Blue Smoke

Italianesque—you know, a mural deal, or just paint it to look like tile or stone. Seal it up.”
    “Mural.” Gib pursed his lips, “She might go for that.”
    “But.”
    “Uh-oh.” Xander grinned, rocked back on his heels. “I hear dollar signs in that but.”
    “But,” Bo repeated as he stepped off the rear of his imagined terrace, using his strides as an approximate measuring. “If you were going to go for it, you could add a little more, do the tile, put yourself in a kind of summer kitchen. You got that whole open-kitchen deal going inside, so you’d be mirroring it—smaller, more casual out here.”

    “What do you mean, ‘summer kitchen’?”
    He glanced back at Gib, saw he had his attention, warily. “You could put another stove out here, another cooktop deal, workstation. You lattice off those two sides, maybe you plant something viny, and do a kind of pergola, carrying the vines up and over the roof—just slats. Keeps it sunny but dappled, so it doesn’t drive your customers away when it’s too hot and bright.”
    “That’s more elaborate than I had in mind.”
    “Okay, well, you can just extend what you’ve got, resurface or—”
    “But keep going on it. Pergola.”
    Xander elbowed Jack and spoke under his breath. “Hooked him.”
    “Well, see . . .” Patting his pockets, Bo trailed off. “Anybody got something to write on?”
    He ended up using a paper napkin, with Jack’s back for a writing surface, and sketched out a rough design.
    “Christ, Mama will love it. Dad, you’re so screwed.”
    Gib rested his elbow on Xander’s shoulder, leaned in closer. “How much would something like this cost me?”
    “For the structure? I can work you up an estimate. I’d want to take true measurements first.”
    “You done back there? I want to see it.” Jack turned around, studied the napkin. Then lifted his gaze to his father-in-law. “Screwed. Only way out is to make him eat the napkin, kill him and dispose of the body.”
    “I already thought of that, but we’d be late for dinner.” Gib let out a sigh. “Better go back and show it to her.” He gave Bo a slap on the back and a fierce grin. “We’ll see how long he lives after the estimate.”
    “He’s kidding, right?” Bo asked Xander as Gib started back.
    “You ever watch The Sopranos ?”
    “He’s not even Italian.” And looked like a nice, ordinary guy, carrying his granddaughter up the sidewalk toward home.
    “Don’t tell him that, I think he’s forgotten. Just messing with you. But this place?” He paused out front. “With my father his emotional pecking order is my mother, his kids, their kids, his family, then this place. It’s not just a business. He likes you.”

    “How you figure?”
    “If he didn’t like somebody Reena brought to Sunday dinner, he’d be a lot more friendly, a lot quicker.”
    “And that’s because?”
    “If he didn’t like you, you wouldn’t worry him because he’d tell himself Reena wouldn’t get serious about you. You wouldn’t matter. If Dad’s got a favorite of us, it’s Reena. They’ve just got something . . . extra. Ah, Bella’s gang just got here.” He nodded up the street toward the late-model Mercedes SUV.
    A willowy girl, early teens, Bo judged, got out first, flipped a shiny crop of gleaming blond hair over her shoulders and sauntered toward the Hales’.
    “Princess Sophia,” Xander told him. “Bella’s oldest. She’s going through her I’m-bored-and-beautiful stage. There’s Vinny and Magdalene and Marc. Vince—corporate lawyer, lots of family dough.”
    “You don’t like him.”
    “He’s okay. He’s given Bella what she wanted, keeps her in the style to which she always insisted she was entitled. He’s a good father. Dotes on those kids. Just not the kind of guy you sit around drinking beer and shooting shit with. Last, but never least, Bella.”
    Bo watched Bella step out of the car when her husband opened the door for her. “You’ve got a crop of beautiful women in your family.”
    “That we do. Keeps us guys on our toes. Hey, Bella!”
    He waved, dashed across the street and lifted his sister off her feet in a hug.
    T he noise level was huge. It was, Bo thought, like walking into a party that had been at peak for several years, and showed no signs of winding down. The floor was littered with kids of varying ages, with adults stepping over or around them.
    Reena slipped up beside him, ran a hand down his arm. “You hanging