Ruined By My Stepbrother novel · Chapter 14 of 32

Chapter 14: Table Eight

Frankie wanted to cancel it.

"I'll say the kitchen flooded," she said. "I'll flood it myself."

"No. We're full. Full is full."

My mother answered the group chat four minutes after Glenn.

"I have book club Saturday."

She had never once been to book club on a Saturday.

At seven-thirty the front door opened, and Dane walked in first.

White linen shirt, sleeves rolled, his hair slicked back wet.

Behind him came four men in pastel shorts and boat shoes, and two wives in big sunglasses.

Glenn came last, in a golf shirt, waving at the kitchen.

Eight.

Frankie sat them at the big round table in the middle of the room, where everyone could see them.

That was her idea.

Through the pass, I watched Dane stop at the frame by the door.

He read the review out loud to the investors and they laughed.

Barrett was at my left, on sauté.

He saw his father and set his tongs down very carefully.

"Don't," I said.

"I wasn't going to do anything."

"Your face was."

Dane ordered for the whole table without opening a menu.

Eight chowders. Eight Apologies. Two lobster rolls to share.

The chowder went out at seven-fifty.

It came back at seven-fifty-four, all eight cups.

Frankie set the tray on the pass with her mouth pressed flat.

"He says to tell the chef it tastes like a can."

My fry cook said a word I don't allow in my kitchen.

I poured eight fresh cups from the same pot and sent them back out.

Dane didn't touch the second round.

The scallops went out at eight-fifteen.

Barrett had seared all sixteen himself, perfect, gold as old brass.

They came back at eight-eighteen.

"Overcooked," Frankie said. "He says, quote, like an apology."

The tables around them had started watching.

Barrett picked up one of the returned scallops and cut it open with the side of his fork.

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