And wow. It might make me the biggest asshole in the world, but my dinklesaurus rises to life in my pants, and my nutasauruses start to swell. My dick thinks the name of that restaurant makes a lot of sense. He likes the name. He likes everything right now. I barely manage to keep him from punching his way out of my pants and making a grand speech about how much he missed Luna. Ever heard a dick make a speech before? Neither have I, and I’m not sure I want to, so I ram my hands into the pockets of my pants before my dick gets to chopping, shredding, and ruining an expensive suit.
“Half an hour,” Luna repeats sharply. That’s basically her code for “Get the fuck out of my store before I change my mind and settle this with a sharp or dense object, or maybe a sharp and dense object and a healthy amount of rage.”
“Half an hour,” I agree. I take the damn bracelet that started it all—cursed bastard that it is—and head out the door.
I have no idea where this restaurant is, but with a name like that, I can’t miss it. I’m sure my phone will have no problem locating it, and it’s not like there’d be another a few blocks over, like with some chain restaurants.
I cram the bracelet in its bag straight into my pocket. It’s still very, very warm. Guess it’s not just chestnuts that are going to be roasting over an open fire tonight.
CHAPTER 3
Luna
Ugh. Shit sticks.
This is not how I envisioned my day going.
In fact, I didn’t plan on ever seeing Toren again.
As I catch a cab to the restaurant, I work out in my head how this went down. His granny must have found out from someone that I owned a shop. I always liked her. Actually, I loved her. She quite possibly wanted to give me some business because she felt bad that her apelike grandson dumped me all those years ago, and we never got to be a big happy family after all. I tried keeping in touch with Granny for a while after Toren and I broke up, but I guess I got busy, and she was always busy, so we just stopped sending emails after a few months.
Maybe she felt guilty. Anyway, she probably wanted to get the bracelet to me, and then somewhere along the way, she found out I had a son. She likely figured out what age he was, did the math, and B-to-the-INGO, baby. She arranged to send the bracelet to me and have Toren pick it up, maybe in hopes we’d meet, fall madly back in love, work things out, then he’d raise his kid, and everything would be as it should.
Or maybe I’m giving her too much credit here.
Maybe she randomly sent the bracelet—not knowing it was my store—and had Toren pick it up. No, no fucking way it went down like that. She knew. She knew it was my store. But perhaps she didn’t know about Milo and how the coincidence of him coming down this morning while Toren was standing right there was just that. A really shitty coincidence.
Either way, whatever way, any way, it happened, and I have to live in the present now. Things could get really complicated, so I know I have to be firm.
When I get to the intended restaurant that promises lobsters galore, a place I’ve heard is so overpriced that people don’t think to complain because it wouldn’t be classy. Such a hyped-up place with so many dollar signs and five-star ratings in most tour books and on all the foodie apps must be classy, and if one even thinks of complaining, they are viewed as not classy, and most people don’t want to be tasteless. Instead, they want to be tasteful, so somehow, the restaurant gets away with it.
The front is all done up in sleek black and chrome, with massive windows and gold and white lettering scrawled across it. The sign on the building is also done in scrolling gold and white. It lacks the typical color of the French Quarter, and I’m immediately repulsed. My stomach clenches up tighter than a beaver’s butthole, which I don’t know for sure is tight, but it’s nicely alliterative. I guess that could be from more than the building’s color scheme. It’s from knowing that Toren is inside, or he will be soon. And we have to talk about the tie we have that will always hold us together since he now knows about it.
My son.
I step through the door and am greeted with a sea of black walls, gold trim, and blinding crystal chandeliers. It’s quite a combination, and it burns the retinas a little. Overriding it all is the easily distinguished scent of seafood, which causes my already churning stomach to go through a few more hard spins.