“What did you say?” It’s the truth. I hadn’t heard a word he’d said.
Price moved closer, leaning over the bar, and his lips tickled my right ear. “I said ... I think you’re making some heavy assumptions for a not-quite-ripe bartender, don’t you?” He pulled back the tiniest of tiny bits and watched me swallow, his gaze following the visible lump going down my throat.
Rather than answer, I pulled back and bent down to grab him a beer. After popping the cap off on the back edge of the bar, I handed him the ice-cold bottle and wiped my hands down the front of my apron.
“A little different from Smithy’s Seafood?”
He remembered what I’d said.Interesting.
“Little bit, but I can hack it.” I held my chin high.
“This your main gig then? Bartending-slash-counseling the masses?”
“I waitress too. Over in Jamaica. It pays the bills.”
“I know all about that. Paying the bills. That’s what I did before I went back to school.”
He took a long pull of his beer. I became mesmerized with his mouth and the small shadow of scruff surrounding it, the swallow of beer sliding down his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“Listen, I didn’t mean to make assumptions. I’m just a small-town girl living in a big-city world.” I swallowed whatever pride I had left. After all, I’d already told this guy about my dad and Robby.
“S’okay. You got a name, small-town girl?”
“Emerson.”
“Em,” he said quietly just for him and me, reaching out to run a finger down my cheek. “I’d like to utilize your counseling skills on a night when you’re not here ... overtime, if you will. There’s dinner and dessert involved. What night are you free?”
“Hey, if you’re not gonna order anything, can I get two IPAs?” Some ass wormed his way up next to Price and shouted to him and me.
“I gotta work,” I told Price.
“Which night are you free?”
He’s determined. I’ll give him that.Let’s face it, I wanted to go.
“Monday?” I asked.
“Give me your phone,” he said before turning to the asshat scowling. “And for your patience, your drinks are on me.”
“Thanks, buddy. After monopolizing the help, it’s the least you can do.”
“At least she’ll get a bigger tip out of me.”
Price grabbed my phone and entered his number before calling himself. “See you on Monday, Em.”
How did I have a nickname already?
Sunday dragged by without a word fromfarm boyPrice. Monday arrived with more dreaded silence.
Oh well, I told myself.
Except, I really wanted to cry or some other girlie stuff. Eat ice cream. More crying. Doodling our names together on a notepad. Then more crying. Who was I to know what sad girls usually did? My father certainly never taught me.
Instead, I slept in until the sun was high in the sky. After all, I’d had yet another sleepless night. With only one eye open, I made coffee next to the toilet, spent some time on the internet researching my mom, and then slung Bangladeshi food for six hours.
Sometime in the middle of my shift, I took a fifteen-minute break to pee and have a plate of chicken curry, and I finally saw a text.
Sorry for the delay. Phone crashed & I had to spend all yesterday in the dreaded Apple store. Let’s plan for 7 tonight? I’ll Uber to you. What’s your address?
