Logan scratched a thick blue arrow across the front of a yellow sticky note and stuck it to the front of his water glass. “Of course it can. I can make the arrow change direction without ever touching the sticky note”
“Okay, you asked for it.” Hud adjusted his Fix ’Er Up Auto Shop baseball hat and grinned as he rubbed his hands together. “The loser—that will be you—buys lunch.”
Hook.
Line.
Sinker.
Now to reel his good buddy in.
“Nah, the stakes are too low.” Logan pointed at the slice of pie in front of Hud.
Hud scooted the plate closer to his side of the table. “No way. It’s the last piece of Ruby Sue’s pecan pie.”
“So you agree it can be done?” Logan asked. Daring and pranking each other had become the shorthanded code of their friendship, which meant he knew every one of Hud’s tells better than he knew his own. And judging by how Hud couldn’t stop shredding his napkin, his best friend was on the ropes.
Like taking candy from a baby—or in this case, pie from a mechanic.
“Hell no.” He nudged the napkin confetti around the red checked vinyl tablecloth.
Logan grinned. “Then pony up.”
Rolling his eyes, Hud scooted the plate with a huge slice of the prize-winning pie to the middle of the table.
Practically tasting the pecans already, Logan reached for Hud’s glass of water. “How long have we known each other?”
“Kindergarten.”
“Uh-huh.” He slid Hud’s water glass toward his glass that had the sticky note with the arrow pointing left. “And how often have I ever lost a bet?”
“It’s happened.” Hud shrugged, the epitome of cool, calm, and collected—except for the now-destroyed napkin.
Logan placed Hud’s glass in front of his own. “But not often.”
Hud looked down and saw the optical illusion the glass had created. It acted like a mirror, flipping the arrow so that it appeared to now point right. “You suck.”
“I can live with that.” He savored the success and sank his fork into the pie. Damn, success tasted almost as sweet as the pecan pie. The first bite of gooey goodness hit Logan’s tongue like a sugar rush of pure happiness. “Anyway, it serves you right after you messed with the radio in my truck so it only played classical music.”
Hud’s laugh boomed in The Kitchen Sink’s nearly empty dining room. “Learn to change your own oil and that won’t happen.”
Half of the slice was already gone. He needed to slow down, but damn, once he got started, he just couldn’t stop. “Can you imagine my father if I came into the bank with grease under my nails?”
Hud glanced down at the thin black lines that remained under his short-clipped nails no matter how much he scrubbed. “Not pretty.”
Pausing mid-bite, Logan imitated his father’s voice. “The Martin name is not to be sullied by actions or deeds.” He shook his head and returned his voice to normal. “There’s nothing like a reformed man to make you crazy. Shit. I’m surprised the old man doesn’t have his personal motto carved into the family crest.”
The Martin family name and expectations had hung around his neck like an ever-tightening noose for as long as he could remember. But not for much longer. As soon as the Sweet Salvation Brewery admitted defeat and closed its doors forever, he’d be able to make his vision of an industrial park become a reality. The town would benefit, and for once, he’d have done something without his father trying to dictate his every move.
“How is dear old Dad?” Hud’s gaze followed the fork carrying a bite of the warm pecan pie.
“Dad is out of the office on doctor’s orders. He can only come into the bank three days a week. It’s making him nuts. I swear, I thought he was just a mean drunk, but then he sobered up and I realized he’s just as mean sober.”
“And yet you work with him.”
“Who are you, Dr. Hud? Did you misplace your balls?” He shoveled the last two bites of pie into his mouth.
“You’re so funny.”