Isle of Waves by Sue Brown

“I thought you were fairly sober.”
    “The lush tackled a bottle of Scotch when we got back,” Nibs explained helpfully.
    “And you’re still standing?” Skandik looked at him with admiration. “I can’t handle whiskey at all.”
    “I’ll learn ya,” Paul said, patting Skandik’s thigh. The pat turned into a grope that morphed into something a whole lot more X-rated.
    Wig stared pointedly at where Paul’s hand lay. “Easy, tiger. This is a family restaurant.”
    Skandik blushed and pushed Paul’s hand away. “Sorry, I’m….”
    “Just fine, Skandik, you’re just fine.” Paul scowled at Wig, who remembered Skandik was still coming to terms with being out, at least on this side of the pond. Paul didn’t want anything to frighten Skandik back into the closet.
    It was Skandik’s turn to soothe Paul. “It’s cool. I’m a big boy.”
    “Oh dear God,” Liam moaned around a mouthful of bacon, “did you have to say that to Paul? You know what he’s like.”
    Paul smirked, but before he could make a suitably crass comment, Skandik shoved a slice of bacon in his mouth.
    “Chew,” Skandik advised.
    “I bet you don’t say that when he’s eating sausages,” Sam muttered. “What?” he asked as Liam turned an outraged stare on him.
    “I need more coffee,” Wig muttered. Today was going to be way too long.
    The filter coffee needed remaking, so Wig indulged in a latte while he made a fresh brew. Then he went around the tables, filling up the cups where invited. Endless refills of coffee had been Wig’s idea. Initially, Nibs had been against it, until he’d seen how much more money customers had spent when they were encouraged to linger in the quiet times. Today was no exception, with orders of more toast, pastries, and bacon.
    Wig passed the orders onto Steve and sipped at his latte for a minute before he went to help the next family standing by the door.
    The man scowled as he approached. “How long does it take to get seated here?”
    “I’m sorry, sir,” Wig said as politely as he could. “Were you waiting long?” The family had been waiting about a minute, tops.
    The man grunted at him. His wife had the grace to look embarrassed, and the kids just ignored their father.
    Wig led them to a table and handed out the menus, with his fakest bright smile, which was nothing short of a miracle considering the inside of his head was performing a frantic cancan.
    As Wig returned to the bar, Ben passed by with a tray of dirty crockery. “Have you noticed it’s been busier this week than it has all summer? Do you think the word has got out what happened?”
    “So what? People are coming into the Lagoon to get blown up whilst they eat? Yeah, I can see that’s a great marketing ploy.”
    Ben shrugged. “They could be like the idiots who stand on the quayside in a storm.”
    “Oh God, I hope not, or their dining experience is going to be really boring.” Wig laughed. “I think some of these people were dragged in by Sam on Sunday and they’ve come back. You should have seen him gather up customers. He didn’t stop.”
    “You should employ him until we get our customers back.”
    “And what happens when he leaves?”
    “Then one of us needs to be Tigger.”
    “Darling, much as I love musical theater, I don’t think an orange tiger is in my repertoire.”
    Ben grinned. “Steve and I could take turns. We’ve even got the onesie.”
    Wig groaned. “Why does that not surprise me?” He looked over to see the impatient customer giving him “the stare.” “Go get rid of that and come and talk some more. I’ll deal with Mr. Glare of Doom.” Wig minced over to the table, enjoying the mixture of embarrassment and disgust that crossed the man’s face. He usually tamed it down for anyone who wasn’t a friend, but there were some occasions he couldn’t resist the urge to make people uncomfortable.
    “May I help you, sir?”
    The man, an overly coiffured type in his forties (probably trying to