She set her mouth in a tight line and pivoted on her stylish boots.
“Hang on.” I jumped in front of her on the sidewalk and spread my hands wide like a vigilant security guard. “That’s totally and completely unfair. I’ve been working my ass off—”
“Language.”
“For months. No, years. There is no part of my so-called ‘culinary adventure’ that hasn’t been meticulously planned. I furthered my education, apprenticed at top-tier restaurants for experience, applied for and got my own small-business loan, drew plans, hired a contractor. Is it a risk? Absolutely! I may bomb. This could be a disaster. Or…it might be the beginning of something special. I’m not blind or stupid. I live in the real world, and I know that success doesn’t happen overnight. But that’s not going to keep me from trying.
“As for Gabe…he’s the best thing that ever happened to me, Mom. He loves me and he believes in me.” I gestured toward the bistro. “Everyone in there believes in me. And they don’t care if I’m straight or bi or gay or whatever. They don’t care if I put one flag in the window or ten. They just want me to do well.”
“So do I. But I want you to do things the right way.”
I huffed in annoyance. “You mean your way. I guess I’ll have to prove you wrong.”
“As an investor, I hope you do, but—”
“I don’t want your money.”
She pulled her sunglasses off in a flourish. “Don’t be foolish, Derek. You obviously need help.”
“No, I don’t. I’m going to do this myself. My way.”
I held her razor-sharp gaze for a long moment before moving toward the door. I pulled it open and paused, wedging Phoenix’s scarf in the plastic slot where the former occupant used to hang an “open” sign. When we opened this bistro, we’d be out and proud with it, dammit.
Chapter Four
Gabe
Christmas lights twinkled merrily from almost every house on the street. Including ours. Derek had a thing about decorating on December first. It didn’t matter what day of the week it fell on or what else we had going on in our lives. He made a point of pulling out the neatly labeled holiday bins from the garage the day before and setting them in the general area they were going to be displayed.
Not that we did a ton of decorating inside. We put up a tree in the living room near the window and a few nutcrackers we’d been given as gifts. Hanging the lights was the biggest chore by far. And Derek freaking loved lights. It wasn’t enough to string them across the eaves. He liked to wrap the huge olive tree in the front yard, the hedges, and even the potted topiaries flanking the front door. It was a pain in the ass, but I had to admit, it looked amazing.
I hiked my water polo bag onto my shoulder, smiling as I stared up at our California Christmas wonderland. A couple of our neighbors had blow-up lawn decorations and rainbow-colored lighting strung around impossibly tall palm trees in their yards. But I liked ours best. It was sophisticated and elegant. Two things I never aspired to be, but hey…I didn’t mind it so much, I mused, admiring the thick red-velvet ribbon on the wreath as I opened the front door.
“Hey, Der, I’m home,” I called out, dropping my bag in the foyer. I rounded the corner and stopped short when I spotted him on the sofa, surrounded by cards, photos, and his restaurant binder. “Whatcha doin’?”
Derek grinned as he glanced up at me. And I swear, that smile got me every time. My pulse skittered and my heart revved up a notch. God, I had it bad.
“I’m sending holiday cards, approving photos Mitch wants to use for marketing, and going over details for the party.”
I sat beside him and brushed his hair from his forehead before tackling him. I pinned his arms beside his head and blew raspberries on his neck until he almost tossed me off the sofa. “Whoa. Easy, partner.”
Derek chuckled. “Quit it. You know I hate that.”
“Liar.” I gave him a big, sloppy kiss, then sat up and pulled him with me. “How many days till showtime?”
“Eight days till the party, ten till our grand opening. Did you get someone to cover your games?”
“Yep. I have practice both mornings, but I’ll be free all day and all night,” I assured him, leaning forward to pick up a Christmas card. A