzzled his beer, trying to forget how her tongue felt tangled with his.
“Are your parents retired?” he asked.
“No. Dead.” She lowered her gaze and fiddled with the drink coaster.
Fuck. He couldn’t catch a break. First he insulted her design talent, and then he mentioned her dead parents. What next? “Sorry. Listen, I didn’t mean—”
“We need to discuss Aunt Franny’s proposal,” she interrupted.
There she went again… Aunt Franny? He leaned forward, trying to repress the anger surging forth over Francesca’s calculated blackmailing.
“How did she become your Aunt Franny? Her only sibling is my
“Table for one? Or would you like to sit at the bar?” she asked, smiling, her lips covered with matching hot-pink lipstick. A silly pink bow flopped around her blond ponytail.
“Uh, I’m with Bertie Anderson.” Keith motioned in Bertie’s direction. “We’ll need a table for two.”
The waitress’s smile grew even wider. “Certainly. Bertie always sits at the owner’s table toward the back. Follow me.” The waitress grabbed a menu from a lime-green painted basket tacked to the wall. Keith followed her around the noisy diners to a booth tucked into an alcove that was not completely hidden but hidden enough for a little privacy.
“Why does Bertie always eat at the owner’s table?” he asked as he slid across the booth and took the menu.
The waitress placed two cardboard beer coasters on the sparkly, silver laminate tabletop.
“Because she’s the owner,” she giggled. “With Cal. You didn’t know?”
“Know what?” Bertie appeared at the waitress’s side with half a martini in her hand. She still looked pissed. “Thanks, Sara Jean. I’ll have my usual and get Mr. Morgan whatever he’d like.” She scooted into the booth on the opposite side.
She owned a bar and she decorated? What else did she do? Give manicures at Floyd’s barbershop?
Keith ordered a beer, figuring he’d need the extra fortification to deal with the crazier-than-bat-shit situation he currently found himself in. He glanced out over the busy bar at people eating, drinking, and singing along with the band. The bar had a comfortable atmosphere, in a psychedelic, morning-after, hangover kind of way. Fresh bread smells and the sizzling sound of grilling meat seeped from the kitchen, making his stomach growl. He turned back to Bertie and met her gaze. From the way her lips formed a definite frown, Keith knew he had some sucking up to do.
“I’m sorry for insulting your…uh…creative talents,” he said, trying not to grin. Her frown deepened. He cocked his head, thinking how that expression looked all wrong on her animated face. Her plump pink lips were made for hot, wet kisses, not frowning. Keith recalled the exact texture and succulent feel of her perfect mouth pressed against his…
“Oh, forget it,” she said, snapping him out of his kissing fantasy. “These loud colors and funky interiors draw a lot of people here. Cal and I wanted to do something different when we decided to renovate.”
“Looks like you’ve cornered the market on different,” Keith added, noting the crown molding painted in a black and white geometric pattern. “How long have you owned the place?”
Sara Jean appeared with their fresh drinks and took Keith’s order for the house special: marinated grilled chicken breast over spicy black beans and yellow rice. Bertie ordered a salad with grilled mahimahi on top.
“We inherited it from our parents.” She licked the rim of her fresh martini glass, and Keith all but guzzled his beer, trying to forget how her tongue felt tangled with his.
“Are your parents retired?” he asked.
“No. Dead.” She lowered her gaze and fiddled with the drink coaster.
Fuck. He couldn’t catch a break. First he insulted her design talent, and then he mentioned her dead parents. What next? “Sorry. Listen, I didn’t mean—”
“We need to discuss Aunt Franny’s proposal,” she interrupted.
There she went again… Aunt Franny? He leaned forward, trying to repress the anger surging forth over Francesca’s calculated blackmailing.
“How did she become your Aunt Franny? Her only sibling is my
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