Page 57 of Business Casual
That’s the problem, I think. The Porter family does know exactly who I am. I am fun-loving, always-loud, sometimes-takes-trivia-night-too-seriously Charlie. I am the guy who is here to have a good time.
But I’d also like to be the guy that earns a spot at the table by being thoughtful and kind. I’d like to maybe not be a giant joke of a human being all the time. Coincidentally, I’d also like to be the guy that one particular Porter doesn’t have regrets about.
Maybe I should bring her a book too.
I stroll over to the counter and lean against it. “What’s gotten into you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve been grumbling and growling since I walked in here.”
“Have not.”
“Have too.”
“Have not.”
I give him a look and snatch the book out of his hands. “Don’t underestimate how far I’m willing to take this, Alex Alvarez. You’re a certified grump right now. What’s going on?”
Alex sighs and collapses in the old leather chair he keeps behind the counter. It creaks and groans beneath his weight. “Abuela made you tres leches.”
“You’re mad about tres leches?”
He sighs. “Among other things,” he mutters under his breath.
I scratch my eyebrow. “Yeah. She made me tres leches.” She had Caleb bring it to me. When I peeled back the foil, it was missing the entire left corner. He had cinnamon clinging to his collar and a glare on his face when he handed it to me, utterly unrepentant.
“She usually makes it for me,” Alex grumbles.
I grin. “Luckily, I know how to share.”
Alex raises both eyebrows. “Is that so? I seem to remember you screaming and shoveling carnitas in your mouth the last time she brought you leftovers and I asked for some.”
That’s fair. I did do that. But I only have lunch dates with Abuela once a month and he can see her whenever he wants. She’s his grandmother. I’ve inserted myself into the Alvarez family with the same lack of grace I seem to do everything else, but I can’t feel bad about it. Not when I get tres leches.
“There’s some left. I’ll bring it to the next harvest festival meeting.”
“Ah yes, the harvest festival committee.” Alex’s dumb face slips into something smug. “I heard you volunteered to help Nova with her business visits.”
“Where did you hear that?”
Alex shrugs. “The phone tree.”
Goddamn it. I knew it. I slap both hands on the counter. I knock over a cup of pens and a haphazard stack of novelty Post-it notes. “Why the hell am I not getting phone tree messages?”
Alex picks up his book and flips through the pages, trying to find his place. He dog-ears the corners every time he stops, like an absolute barbarian. “The text chain is on hiatus. Barney over at the farm ran out of minutes.”
“You don’t need minutes to text.”
Alex waves his hand over his head. “You know what I mean.”
I have no idea what he means. “How are you getting information if the phone tree isn’t working?”
Alex’s eyes flick up from the book, then back down again. He turns two more pages, then flips back three. “I never said the phone tree isn’t working.”
He’s being deliberately obnoxious. I glance at my watch. I don’t have time for this. I’m already cutting it close to dinner, and I won’t be late because Alex doesn’t feel like being forthcoming. I grab the book and shove it under my arm.
“We’re talking about this later,” I grumble.
