She holds her hands up, examining them. “What's wrong with them?”
I sigh, enveloping her hands in mine. They're soft—the fingers petite and supple—beautiful things. “Nothing at all. But you don't need to do this. You don't?—”
Toni lifts our hands, quickly kissing my knuckles, causing my stomach to fill with static. “I know. But I want to.” She doesn't wait for my response, just frees her hands and leaves me momentarily stunned in the walk-in.
“You ever wait tables, darlin'?” Dad asks when Toni steps back behind the bar, me hot on her heels.
“Yes, sir,” she nods, studying Lucy's map. “Since I was twelve.”
“Excellent!” Dad looks over at me. “We got people waiting, son. Let's go!”
“Right.” I nod, absently watching Toni grab a couple plates, hopping into the fray without hesitation.
“Don't you have work to do?” She teases as she walks past me.
“Yeah, we're not here so you can slack,” Oliver says as he brings clean glasses back.
“Oh, fuck off,” I say, rolling my eyes even as a smile pulls at my lips.
To her credit, Toni catches on fast. Within thirty minutes,she's running food and clearing tables like she's been here for years. I try to send her home when we close the kitchen, but she shrugs me off, joining Lucy to knock out the side work for the last hour or so.
As much as I hate that she felt obligated to be here, I'm grateful for the extra hands, and strangely happy that those hands belong to her.
“Sweet Lulu, lock that door before anyone straggles in here!” Dad bellows when the last patrons leave. He grabs a bottle of whiskey off the top shelf, lining up glasses for everyone.
“Get off that leg, boy,” he instructs me as he pours.
“I'm f?—-”
“I wasn't askin'.” Dad slides Oliver a shot as he hops onto a barstool. “Far as I know, my name's still the one on all the paperwork. Get out from behind my bar and sit your ass down. Now.” His voice drops an octave with the last word.
“Dad voice!” Lucy, Oliver, and Michael all chorus.
By default, Mickey O'Sullivan was the non-confrontational sort. I could count on both hands the number of times he'd raised his voice at me or my brother. Even through the years of watching him run this place, I'd seen him end more bar fights with a joke or gentle word than a shout. That meant when he got stern, it was noticeable enough that the tone earned the moniker of “Dad voice” among the family.
He chuckles, passing Lucy and Toni their own shots.
I scoot the stool beside Toni over and rest an elbow on the bar.
“Stubborn ass,” he grouches, passing me my drink.
I could admit that was true, but right now, I'm more worried about my leg deciding to clock out the moment I get off it when there were still closing duties to see to. “Youraised me.”
Dad chuckles. “That shite comes from your mother's side.”
“I'm telling,” Michael teases.
“And I'll call you a liar before God,” Dad says.
Lucy leans over, saying to Toni in a stage whisper, “It comes from both sides. That's why they're like that.”
“Hey!” Michael and I protest in unison.
Dad bellows one of his signature booming laughs. “You may be right, Lulu.”
“Ha. Ha.” Michael mocks. “One of us has a pregnant wife to get home to.” He lifts his shot.
Dad nods. “Thank you to our friends for having our backs tonight. We'd have been cooked were it not for all of ya.
