Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 153946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
“What’s wrong with the usual bartender?” I asked curiously. “I assume you’re not talking about your daughter, who is perfect in every way.”
“You think I don’t know that? Pheebs is the best manager-slash-server in three counties. Several of the regulars have been wondering out loud where she got it from, since it clearly didn’t come from me.” She blew that stubborn strand of hair out of her face for the fifth time by my count and leaned her elbow on the counter. “No, the girl I’m referring to is young and cute and can take an order, as long as you don’t mind that she’s on her phone while she’s doing it and you don’t expect pleasant conversation with your beer.”
I bit my lip to hide my smirk. “Kids today with their loud music and multitasking.”
“None of those tasks are customer service, apparently. Or complete sentences. Why is everyone speaking in initials now? It takes the same amount of time and syllables as it would to just say the damn word.” She paused for a moment, as if realizing what she was saying. “Fuck, I sound old.”
“OMG, I wasn’t going to mention it.”
She hip-checked me, her expression warmer than I’d seen it in a while. “The person Phoebe hired to cover for her had a personal emergency and couldn’t take the job. That means Tuesday and Thursday nights are short a beer-tender, and Wade told me he’s already got you covering her time-sensitive bookkeeping chores. So, I’m asking myself, why not the shifts?”
“You think I should work her shifts?”
“Only those two, and only for a few weeks. You’re handling today, and it’s been more work than this place usually requires. Seriously, most of the time you’re behind the bar handing out beers. There’s even a stool to sit on.”
“Well, that’s—”
“If you don’t,” she interrupted, “I’ll have to cover them, and she’ll lose most of her regulars because I will send them running home to their mommies if they act like spoiled children.”
I met her gaze with wide eyes. “I believe you.”
“I’m much better at bossing people around or rocking their worlds onstage than trying to be nice, you know that.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Also, The Wreckers play here on Thursdays, which means I’m busy, but you could make bank. My fans are few but great tippers. It would only be for a month, two at most. Until she’s had the baby and some time to recover.”
Another genuine request for help. Two months of two nights a week here? Could I do that?
She nudged me with her shoulder. “I know, I know. You might feel better, but you’re still a fancy writer, and slinging beer and snacks is beneath you.”
“I don’t think that at all.”
It was hard to tell if she believed me. “You could look at it as research, if you wanted. They get some characters in here. Just because I don’t have the patience for them doesn’t mean you won’t.”
A monthly rent check and two job offers. One with tips. Were the Hudsons singlehandedly trying to solve all the problems I hadn’t even told them about?
“Can I think about it and give you an answer before I leave today?”
Bernie nodded, her expression cautious but hopeful. “It would be nice to see you more often. I’ve missed having you around.”
“M-me too,” I stuttered in surprise, not only because it sounded like she meant it, but because I did too.
I barely knew the woman she’d become, but she was still a part of so many of my favorite memories. Late-night conversations over cookie dough and cable shows we weren’t supposed to be watching. Geeking out over books and boys. The homemade horror movie the Rettas and Hudsons made together one random Friday night, because we had a video camera and Wade’s friend Kingston was fascinated by my mother’s job. (Spoiler alert: I was the killer. I “murdered” everyone with a giant can of minestrone soup while singing the jingle from that old soup commercial, Mmm-mmm good.)
Who’d told her not to bother me?
She gifted me with a genuine smile, the one that always transformed her from striking to stunning. “While you consider your options, I made you a late lunch. Take an hour to get off your feet.”
My stomach growled at the thought of real food. I’d been living on canned ravioli and stale chips for days, and everything on the grill smelled amazing.
“Thanks.” I took the bags she handed me with a questioning look. “I don’t think I can eat all of this.”
“Dalton is here having a late lunch, but Wade’s still stuck in the garage because his other mechanics couldn’t make it in. I was hoping you’d cross the street and make sure he eats something too. Seeing as how he saved your life and all.” Her drawl was more pronounced as she teased me. “At least, from the way Lucy tells it.”