Exposed King (Boys of Brisley 2)

She disappeared into the back, leaving me chuckling and a little proud that she didn’t seem impressed by me and my whiskey-breath.

A woman like that deserved better, after all. All humans deserved better than that.

I tapped my fingers on the table as I glanced around to busy myself, but almost everything I saw made me cringe. They’d gone the checkered-floor and poodle-skirt route with decorating which just made me ready to hurl all over the off-white tabletop, so instead, I focused on the people.

The family of four a few booths down, and the elderly gentlemen chatting over their morning papers on the barstools by the counter. The little boy with curly hair, kind eyes and giant, adorably dorky ears who was coloring by himself. They didn’t need some drunken idiot ruining their mañana, so I tried my best to stay still and silent as I waited for the breathtakingly sassy Mia Camilla to return with my mystery breakfast.

When she did, the mischievous grin on her face should have warned me about what was coming, but nothing could have prepared me for the ridiculously sad huevos she set down in front of me. Egg white eyes, spinach tears, and two slices of strange, colorless bacon shaped in a sad face.

“Yeah, that’s fair,” I mumbled. “You’re officially my least favorite person in America and I’m never coming back here again, but this is fair. Thank you, Mia Camilla. You won’t be getting a tip today.”

I took a bite as she sat down across from me. “How am I your least favorite person? I’m only the messenger here, Papí. You tell me your order, I take it to Mirabel and Deon in the back and they cook it up for you. I’m sure there are worse people out there than me. It’s Sad Huevos ... it’s funny, no?”

“It might be funny if I wasn’t a sad huevo right now,” I responded, then accidentally ate one of the spinach tears and let it fall back out of my mouth onto the plate. “That’s truly horrible. Do I look like a bunny? That’s a leaf.”

“Vegetables are healthy. Try the bacon.” She eyed me with her shoulders tense like she was having some internal battle before she finally asked me what was wrong. “Why are you sad?”

“I miss Phyllis. I’m not exactly in Domingo for pleasure and I hoped she’d ... I don’t know. Do what Phyllis does. She has a way of fixing me. Do you have an address for her?” I took a bite of the bacon and dropped it instantly, chewing what I had in my mouth reluctantly this time instead of spitting it out. “No. Nope. Uh-uh.”

With a heavy sigh, Mia stood up and disappeared into the back, returning a few moments later with a plate of actual breakfast. “I don’t know what you mean by fixing you and no I don’t have her address, but here. No vegetables, real bacon and I have six minutes left on my break so I can be an ear if you want to talk. If not, then come tu comida and I hope things look up.”

I snorted, still a little too drunk to translate fast enough. “Nice save on the whole tip thing. But that’s okay, I’m sure you have better places to be than here. Enjoy your last six minutes.”

Hesitation washed over her but she seemed to think wiser of it and took a step back. “That wasn’t for the tip, by the way. It was only because you were sad. Otherwise, you’d only have your turkey bacon still. Puppy eyes won’t work next time.”

“That’s what they all say. Trust me, if I wasn’t a hot mess right now, they’d be working better.” I took a bite of the real bacon and moaned low, dying happy at the spark of flavor on my tongue. “Fucking hell, marry me.”

Her smile that time was so genuine I stopped chewing my food completely. “Sorry, I have to decline. Enjoy, Mr. Huevos.”

She made her way to the boy who was coloring and sat across from him, and I picked at my food and drank the water she’d brought me like a good little huevo as I watched in what I hoped was a non-creepy way — but I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Beautiful, sassy and quick-witted, she was my dream girl. The fact that she was Latina was just the icing on the cake.

I ended up tipping her two hundred dollars cash and wrote my name and phone number on the receipt, but pocketed the damn thing without giving it to her when I saw the smiley face she’d scribbled on the top. That was for me, and Phyllis or no Phyllis, I’d gone in to get cheered up by a waitress and had gotten exactly what I was after.

If only it had come with less spinach.