Isle of Waves (11 page)

“I can do it myself,” Wig said.

“Let me look after you. I want you well so I can beat you senseless for setting Steve on me.” Nibs kissed him again and came back with a large black coffee.

Wig drained the water and held his hand out for the coffee. Nibs handed it over and went off with the glass to wash up.

“You should be drinking a Bloody Mary,” Liam said, from behind the counter. Nibs had him cutting up salad.

“The last time he had a Bloody Mary, the results were… spectacular,” Nibs said.

Liam raised an eyebrow.

“Let’s just say I’ve never been able to look at tomato juice again,” Wig confessed. Even the thought of it made him want to heave.

The hot and fragrant coffee fortified Wig enough to return to the restaurant. The place was quiet and Sam looked around.

“I could go and round up some old ladies for coffee,” he suggested.

“Why don’t you have breakfast?” Wig said. “Then you can do your thing along the front and get us some lunch customers.”

“Cool.”

“You can take a break now if you want, Ben.”

Ben shook his head. “I’ll wait until Sam gets back.”

“I can look after the place for half an hour,” Wig said.

“Have you seen the color of your face, boss?” Ben held up a white paper napkin. “You’re this color.”

“No, I’m not,” Wig scoffed.

“Uh, you are,” Sam said. “You’re the color of your shirt and the bags under your eyes match your trousers.”

Wig wore a white cotton shirt with black pinstripe trousers. “Nice. Thanks, guys, you know how to bolster a man’s ego.”

“You’re welcome,” Sam said. “Have you eaten today?”

Wig blanched. Food was something he had to work up to. At the moment, coffee was all he could manage.

Sam’s lips twitched. “I guess not. We’ll keep the cooked breakfast away from you.”

“You’re too kind,” Wig said sarcastically.

Paul and Skandik wandered in just as Liam and Sam sat down to breakfast. “Morning,” Paul said. “We’ll have whatever they’re having.”

“Liver and bacon coming right up,” Wig said.

“What?” Skandik said. “What and bacon?”

“Liver,” Wig said brightly. “I’ll order it for four.”

“That’s disgusting.” Paul pulled a face. “I can’t stand liver. I thought they were having something normal. Why would they want to eat liver?”

From the horrified expression on Skandik’s face, he obviously felt the same way.

“I’ve no idea.” Wig guided them over to Liam and Sam’s table. “Your guests have arrived.”

Sam looked up. “What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too, big brother.” Paul slumped in the corner, and Skandik sat next to him. “What the hell are you eating liver for at this time of the morning?”

Completely baffled, Liam and Sam looked at him and then at Wig who’d come over with the coffee and teapots.

“What’s he talking about?” Sam asked.

“He said you’re eating liver and bacon instead of a fry-up like normal people.”

Just then Ben came over with two large plates of bacon and eggs and placed them in front of Liam and Sam.

Paul looked at the food and then at Wig. “Is this your idea of humor?”

Wig grinned. “Yep. Your face was priceless.”

“So we’re not getting liver and bacon?”

“We don’t serve liver and bacon,” Wig pointed out as he served the drinks. “Which you’d know if you’d paid attention on Sunday.”

“Arse.”

“I have a fabulous arse,” Wig replied, slapping it for effect.

“Yes, he does,” Nibs said, bringing over two more plates to Paul and Skandik. “I tell him that frequently.”

Paul looked suspiciously at the plate in front of him. “There’s no liver hiding in here?”

“Liver? I won’t have it on the premises.” Nibs shuddered.

“I don’t know how you can be a chef and not like liver,” Wig said, being very partial to tender calves’ liver. Judging from the groans around the table, he was the only one.

“Are you all right, Wig?” Skandik asked. “You look pale. Are you ill?”

“I’m fine,” Wig said.

Paul studied him closely. “You look like you need a stiff brandy.”

Nibs burst out laughing. “Believe me, that is the last thing Wig needs.”

“Oh?”

Wig rolled his eyes, unable to suppress a wince. Even his eyeballs hurt. “I had one or two drinks last night.”

“At the pub?” Paul looked puzzled. “I thought you were fairly sober.”

“The lush tackled a bottle of Scotch when we got back,” Nibs explained helpfully.

“And you’re still standing?” Skandik looked at him with admiration. “I can’t handle whiskey at all.”

“I’ll learn ya,” Paul said, patting Skandik’s thigh. The pat turned into a grope that morphed into something a whole lot more X-rated.

Wig stared pointedly at where Paul’s hand lay. “Easy, tiger. This is a family restaurant.”

Skandik blushed and pushed Paul’s hand away. “Sorry, I’m….”

“Just fine, Skandik, you’re just fine.” Paul scowled at Wig, who remembered Skandik was still coming to terms with being out, at least on this side of the pond. Paul didn’t want anything to frighten Skandik back into the closet.

It was Skandik’s turn to soothe Paul. “It’s cool. I’m a big boy.”

“Oh dear God,” Liam moaned around a mouthful of bacon, “did you have to say that to Paul? You know what he’s like.”

Paul smirked, but before he could make a suitably crass comment, Skandik shoved a slice of bacon in his mouth.

“Chew,” Skandik advised.

“I bet you don’t say that when he’s eating sausages,” Sam muttered. “What?” he asked as Liam turned an outraged stare on him.

“I need more coffee,” Wig muttered. Today was going to be way too long.

The filter coffee needed remaking, so Wig indulged in a latte while he made a fresh brew. Then he went around the tables, filling up the cups where invited. Endless refills of coffee had been Wig’s idea. Initially, Nibs had been against it, until he’d seen how much more money customers had spent when they were encouraged to linger in the quiet times. Today was no exception, with orders of more toast, pastries, and bacon.

Wig passed the orders onto Steve and sipped at his latte for a minute before he went to help the next family standing by the door.

The man scowled as he approached. “How long does it take to get seated here?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Wig said as politely as he could. “Were you waiting long?” The family had been waiting about a minute, tops.

The man grunted at him. His wife had the grace to look embarrassed, and the kids just ignored their father.

Wig led them to a table and handed out the menus, with his fakest bright smile, which was nothing short of a miracle considering the inside of his head was performing a frantic cancan.

As Wig returned to the bar, Ben passed by with a tray of dirty crockery. “Have you noticed it’s been busier this week than it has all summer? Do you think the word has got out what happened?”

“So what? People are coming into the Lagoon to get blown up whilst they eat? Yeah, I can see that’s a great marketing ploy.”

Ben shrugged. “They could be like the idiots who stand on the quayside in a storm.”

“Oh God, I hope not, or their dining experience is going to be really boring.” Wig laughed. “I think some of these people were dragged in by Sam on Sunday and they’ve come back. You should have seen him gather up customers. He didn’t stop.”

“You should employ him until we get our customers back.”

“And what happens when he leaves?”

“Then one of us needs to be Tigger.”

“Darling, much as I love musical theater, I don’t think an orange tiger is in my repertoire.”

Ben grinned. “Steve and I could take turns. We’ve even got the onesie.”

Wig groaned. “Why does that not surprise me?” He looked over to see the impatient customer giving him “the stare.” “Go get rid of that and come and talk some more. I’ll deal with Mr. Glare of Doom.” Wig minced over to the table, enjoying the mixture of embarrassment and disgust that crossed the man’s face. He usually tamed it down for anyone who wasn’t a friend, but there were some occasions he couldn’t resist the urge to make people uncomfortable.

“May I help you, sir?”

The man, an overly coiffured type in his forties (probably trying to hide the receding hairline from the mistress), gave him a fixed smile. “Finally. Scampi and chips, twice, and two fish fingers and chips, two teas, and two cokes.”

Wig turned his smile on the children. “Would you like crayons for coloring.” They were a bit old, but one never knew these days.

The boy ignored him, but the little girl nodded shyly.

“Yes, please,” she said.

“Coming right up, darling.”

As he sashayed away, Nibs came over, his eyebrow raised. “What’s with the walk?”

“This is how I usually walk,” Wig said.

“Only when you’re putting on a show.”

Wig got two bottles out of the fridge. “Maybe that’s how I feel today.” He said it belligerently as if he was expecting a fight from Nibs, but Nibs just nodded.

“Fair enough. You take the order in to Steve, and I’ll take the drinks over.”

Confused, Wig said, “The little girl wants crayons.” He handed over the tray, placed some crayons and a coloring book on it, and watched his six foot plus a number of inches bear of a lover mince over to the table to the openmouthed bemusement of the customer.

He rolled his eyes and went into the kitchen.

“You look like shit,” Steve said.

“I love you too.” Wig handed over the order and backed out of the kitchen before he ripped off Steve’s head for breathing.

Nibs came toward him, a smirk on his face. “That was fun. Did you see his face? He looked like he was going to run out of the door screaming.”

“You’re a wicked, wicked man, Nibs. He was probably scared you were going to fall on top of him, a great big man lumbering toward them with drinks. Besides I flounce with flare.”

“You certainly do, my darling. You are the queen of flare.” Nibs brushed Wig’s hand as they passed, their code for
I love you
in public, and Nibs returned to the kitchen.

A couple hovered by the door. He went toward them, only to be headed off by Ben. Wig grinned and went to clear the boys’ table.

“Sorry,” Paul said as he approached.

“What for?” Wig asked.

“It’s been pointed out I’m behaving like a mama bear.”

“You look after your guy,” Wig assured him. “It’s cute, in a whips and chains kind of way.”

Sam and Liam chuckled, laughing harder when Paul scowled.

“No one is ever going to believe Paul Owens has been lassoed for good.”

Wig could see Paul wanted to refute it. The lothario, gigolo, village bike—every label fit, and now he’d fallen for a guy whose closet door was bolted shut. Then Skandik stroked his hand, and Paul melted against him.

“Whip and chains,” Wig said as he took away the plates.

B
Y
THE
time Wig and Nibs got upstairs to the flat, Paul was watching the news on the BBC, Skandik sprawled across his lap. Wig at first thought the big man was asleep, but after a longer glance, Wig realized he was playing on his phone. It looked sweet and domestic, and Wig was tempted to tease them but for the frown on Paul’s face.

“What’s up?” Nibs asked as they sat down.

“There’s a storm brewing. Says it’s going to hit at the end of the week. We might have to leave earlier than expected if the ferries are screwed. I’m back on duty on Saturday.”

“Blast, really? When’s it due?”

“Thursday night, Friday morning, coming up from the
southwest.”

“You ought to go by Thursday morning just to make sure. They tend to ground the ferries early.”

“Are you liable to be flooded?” Skandik asked.

“Depends how high the waves are,” Nibs said grimly. “It’s happened in the past.”

“We’ve got sandbags stored in the basement. We’ve been through it before,” Wig said. He stared at the weather forecast, looking at the tight-knit isobars swirling over the south of Britain like a portent of doom.

“We’d better make sure Mum and Dad know because they’re going home this week, and Rose is okay. Perhaps Sam and Liam can stay with her to make sure she’s safe.”

“She could come here, but she’s probably safer where she is,” Nibs said.

“I’ll call them later,” Paul said.

Skandik rolled over to look at Paul. “We could go ’round there. Give Nibs and Wig an evening to themselves.”

Paul nodded. “Sounds like a plan. Colin and Fiona are going back late tonight. I have no idea what’s happened to Dan. Last I saw of him was the wedding.”

“You don’t have to.” Nibs stopped when Wig dug him in the ribs.

The thought of spending an evening alone curled up on the sofa with his man sounded awesome to Wig

Paul laughed as Nibs flinched. “I think you’ve been outvoted there, big boy.”

Nibs shrugged and pulled Wig in closer to his side, “I have to do what my boy wants.”

Skandik sat up and stretched, his muscles rippling under his tight T-shirt. He blushed when he realized he had an audience of three staring at him avidly.

Paul smirked at Wig and Nibs. “He’s all mine, boys.”