Breaking The Ice [bxb]

Chapter Ten (pt. 2) [Eli]

It takes well over an hour from Brunson to Lake City, depending on the pace, but we make good time. 

The cold works as special incentive to move faster. By the time we get to The Lodge, I know my face has gained a pink tinge around the cheeks and nose, because Dean looks the same. Even Owen's dark skin can't quite cover the color on tip of his nose.

A dense mass of hot air engulfs us the moment we push past the front door. The intense warmth prickles my face, and Dean's paler complexion blazes with fast-spreading red blotches down his cheeks and neck.

I can see my brother standing by the bar counter, in his black button-down and the manager's tag on the left side of his chest, next to a silver tie. Scarlett, the pretty bartender, stands behind the counter with a smile on her face to mirror Elliott's. His smile fades slightly when he sees me and he makes himself look a little more professional.

I shoot them both a wordless greeting on my way into the staff room to change. When I leave to go into the dining room, Owen and Dean are already there, sitting in front of the counter with a textbook out each.

I used to work most of my shifts with either Addison or Hannah. But the first quit and the latter seems to have been replaced by Liam Astor. At least, during the lunch shift.

I move behind the counter without acknowledging his presence and make my way to the coffee maker. I can feel his gaze on me as I prepare a cup of steaming coffee with two extra shots of espresso and a large mug of thick hot chocolate. I take out the little marshmallow box and drop three times as many as a usual hot chocolate order would take, then spray a more modest measure of whipped cream over the sugarless coffee.

Dean and Owen look up as I set the drinks on the counter.

"We didn't order this," Owen says.

"Elliott's treat," I tell him.

They share a broad grin before taking their drinks. Owen lets his coffee steam away next to his AP Lit book, while Dean blows into his mug.

A clatter of glass on glass draws my attention to the kitchen doors and I find Liam struggling to balance just four glasses in both hands. He shoots us a half-sheepish smile as he sets the glasses safely on the shelves behind the counter before going back in for more.

As soon as he's out of hearing range, Owen asks, "How useless is he?"

I wait a second before replying, "He's not so bad. He actually tries, sometimes." Despite not being a complete lie, that wasn't entirely true either. He did try sometimes, but he definitely was bad. Like, 'can barely carry four glasses ten feet' kind of bad.

"That's more than I expected from these Lake City spawns," Owen murmurs.

Dean lets out a small yelp as he burns his tongue on the hot chocolate, putting down his mug to look at us with a whitish foam mustache. Owen laughs and I reach for a napkin under the counter to give to him. Dean wipes his upper lip with a smile.

I put their orders on my brother's tab, then head back into the kitchen to help Liam.

Lunch time on a Sunday is busier than any other day and it drags on well into the afternoon, thanks to tourists and retired couples who don't have to worry about conventional meal times. By the time the dining room starts to fill up considerably, Owen and Dean have already gone home. To eat lunch, where it doesn't cost fifty dollars a head.

An older couple sits at one of my tables and I walk up to them to take their order. As I approach, I hear them go over the menu in a foreign language. Spanish, I think. But it could be Italian too. They all speak really fast. The woman looks up at me, spilling out a string of strange words.