Bree and Jessie looked so disappointed, River caved and turned to Graham. “Fine, whatever. One Growly Bear each, but that’s it. Plus all the things on the grill for all of us.”

“I don’t know,” he murmured. “It feels like we’re running low. This big ass guy walked in here first and he cleaned us out.”

“Graham.” Easton’s growl was menacing enough, it made the person on his other side jump. “Feed her.”

“Only her?”

Easton aimed a flat stare at Graham, who grinned and didn’t even flinch. The man must have had nerves of steel, because everyone else around them—her crew included—shifted out of Easton’s proximity. Finally, he held up his hands in supplication. “Hey, hey, no need to yell, buddy. I didn’t know you were so sweet on her.”

If there hadn’t been so much hair on Easton’s face, River might have been able to tell if the comment made Easton flush with embarrassment.

Token protest to their existence made, Graham took their orders and payment with the quick, professional actions of someone who had to move a lot of patrons through his door. Except the man had never met Bree. Bree, who could spend an hour staring at a menu in a restaurant. Give her more than three options, and they would be stuck for an hour.

To his credit, Graham tried to be patient. He waited. And waited. And waited some more. Eventually, he leaned on the counter.

“Darlin’, I hate to break it to you, but the options aren’t going to get any better the longer you think about it. I can put the meat on the fries or the fries on the meat. Or get you really drunk. But that’s it.”

As usual, Jessie—impatient as ever—was going insane. “Hey there, SH. Help a lady out. What’s good here?”

“SH?” Zoey asked.

“Sexy Hagrid,” they replied in unison.

The look that crossed Graham’s face was akin to a small child at Christmas. “Everyone’s eating for free.”

“He’s not like Hagrid,” Zoey protested. “Your muscles are much more muscly and less ogre-ish. And the beard is sexy, not off-putting.”

“Far sexier than Hagrid.” River winked at him while Jessie sized up his arms.

“Hagrid after a lot of cardio.”

Bree chimed in. “Maybe if Hagrid and a wood nymph had a slightly less Hagrid-esque child.”

When Easton stood, River hooked his arm and pulled him back down, snickering. “Come on. You’re one of the crew now. You’re going to get some ribbing. It’s part of the whole ‘we’re isolated on location, so we annoy each other as much as possible’ theory of surviving film shoots.”

“No cameras,” Graham warned them as he dropped a fresh basket of fries into the fryer. “I will deep-fry your equipment.”