Chapter 6
Whenever Scooter pulled into the lot at Dockside, he had a sense of coming home, of welcome. For a moment, looking at the man sitting in the cab with him, Scooter tried to see the restaurant like a stranger might.
Built in the late 70s, the porch was wide, the windows large and plentiful to catch the ocean breeze. The wrap-around porch was littered with four-top patio tables and a bar. A series of barstools faced the ocean and a hook-toss game was set up at the far end. The sign was old and battered—it had been hand-painted by his dad back in the day, and Jason had touched it up a few times, but no amount of fresh paint could disguise its weather beaten state. The roof was tin and could use repainting; the pale blue weatherproofing was rusting through in patches.
Scooter caught up the bag from Harry-Rex’s and the paint and was pleased when Andy picked up the big jug of insecticide without being told. Scooter led the way around the garage and up the front porch steps rather than go in through the kitchen, so that Andy could get a quick tour.
The outdoor furniture was all a little ratty, but comfortable and well-sanded. Indoors, they’d laid the seating out in a series of antiqued picnic tables and benches, painted brilliant colors and then artificially weathered. An old racing kayak hung from the rafters, and the decor was beach-themed: stuffed fish and local art and old-fashioned advertisements, except for the stretch of wall behind the register, which was covered in framed photos of the staff and clipped articles about the regular customers. Some of those frames had been hanging on the wall longer than Scooter had been alive.
Scooter had always thought the place was homey—a little beaten but still standing, full of warmth and love. But maybe to a city slicker, it would just be any other rundown hole-in-the-wall diner.
It was late afternoon; a few early dinner customers lingered over their meals, but the floor was mostly free. “Jase!” Scooter bellowed as he came through the door, setting the paint aside.
Scooter and Jason had grown up together, so Scooter still remembered the skinny kid Jason used to be. But most other people had a reaction when they met Jason the first time, so Scooter took a step to the side to watch. Scooter had no illusions about his own looks, which were on the prettier side of good, but whenever Jason was in the room, that was where all eyes went.
Jason was huge, easily six-two and probably weighing in at two-twenty, all pure beefcake muscle. He kept his blond hair trimmed short, unlike the careless, chin-length fall that Scooter barely maintained these days. Jase wore thin white T-shirts at least two sizes too small that showed off ludicrous pecs and abs, and rolled the sleeves to display his arms. He had a face like a Greek god, all strong chin and firm nose and beautiful, patrician mouth.
Andy went still, his eyes going round which was pretty typical. Then he took half a step back, and his eyes flickered around the room like he was checking the exits, which usually only happened on the rare occasions when Jason was angry. Scooter wondered if that fresh shiner on Andy’s face was covering up an older one, and growled inwardly. Andy stopped himself, though, caught a breath and huffed it out hard before standing straighter and squaring his shoulders. “Christ, you’re a big guy,” he said as Jason came closer.
“Jason, this is Andy. Andy, Jason Anderson. Head cook and not the bottle washer, at his own very loud insistence. Jase, can you get Andy a—burger and fries okay with you?—while I show him the apartment?”
Jason offered Andy a hand to shake. “Nice to meet you,” he said, his voice low and rumbling. He raised an eyebrow at Scooter, jaw tightening a little.
Kat bounced onto the floor, tray on her shoulder. “Hi, Andy,” she chirped on her way past, putting a little extra wiggle in her walk as she got closer to her marks, a couple of college-aged kids. Her accent got thicker, more of a Georgia-peach drawl. Christ, she could bottle that up and sell it as jam. It was completely fake, which always threw people when they got to know her better. The kids laughed at whatever she said; Kat always drew great tips.
“That’s Ekaterina,” Scooter said, pointing. “She’s our waitress, except on Tuesday and Saturday, when it’s Melissa and Elaine. And D’ante’s on temporary for washing dishes. I’ll let him work out the day, if that’s okay with you, and you can start tomorrow?”
“Sure thing,” Andy said. He eyed Kat, which wasn’t surprising, ‘most everyone did. Then he glanced back toward Jason, shuffling nervously. “Any, uh, anything I should know now?”
“Kat’ll show you the ropes as you go,” Scooter said. “Let’s get your stuff settled and come back for food. You look ‘bout fit to eat a horse.”
“Standard burger, cheese, lettuce, tomato, mayo, or are you brave enough to try the house special?” Jason asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Something about Andy was getting Jason’s back up, which was never a good sign. Might have been the bruise, though, if Jason thought it made Andy look like the kind of guy who liked to start fights for fun.