Walking over to Scott's motorcycle, Mitch was pleasantly surprised to find that his three tins of paint had managed to be fitted securely in the three top boxes. To say he was slightly apprehensive about hopping on what he had always called death machines would be an understatement, but he thought Scott couldn't drive too much like a maniac if he had a four year old as passenger.

He stood by awkwardly while the little boy leapt easily onto the bike and grabbed a black jacket and red racing style helmet that were sat on top. Mitch smirked slightly; it was a strange sight for him to see a human that size wearing motorcycle gear. There was a brief moment while Scott argued with Fox about the child not wanting to do his jacket up that was abruptly ended when Scott threatened to just drive off without him.

Mitch wanted to point out that he wasn't wearing a jacket either and he was more likely than a four year old to fall off and get his ass dragged along the road or whatever.

The blond gave the boy a pat on the back. "Alright to hop on the front Fox?" he asked.

"Yeah yeah," the boy said nonchalantly, before flipping his visor down, reminding Mitch of a mini version of his father. The young man snorted quietly at the boy's devil may care attitude. This kid was definitely a lot cooler than him.

Scott got on the motorcycle first and reached down to lift up his son, sweeping the boy up under his armpits in one swift motion and placing him in front of him so he was partially sitting on his lap and partially sitting on what Mitch assumed was the fuel tank, although he really had no idea. He looked secure enough but there was nothing really available for him to grip tightly onto, seeing as his arms couldn't reach the handlebars and his feet were nowhere near the foot peg.

Mitch then heaved himself onto the back in the most unimpressive way possible, having to take a run up and still needed three attempts before he eventually made it up. At least he had a sort of backrest in the form of the top box, albeit an extremely hard and rigid one. Nevertheless, he didn't trust it enough to put his full weight against it and gripped onto the back passenger grips like his life depended on it, even though they had yet to move an inch.

Scott wriggled around a bit too, trying to get comfortable, his large frame struggling to get into an appropriate position. "A bit squashed, but we'll manage," he decided, passing his headgear to the man on the back. "Here you can take my helmet," he offered.

Any personal hygiene fears Mitch might've had were completely overwhelmed by the need for more protection and he gratefully shoved it over his own head. Immediately his whole world changed into one of dark stuffiness and muffled sounds. My hair, Mitch thought. My hair is going to look horrendous after this.

"The only thing I'm gonna ask of you, is that when I take a corner you lean into the turn, not away," Scott requested.

Mitch nodded, before asking, "This is so not legal is it?"

The blond twisted his head, viewing his passenger with his trademark smirk. "Mmm nope!" He laughed, turning back around. "Don't worry I know the routes that avoid all the traffic cops!"

The thought of his father finding out he'd been arrested almost caused Mitch to laugh as well, until he remembered that getting arrested was something he definitely didn't want happening to him and that he should probably get off this motorcycle straight away and carry on about his day in a safe and sensible manner. But he was wedged; getting off would be harder than getting on.

I could always claim kidnapping if we do get stopped.

"Are you sure he's alright sitting there?" Mitch queried, having to strain his vocal chords more than usual in order to be heard under the helmet, while peering anxiously to the tiny child just sat at the front with no obvious safety precautions besides his attire.

"Fox?" Scott seemed puzzled Mitch would even question that. "Yeah he's been riding on my girl since he was born." He reached forward and gave the small shoulders a squeeze. "We good?"

"Yep," came the muffled reply and a small thumbs up followed.

Again, Mitch thought. So much cooler than me at that age.

To give him some credit Scott did pull Fox so he was even closer to him, slightly more secure against his own body. "Hold on tight, you don't wanna lose your other leg do you?" The man made a joke which Mitch would never have dreamed of making, but had the little boy giggling hysterically. "You too Mitchy," the other man warned him, having to shout as he turned the ignition on, the engine roaring to life underneath them. "With your financial situation you'd only be able to afford a pirate leg!"

Mitch didn't like how realistic that scenario was right now and had one last moment of regret for ever agreeing to this impossibly charming man's pleas, before Scott kicked up the stabiliser and they were off.

Even though it was only just over a ten minute drive to Scott's house, it was fair to say that for the first half of that journey, Mitch was not enjoying himself one bit. As they drove through downtown he was constantly certain the cops would appear at any moment and every intersection they came to Mitch would have to grit his teeth to stop himself from screaming. You would have thought he was on a rollercoaster from the rapid beating of his heart.

Travelling on the freeway wasn't much better. There weren't any corners but they were very, very fast amongst a lot of other vehicles. His borrowed helmet wouldn't come in much use if they got into a collision here. Thankfully they were only on the busy road for two minutes and soon enough Scott was pulling off and taking them on a much more leisurely drive through Balboa Park.

After the initial terror this little scenic route was a lot more calming and Mitch even found himself admiring the scenery - it was mainly dry vegetation near this road - instead of focusing on how tightly he was holding on. Scott turned round once to check he hadn't fallen off or something, blond hair going crazy in the wind, and the younger man just screamed at him to carry on facing forward, not that he could be heard.

They exited the park, took a left, took an immediate right, and then they were travelling down a long residential road at a pace more to Mitch's liking. It was a road of mainly neat little bungalows with a few houses dotted in between and palm trees decorating the sidewalk. Each home was individual and unique in style. Cream, beige, green, blue, green again, peach, yellow; made of either brick or wood. It was a nice neighborhood, a family one.

After driving down the long, straight road for about a minute, and passing one of the tallest palm trees Mitch had ever seen, they pulled up outside one of the two storey houses. It was a fairly modern, angular house; painted white with a flat roof and large single pane windows. Five concrete steps lead up to the front which was secured by a high wooden gate and wall. Gazing up Mitch could also see a mini balcony facing the road.

Before Scott had even turned off the engine his son was leaping off, pulling his helmet off and shaking his unruly brown hair. The blond man gave Mitch a nudge too, indicating for him to dismount to. As he struggled off Scott spread one arm out and gestured to the building with pride.

"Here we are!" he exclaimed. "Nothing special but it's home."

"It's nice," Mitch observed as he argued with his equally wild hair, which seemed to have a different idea in which way gravity was working to normal.

Scott gave a chuckle and pointed too the gated carpark next to the house. "I'm just gonna park her up round the corner, I'll go through the back and let you in," he said. "Wait here metal man," he instructed Fox when the child went to follow him, leaving the four year old and Mitch in an awkward silence.

Fox tried to kick off a conversation while in turn kicking at a stray rock. "That's my room," he said, raising a finger to the window at the top.

"Oh right..." Mitch had apparently forgotten how to talk.

Not put off by the man's unenthusiastic response, the tiny child continued to keep the chatter afloat. "Wh-where's your room...in your house?" he asked with a small frown on his face, obviously struggling to think of what you were supposed to say to strange adults.

"Umm at the front?" Why am I being so awkward?

"Is it noisy?"

"Yeah it can be."

The boy nodded in understanding. "It's annoying when it's noisy cos you can't get to sleep."

"Yeah." Words Mitch! Do you think you could possibly come up with a few more?

Fox kept on kicking at the rock, reminding Mitch once more of his father's same actions by the bus stop earlier that week. "My bedtime's supposed to be half eight but Daddy doesn't make me," he informed Mitch. "That's why he gets told off."

Before Mitch could ask who would be telling Scott off, the man himself opened up the front gate and the boy charged through, making his escape from the silent man as quickly as possible.

Scott grabbed him by the neck as the child knocked past his leg and gave him a warning look before giving Mitch a regular bright smile. "Come in! Come in!" He beckoned with one arm. "Welcome to our palace!"

"Thank you," Mitch politely replied, having to hold his breath as he squeezed past Scott to get in, seeing as the blond refused to move from the gateway.

"Go take your leg off then," Scott gave leave to his son, who charged off instantly. "And don't just throw it to the side, that cost a lot of money!" he shouted after him.

Ignoring the front door and beckoning for Mitch to walk with him, the small man followed his host round the corner and up some more steps through a sliding glass door that lead directly into the living room. The moment Mitch stepped foot inside he was met with walls that were covered almost entirely in movie and music posters, along with a floor littered with glass beer bottles and cans.

Someone's been having too much fun, Mitch pondered, as he took in the bottles on the massive leather couch and balanced dangerously on a table that also held a large flat screen TV. He didn't feel comfortable commenting on the amount of alcohol being consumed on these premises yet, so settled for a safer inquiry to start with.

"You a Jurassic Park fan?" he asked as he passed three framed movie posters on the wall that lead to the kitchen.

Scott glanced to the side, having to check what Mitch was looking at and nodded. "Yeah but he's the real film buff," he admitted, motioning towards Fox, who had just chucked off his sneakers and was hurriedly disappearing upstairs.

"Steven Spielberg!" the boy yelled down, his footsteps heavy on the wooden staircase.

"See?" Scott shrugged. "I didn't teach him that." Kicking off his own shoes, he told his guest: "Follow me, we can sit on the balcony." The blond ran up the stairs after his son, presumably to take Mitch away from the mess downstairs. Scott hadn't mentioned it but Mitch assumed the older man must have some form of self-awareness when it came to inviting people into his home.

As he reached the top floor Mitch had a kind of pinch yourself moment. How is it that I'm in Scott's home? He couldn't believe it had only taken a week of knowing the man to be treated like he was a good friend. He felt like a bit of an imposter.

The top level was a lot smaller but still a decent size, and there were no signs of any partying happening up there. Mitch took a few sneak peaks into the bedrooms as he followed Scott to the balcony. Fox's door was ajar and he could just about see a floor cluttered with toys and magazines, as well as a few pairs of socks. Scott's door was wide open, practically welcoming Mitch to be nosy, and his is a fairly plain room, nothing out of the ordinary. No signs of someone else living here anyway which was what Mitch was really looking out for.

Scott leads Mitch out onto the small balcony, which is really just the flat roof above a section of the living room, and they are once again met with a sea of remnants from the recent get together. Even so, the small area is welcoming, the breeze cool and the patio floor pleasantly warm. There is a mini bar, iPod dock and a tiny fridge one end, a barbecue in the middle and three chairs around that. Mitch could picture it now; Scott, Kevin and Avi sitting up here and getting very, very drunk.

Mitch took in a deep breath of clean air. "This is nice," he complimented.

"You said that already," Scott noted.

"No I mean it, it's nicer than my place anyway," Mitch went on. Nicer house, nicer furniture, nicer job, nicer life. This guy did seem to have it all compared to him. "How long have you lived here?"

The blond scratched his head in thought. "Umm just over the year," he deciphered, "got a good deal on it because Avi knows the owner. Getting a raise at work didn't do any harm either." He began picking up the glass bottles and cans, appearing slightly embarrassed for the first time. "Sorry about the mess," he mumbled.

Mitch dismissed him with a wave of the hand. Believe it or not he'd seen worse back in the city while he'd been at college. The more money someone has the more damage they can cause. This is nothing compared to that time three SUVs ended up in a pool. That stunt by the way, he had played absolutely no part in. "I take it there was some kind of gathering here last night?"

"You said they would leave by two but they were here until this much after two." They were interrupted by Fox scrambling in on all fours, now down one leg, and holding is arm at a right angle, trying to mimic a minute hand. "I read the clock!" he poked his father in the leg, as if he were giving him a telling off.

Rather than focusing on the fact that this child had been unfairly kept awake Mitch was again fascinated by the boy's leg, or stump now. The actual leg carried on a good three inches below the knee, but was smaller than normal, getting thinner until it came to the point where it had been amputated, or perhaps he was born with it? Mitch was very curious.

Scott meanwhile was playfully batting off his son's attempts at poking him. "Don't you just hate it when they start getting clever?" he said to Mitch, before answering his question. "Yeah I had a few friends over, y'know you've gotta let loose at some point otherwise you go crazy."

Mitch moved his head up and down in some form of agreement. I think it's too late for some of you.

"Can I go and watch Netflix?" Fox asked, drawling out the words slowly and purposefully as he swung from the blond's arms.

"Go on then, just try to keep it PG little man," Scott said, swinging the child towards the door. "Oh and Kirstie's coming over later, remember Fox?"

"Oh yeah! Is she bringing Olaf?"

"Not this time. This is a working visit. We've got important things to discuss."

"Okay!" The boy scrambled on hands, foot and stump back to his room.

Scott shook his head in fondness. "That'll keep him out of the way for a while," he let Mitch know.

"He's sweet."

"You bet he is," Scott vowed. He walked over behind the bar and knelt down. "So Mitchy, what's your poison?" he called out, shifting through the liqueurs and creating a lot of noise. "I can do you a Martini, Mojito, Negroni; I know how to do most stuff except a Commonwealth." The blond's head poked up from behind the counter. "Well, I mean I know how to do that but you need, like, seventy one ingredients or something," he explained.

"I genuinely don't mind." Mitch let out a small laugh as he sat down. He just wanted anything that would give him some sort of buzz.

"Perfect! You can try the Scott special!" the man said excitedly, pulling out a cocktail shaker. "Kevin bought me this for my birthday," he informed Mitch, holding up the silver object to admire it in the light as if it were a piece of fine art.

"When was that?"

"September." On one hand that answer made Mitch grateful that it wasn't any time soon, but on the other it added to his already low self worth. Ten months. He's not even a whole year older than me and yet he's managed to build this life for himself. Where did it all go so wrong for me? Besides the obvious losing his father's company a lot of money of course. But had his life really been that special beforehand? Sure, he'd been living in a nice house, driven a nice car, had nice superficial friends. But none of it was really mine. None of it was there to stay.

Oblivious to the little bit of self reflection going on in the other man's mind, Scott excitedly went and got a load of different juices from the fridge. Apple, mango, lime, orange passionfruit; pouring them all into the shaker along with some syrup, lime cordial, blue curaçao and rum. "I made this one last night and it seemed to go down well," Scott said, dancing around with the shaker. Mitch already felt a bit tipsy just watching what the blond had put in the drink. While he continued to dance and shake, Scott turned his attention back to interrogating the newcomer. "So, tell me a bit about yourself Mitchy. I never get to have a proper conversation with you at work."

Mitch shifted in his seat to get comfortable. He had a feeling this was going to be a long conversation. "What do you want to know?"

"Why'd you move to San Diego?" Scott started with one the most tricky questions to answer. "Usually people try and relocate to New York from here, not the other way around."

"I like to go against the grain," Mitch jested. "I...well..." Oh to hell with it. I can't skip around this question forever. Inhaling deeply, he began: "So you see I was working for my father's company, we're in...we were in advertising." It still felt weird to talk about it in past tense. "But I made some dumb mistakes, people lost their jobs because of it, and it meant me working there was no longer ideal."

"He kick you out here or you run?"

"A bit of both." Mitch sighed. "He kicked me out of a job and I ran across the country to make a point." He let out a half hearted laugh. "I'm still trying to figure out what that point is."

Scott paused in his shaking and gave Mitch a look of sympathy. "That's tough."

"Really? You're not gonna give me any attitude for a trust fund, college educated kid getting kicked out of his daddy's company?"

"No," the other man stated in confusion. "Why would I?"

"That's usually how it goes, isn't it?"

The blond shook his head in disagreement. "Look, you can't help if you were born with money, can you? And I'd probably be taking myself to college too if it wasn't so damn expensive and I didn't have metal man to take care of." He walked to the balcony, leaning against the railing and gazing out across the landscape. "If you were an asshole who took what he'd been given for granted then I'd definitely be throwing shade," he said quietly, and then suddenly turned back to Mitch. "But you're not, you messed up, everyone messes up, more than half my life is me messing up!" he met Mitch's stunned gaze, every word of what he was saying was truly felt.

Scott gave him a small smile. "But you're not sitting in a corner crying about it, you're trying to get yourself back on your feet," he pointed out, the smile changing into a bittersweet one. "I know working at a Mexican restaurant isn't what you dreamed about as a kid - trust me it definitely wasn't mine - but it's a start. I'm sure a smart guy like you will move on to bigger and better stuff in the future."

He finally finished speaking and gently rolled the forgotten about cocktail shaker in his hands. Mitch was silent, he had no idea how he was meant to respond to that. "Sorry for the speech, my mouth tends to run away when I feel passionately about something," Scott blushed slightly, returning to the bar to fetch some glasses.

"No, no it's fine," Mitch insists after a moment to take it all in. "It was nice...thanks."

"Nice," the blond snarked, pulling a face. "Why's everything nice with you? Why not fantastic, amazing, fucking awesome?"

Mitch rolled his eyes and grinned. "Alright then it was fucking awesome!"

"Yeah!" Scott shouted, decanting the orange and blue coloured drink into the two tall glasses. "Voila!" he held one out to Mitch excitedly.

The younger man peered into the glass and gave it a sniff. You could barely smell any alcohol in it. That was usually a dangerous sign. "What do you call this then?"

"The Scott Special of course!"

"It's ni–" Mitch stopped himself short. "It's amazing," he declared. He wasn't lying. This tastes pretty fucking good.

"Why you're too kind sir." Scott took a bow, nearly spilling his own drink everywhere, and pulled up a chair so he was sat right opposite Mitch. "So what was your actual job back in the big city?" he asked. "Don't get too technical on me," he warned, although Mitch was beginning to get the feeling the guy was a lot more switched on than he often acted.

"Well to put it simply I would set up meetings with potential clients, pitch them our ideas, and then hopefully make a deal and a lot of profit."

"So like Mad Men without the sexism?"

"If you like," Mitch indulged him of that comparison. "Honestly as a non-straight guy I always preferred having a team of women around me, they're just usually more..." Pleasant? Kind? Non-judgemental? "Just better to work with." That'll do.

"Mestizo's must've been a shock to the system then, along with other stuff," Scott noted, before narrowing his eyes. "When you say non-straight...?"

Mitch internally sighed. Of course he would focus on that point. He didn't think Scott was the judgemental type, and knew California as a state was pretty relaxed but that didn't mean he wasn't wary when this type of conversation was brought up. "I mean that I'm open to all possibilities," he simply said. "But mainly those only involving other men," he ended with a small smile, hoping Scott wasn't suddenly going to turn out to be a homophobic asshole.

Thankfully true to form the blond just shrugged his shoulders in a relaxed way. "Cool, y'know what they say: no one is hundred percent straight or gay, most people kinda fall somewhere in the middle," he pointed out, grinning cheekily at Mitch. "At least I won't be the only guy at work now who swings more that way," he swung his hand to one side, "than that way," he swung it to the other.

Mitch stared at him blankly for a second. "But...Fox," he managed to stutter out.

"Yeah well like I said, not a hundred percent one way or the other, he was the result of that," Scott's eyes crinkled in concentration as he tried to think of the words, "let's say intoxicated five to seven percent," he decided.

"Y'know I wouldn't have guessed." This day really has turned out to be one full of surprises.

The blond opened his mouth in mock shock. "Why? Because I'm a disgusting slob?" he joked. Mitch could neither confirm nor deny that and the two both ended up laughing, the effect of the cocktails making everything seem funnier. "Anyway let's not get caught up on who and what we're attracted to, although if you want a story you should ask Kevin what it's like waking up next to a pig...as in the oink oink kind," Scott evilly planted that image in Mitch's mind.

"Cos that'll make him like me!" Now he was going to have to ask.


"Hey! He likes you already," Scott argued.

"I think like may be a strong word, he puts up with me, like a Saint."

"Like I said before Mitchy, for a new guy, you're not half bad."

He still found that a bit hard to believe. He was a perfectionist so doing a job less than perfect was never acceptable. "Were you being serious when you said you broke ten plates in your first shift?" he asked, switching the focus to the other man.

"And then some!" Scott recalled. "But I was only young, and the exec chef at the time, Dean, good guy, had a soft spot for dumb kids like I said. That and Avi made sure I never got in too much trouble." He smiled thoughtfully. "Just like he always has," he murmured.

Mitch wished he had a friend he could rely on so heavily. In fact any friend would be a start. "I want to do a good job. I promise I am trying," he idiotically reversed the topic back to his own poor attempts at work.

"I know you are, we all do, even if the others like to mess around," Scott insisted. At Mitch's uncertainty he leaned forward and put a hand on the skinny man's knee. "Look if it bothers you that much how about I come round yours tomorrow, after I drop Fox off at his buddy's? I can help you paint and take you into the restaurant before opening hours, give you a few tips," he offered. "You'd have to make your own way home but you'd be surprised how much you can learn with a little one on one. What?" he stopped short at Mitch's incredulous face.

The younger man shook his head, at a loss for words. "People out here really are friendly," was the best he could come up with.

"To people we like."

"Thank you...I uh...you've been so good to me Scott."

"No problemo," he took another sip of his drink. "It doesn't hurt that I happen to enjoy your company," he also revealed.

It must've have been the alcohol taking effect but Mitch suddenly felt incredibly emotional. This was the closest he'd ever felt for being accepted for who he truly was, faults and all, and by this idiot of all people. Maybe I do have a friend out here. It certainly felt that way so far.

He cleared his throat. "So...it's just you and him?" Mitch finally breached the elephant in the room. Or rather the Fox.

"Yeah...yeah been like that for about three and a half years now."

"I never," Mitch waved his hands about, gesturing to Scott, words still not coming as easy as usual.

"Saw me as the fatherly type?"

"Well..."

Scott chuckled. "Don't worry, I don't blame you!" he exclaimed. "I'm not exactly perfect dad material, I'll be the first to admit it." He took another sip of his drink as if to emphasise the statement. "But we get on well enough."

"Where does he go when you're working?"

"Oh I...I have a lady come here," the blond mumbled. "She keeps an eye on him for me until I get back," he explained.

Huh, that sounds strangely similar to my own childhood. One thing he could share in common with the little boy. He still had so many questions though. Who was Fox's mom? How did he lose his leg? Where on earth did that name come from? How did Kirstie fit into all of this?

He didn't know which of those were the most appropriate to ask first. "How–"

"Hello." Scott greeted as they were once again interrupted by the little boy. The man pulled his son into his laptop. "What were you watching?" he inquired.

"Dexter."

Mitch giggled at the blond's exasperated face. "You're just trying to get me in trouble aren't you?"

"Well I'd already started watching the third episode on Tuesday," the youngster immediately began thinking up excuses, "and...and you always say Daddy that you should finish what you started." He let out a high pitched squeal as his father tickled his sides.

"See?" Scott grinned at Mitch. "They get clever and you start losing simple arguments."

Catching his breath back, the boy seemingly only just now realised they still had company. He tilted his head, scrutinising Mitch's appearance. "You are a funny looking man," he concluded. "How do you make your hair do that?"

Mitch blushed slightly at that innocent observation. "Um, a lot of time in front of the mirror."

"Can you do my hair like that?"

"Maybe if it was a bit longer."

"But...but you could maybe, like, do a mini version like this." The boy demonstrated by flattening his own hair to one side. "Or I could do yours like mine," he suggested, hopping down and reaching towards Mitch.

"Hey do us a favor Foxy, go and tidy your room," Scott rescued the other man from the impromptu makeover that was about to occur, giving Fox a nudge away from them.

The boy fixed him with a steely gaze. "Fine, but you're doing the rest," he ordered.

"Yeah I know," Scott said, sounding like the child in the relationship. "We clean up our own mess." He said it as though it was line he had repeated many a time before.

"Yeah cos Kirstie's not gonna like it otherwise," the boy jeered.

Scott threw a bottle cap at him. "Get out of here," he instructed, but it was all in good nature, and Fox scrambled away in laughter.

Alone again, the two were silent for a while, just watching the few white clouds drift across in the sky and absorbing up the sun's warm rays.

"What's your idea of a good life Mitchy?" Scott asked randomly, in a voice so quiet Mitch almost didn't hear him.

"Huh?"

"The good life," Scott repeated. "What would make a good life for you? Fame? Money? Success?"

Mitch thought hard for a moment. "I guess setting up my own company, seeing it do well, showing my dad that I can do it on my own, being my own boss," he decided. "What about you?"

"My good life..." the man said slowly, leaning back in his chair, eyes still to the sky. "Y'know I got into cooking just to make ends meat, and just ended up stuck here. I'm grateful for my job and I guess I'm good at it. But it's not my passion, not like Avi."

"What do you want to do then?" Mitch queried, greatly interested; he hadn't been expecting this sort of revelation. He thought Scott loved his job and the people he worked with obviously loved him.

Bringing his head back down the blond man viewed Mitch with a hopeful expression. "I wanna turn Mestizo's into something more than it is already. Don't get me wrong the food is great if I do say so myself, the service above average depending on the day...but what makes our restaurant any different to the next one? At the end of the day we're nothing special."

He leaned forward enthusiastically now, eyes bright. "We've not got a unique selling point like you'd say in business terms," he continued. "I wanna turn it into a place of music, a place of entertainment, a place of dancing, a place of meeting knew people. I wanna put a smile on people's faces. Restaurants shouldn't be purely about the food; it's the whole experience!"

He leaned back again with a dreamy look on his face. "Maybe one day it could even be a hostel, inviting people from all over the world to our little corner of the country!" he finished, raising his voice and his hands in excitement.

Mitch smiled at the joy he was radiating. "Do you have any serious plans?"

"Plans...hmph, yeah we have plans, but they're nothing until you take action are they?" He rubbed a hand over his eyes and appeared visibly tired for the first time. "Look," he started, "I dunno why I'm telling you this but you seem like a guy I can trust, and if you're a business head like you say you are maybe you can give me some feedback."

Hearing Scott out was the least the younger man felt he owed him right now. "I'm listening," Mitch let him know.

Scott nodded and ran a hand through his hair. "Antonio, the owner, and a massive asshole I'm telling you, he's thinking of selling on soon, to the highest bidder y'know?"

"Yeah." It was common for restaurant owners to sell on all the time, especially when they were the kinds that tried to emulate chains. So these guys wanna buy the restaurant? That was quite unheard of; the staff taking over, for reasons proved by Scott's next statement.

"Well even if the whole staff pitched together we would never be able to afford it but this is where things get interesting. Kevin heard through Cesar who heard through a friend of his on the restaurant circuit that Antonio's been getting involved in some side businesses, the illegal kind y'know?" Again, business leaders getting involved in some dodgy dealings, not that unusual. "Being near the border has it's benefits for dealers of a certain substance." And I need no guesses as to what that substance might be. Jeez, who have I got myself working for?

Seeing that Mitch hadn't completely shut him down yet, Scott went on explaining the crazy and quite honestly stupid plan. "So we were thinking, if we really did want to make a bid on Mestizo's we could use that little bit of knowledge as leverage to get a better deal, one that would work for us. It could work right? If we went about it in a clever and subtle way." He looked to Mitch expectantly. "What do you think?"

"It's not an entirely unheard of method of conducting a business," Mitch admitted. Blackmail was more common than the general public liked to believe although Mitch himself had always steered away from it and people who liked to employ it. Those people had usually been rich guys in suits though, just trying to make themselves even more rich, not a bunch of young, hard working kitchen staff from a little Mexican restaurant. He shook his head in wonder at the drive his work colleagues had and asked: "But Scott, why'd you tell me this?" The man had no reason too, not to someone he barely knew, at least not in that much detail.

"Like I said Mitchy, you seem like a trustworthy kind of guy." There we go with the Mitchy again. I have a feeling that's already stuck in your brain.

"I don't think you'd be saying that if you knew me back in the city," Mitch reminded him of his shady past.

"But we're not back in the city!" the blond cried out in frustration. "Listen, I don't care how much you fucked up in the past. The point is you're here now, you're a part of my team, and you seem like a good person." He gazed straight into Mitch's brown eyes, every word he spoke sounding honest and true. "Good people, they can be hard to come by, y'know, when you find one you gotta latch onto them," he mused, before putting his head in his hands, having run out of anything else he could think to say in order to persuade Mitch he was on his side.

He didn't need to though for Mitch, despite what a lot of people believed, did actually listen to other people and those words meant something to him, had rung true with him. And the man who had spoken them was the closest thing he had had as a friend in...well, ever. Picking up his glass, he gave smirk at Scott's still downturned head. "I'll drink to that," Mitch announced, holding his cocktail high.

Scott raised his head. He looked surprised for a moment but then grinned, raising his glass to meet Mitch's. "My kind of man," he said as they toasted. "My kind of man."

Well that was longer than I thought it would be XD And next chapter Kirstie will eventually be making her grand entrance!