The Mistletoe Kisser - Lucy Score Page 0,43
Ryan,” Calvin Finestra, Blue Moon’s resident contractor, greeted them as he exited the restaurant.
“Hey, Calvin,” Sammy said, trying her best to calm herself down.
“Don’t forget to give me a call after the first of the year, and we can start drawing up plans for some of those renovations,” Calvin reminded her.
“Will do,” she promised.
“See you at the Solstice,” he called as he exited the building.
Ryan frowned. “How does everyone know my name?”
Perhaps word of his astronomical ego preceded the man? “It’s the Facebook gossip group,” she explained. “You don’t want to know. Let’s see if Rainbow is here so you can solve your mystery, and I can get back to my regularly scheduled day.”
She didn’t wait for him to agree. Instead, she marched through the delectable scents of garlic and fresh-baked bread, making a beeline for the host stand. It was manned by Emma Vulkov, Franklin’s third daughter. Emma had short red hair and no tolerance for nonsense. Like her youngest sister, Eva, she too was newly married and pregnant. Unlike Eva, she was dressed in stylish leather leggings and a cowl neck sweater that matched the green of her eyes.
“Hey, Emma. What are you doing here? Don’t you have another restaurant to run?” Sammy asked. Emma was a West Coast transplant brought in by Jax Pierce to manage John Pierce Brews.
Emma grinned at her, and Sammy noticed her gaze travel to Ryan. “Oh, you know restaurants. It’s my day off at the brewery, but the hostess called in sick and Niko’s in New York for a photoshoot. Plus, Dad promised me a free lunch, so here I am. Table for two?”
“Actually, we’re looking for Rainbow,” Sammy told her. Her stomach growled, complaining that she wasn’t prioritizing chicken parm over getting rid of Ryan.
Emma gave a toss of her coppery blunt bob and glanced around the dining room. “You know what? I think you just missed her. She was here with her women’s entrepreneur group, but she headed out just a few minutes ago.”
“What? Why? Where is she? Where did she go?” Sammy demanded.
Emma’s eyes widened, and Sammy dialed it back a notch. “Uh. I don’t know. She didn’t say. Is it an emergency?”
“Yes,” Sammy said.
“No,” Ryan said at the same time. “We’ll take that table for two.”
Emma smiled up at him. “You must be the famous Ryan.”
Sammy decided her next project would be to take that gossip group and infect it with a virus that would prevent anyone in it from ever typing her name again.
“I am,” Ryan said. “I’d shake your hand, but you don’t want to know what happened at our last stop.”
Emma laughed and picked up two menus. “Knowing Sammy, I can only imagine. Follow me. A spot in front of the fireplace just opened up.”
Sammy frowned at the Reserved sign Emma plucked off a cozy table directly in front of the stone hearth. Wood snapped and crackled comfortingly as orange flames warmed the space. A half-wall lined with plants and wine bottles created a kind of separation from the rest of the tables. It was prime dining room real estate for a romantic, intimate meal. Lucky her.
“Is there another table available?” she asked, hoping for something noisy near the door for a quick escape.
“Don’t listen to her. This is perfect,” Ryan said firmly as he warmed his hands near the fireplace.
“It was a canceled reservation,” Emma explained. “Make yourselves comfortable and consider the stuffed mushroom caps. They’re incredible.” She left them to an awkward silence.
“I’m going to go wash my hands,” Sammy announced and headed to the restroom.
She took her time, washing her hands until they were red, then stripping off her hat and fluffing her hair. Not that it mattered what her hair looked like. Her lunch date wasn’t interested. Besides, the hat was just going to go right back on.
When she returned to the table, she found Ryan deep in discussion with Franklin Merrill, the huggable owner. He was a burly man in his sixties with broad shoulders and a squishy center. In deference to the holidays, the man had traded in his trademark Hawaiian shirts for ugly Christmas sweaters.
“So you’re saying I’d be better off depreciating the new pizza oven with a one hundred fifty or two hundred percent method than the straight line?” Franklin asked.
“Restaurant equipment like ovens lose more value faster. So it makes more sense to depreciate it that way,” Ryan said. His gaze flicked to Sammy.
“Dr. Sammy!” Franklin said. He dropped the basket of bread and butter he