Mama clapped her hands. “Everyone, to the table.”
Aunt Zoe plucked at Irida’s sleeve. “And put on some music. Who’s that handsome singer I like? The one with the bedroom eyes?”
“Panos Kíamos?”
“That’s the one.”
Greek pop music filled the air as the long dining table and three extra folding tables filled with hungry Anagnoses from seventy-eight to seven. Once everyone had wine or grape juice for the birthday toast, Konstantin, Xander’s father and the oldest of his generation, tapped his glass with his spoon. At the kids’ table, the littles echoed their grandpa’s ting, ting, ting.
“Cut that out,” Xander’s eldest sister, Eleni, warned them. “You’ll break something.”
When Xander chuckled, she elbowed him, her glare the spitting image of their father’s. “Just wait till you have kids.”
Kids of his own? At almost forty, that didn’t seem likely. Since his divorce fifteen years ago, his love life had consisted of nothing but brief liaisons, and that was fine with him. He had this ridiculously large, loud family. And he had friends—well, a few—plus his work, which left him with no time for relationships.
Baba stroked his thick mustache as he surveyed all their expectant faces. “It is good to see the whole family together.” He furrowed his bushy brows. “Except for Gus. He should be here. Why is he not here?” His spotlight glare slid over the assembly, but no one made a peep.
“He should have driven up for his sister’s party,” Baba declared with a scowl as thunderous as Zeus’s. “Family is more important than that stupid souvenir shop.”
“That’s enough, Konstantin,” Zoe said with a sniff of wounded forbearance. “Augustus is doing his best, considering.” Her gaze flicked to Xander, then away, a gesture repeated by several other family members.
Bruised by their pity and judgment, Xander remained stoic. How freakin’ ludicrous that a bunch of twenty-first century Americans—well, Greek Americans, but still—clung to antiquated notions like family curses.
So what if Gus was less prosperous than the rest of his siblings? So what if he lived in a pokey little beach town instead of Seattle? So what if he’d broken free of the family restaurant business to go in a different direction? Gus was happy.
In fact, it was while helping Gus in Souvenir Planet, his sprawling beachside shop stuffed with everything from rare seashells to old-fashioned sideshow curiosities to alien-themed tchotchkes, that Xander had caught the entrepreneurship bug. His summer job there made him feel important and capable.
Unlike here, where everyone saw him as a bumbling loser, buffeted by bad luck beyond his control.
He strangled his napkin under the table.Curse of the second son, my ass.
As the family passed moussaka, roasted lamb, stuffed peppers, and Greek salad, Xander grazed his fingertips over the letter in his pocket—a talisman of hope.
“Come to Trappers Cove,” Gus had written in his slanted, sloppy script. “I’ve got a business proposition for you, something out of this world.”
Uncle Gus always had interesting ideas. True, they didn’t always make sense, but between his vivid imagination and Xander’s grounded practicality, they’d cook up something good.
And they’d better, because the wine bar’s failure chewed through a big chunk of Xander’s capital. He’d have to build up more funds before he could launch another business. And if that meant spending time in the funky little beach town he’d loved as a kid, there were worse fates—like overseeing supplies and laundry service from the stuffy back office of Niko’s Taverna.
Family curse or no, Xander had bigger plans. It wasn’t his fault his first few ventures failed, just a combination of bad timing and unforeseeable circumstances. He’d prove to his family, and to himself, that he was as capable, as creative, as responsible as any of them.
Dimitri reached across the table and snapped his fingers under Xander’s nose. “Hey, space cadet, you gonna hold that salad all night, or you gonna pass it so the rest of us can have some?”
Sofia, his next older sister, tsk-tsked. “Quit picking on Xander. It’s not his fault he was born under a bad star.”
“Isn’t that what you called your last place?” Dimitri teased. “Bad Star Wine Bar?”
“The Amphora,” Xander grumbled and shoved the salad bowl into his brother’s hands. He’d like to upend it over Dimitri’s sneering face.
“That’s a good name,” Zoe reassured him. “You just had bad luck. Can’t be helped.”
With a grateful glance at his aunt, Xander pushed away his plate. His appetite had withered. Why did he subject himself to these gatherings? In his family’s eyes, he couldn’t win.
Mama speared him with her eagle-eye gaze. “What wrong, Xander? You don’t like the food?”
Rule number one at a Greek family dinner: praise the food effusively. He’d fallen down on that job too.
He lifted a forkful of lamb. “Sorry, got caught up in my thoughts. Everything’s delicious.”
