shave soon. Promise.”
“No, that isn’t what I mean. You look...sadder than usual.”
“Than usual?” He laughed. “You make it sound like I walk around wearing a big mopey frown on all day, every day.”
“You have a charming, handsome smile, but your mouth rarely sends the ‘happy’ message to those big brown eyes. It’s that bratty girl’s fault. If she hadn’t been so afraid to buck her family...” Gladys pursed her lips. “She knew you better than anyone. Should have known you didn’t deserve ten years for driving a car. Should have known you weren’t in on the planning of that robbery, too.”
She was right about one thing: Maleah had known him better than anyone. But she was wrong about the rest of it.
“I love you for defending me, and I realize hearing the truth is tough, but I knew what the guys were planning, and went along with it, anyway. What happened afterward is on me, one hundred percent.”
Gladys cringed. “Boy. When you tell it like it is, you don’t fool around, do you?”
Ian answered with a one-shouldered shrug.
“Well, for what it’s worth, I love you, too, nephew. And I’m proud of you. It couldn’t have been easy, overcoming the stigma of having served time. But you did it without complaint, without shirking your responsibility in it. If I’d been blessed with a son, I’d want him to be exactly like you.”
She’d said it before, and Ian believed every word.
His aunt pointed at the wall behind him. “Is that new?”
He swiveled the chair. “Sort of. I finished it about a month ago.”
“It’s gorgeous, but then, so are all of your paintings. I love the colors of the sky. And you really captured the grandeur of the Constellation.” She sighed. “It’s so unfair...”
“What is?”
“That you sucked up all the artistic talent in this family.”
“You don’t give yourself enough credit. I can’t even sew on a button, but you’ve designed your own clothes for years. And need I remind you that big-deal cooking show asked permission to use your recipes?”
“Two. Two recipes. And sewing is just a matter of manipulating the machine’s needle.”
Gladys glanced around his office. “Just look at this place. I’m sure people are impressed when they sit here to discuss booking the banquet room. No wonder there’s a waiting list.”
“Dan and Lee earned the credit for that. Their menus are what draw people in, and keep them coming back.”
“Now who isn’t giving himself enough credit! I ran this place for twenty years before you, so I know what it takes. It’s because of your leadership that the bistro runs like a well-tuned machine.”
“Keep it up and I’ll start blushing like a schoolgirl. How will that look when I check on tonight’s holiday party?”
“All right. I know you’re uncomfortable with compliments. But I just have to say...you saved my wrinkly old butt and my pride, too.”
He’d agreed to accept her gift of ownership, provided she accepted a cut of the profits. “Why, just yesterday,” she continued, “one of my sorority sisters said she and her family celebrated her anniversary here. You wouldn’t believe how she went on and on about the ambiance, the food, the service. And she isn’t the only one! Putting you in charge was the smartest business decision I ever made.” Laughing, she added, “I’m making more money now than I did when I ran the place!”
He was about to thank her for sharing that with him when Terri stepped into the doorway.
“Sorry to interrupt, but a gentleman asked to see you. He’s with the holiday party.”
Ian shoved back from his desk as Gladys got to her feet.
“How’s that boy of yours?” she asked, falling into step beside Terri.
“He’s fine. Made a rocket—and launched it—yesterday.”
“Amazing.” Terri handed him a pink While You Were Out slip.
“Brady called a little while ago. Said there’s no hurry.”
His father lived in the apartment beside his, right upstairs. So why the phone call? He scanned the note and tucked it into his shirt pocket, hoping it wasn’t one of those days.
“You think he’s in one of his moods?” Gladys asked.
“Nah. Probably just didn’t feel like putting on shoes and coming downstairs.”
Gladys wasn’t buying it. In truth, Ian didn’t believe it, either. When tempted to drink—which happened every six months or so—his dad turned to Ian for some straight talk. So now Ian had a decision to make: meet with the would-be customer, or head upstairs to check on his dad...and risk losing a future booking.
He slid a business card from his pocket and scribbled his cell number on the back.
“See if the guy can give me a few minutes,” he said, handing it to Terri. “And if he can’t, ask him to call me in the morning.”
She faced Gladys. “Good to see you, Mrs. Turner.”
“You, too. Give that kid of yours a big hug for me.”
Once the hostess was out of earshot, Gladys said, “You’re going upstairs, aren’t you?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“You always have a choice.”
After the life he’d lived, didn’t he know it!
“Why don’t I go up, see if there’s anything I can do for him?”
Ian started to protest when she tacked on, “No sense losing a booking just because your dad needs another pep talk.”
“Can I trust you to go easy on him?”
She did her best to look offended.
“Seriously, Gladys...”
“All right. I’ll put on my kid gloves. By the time I’m through with him, he’ll be so sick of TLC he’ll wish he hadn’t left that message.”
With that, she began climbing the stairs, stopping halfway to the top.
“Answer a question for me, nephew.”
“If I can.”
“Who has a holiday party before Thanksgiving?”
Ian shrugged. “A busy rich guy who’s going to surprise his wife with a world cruise planned for Christmas?”
“Oh, to have a husband like that,” she said, and continued up the stairs.
