“You’re mean,” Cade announces, standing up from his seat. “I’m going to the other end of the bar to cry in my popcorn.”
I shake my head, watching him walk down to where Tom, Burt, and Earl all sit. He jovially takes a seat beside them and dives into a bowl of popcorn I made not too long ago. “Did I insult him?”
Collin chuckles. It’s low and gravelly and vibrates straight through my veins to my clit. “Cade? Hell no.”
“Well, I kind of pegged him for that lighthearted, can take a joke as good as he gives them kind, but I’ve been wrong every now and again.”
“No,” Collin insists, meeting my gaze. “In fact, he’ll be back soon, having forgotten all about you calling him dumb.”
“I didn’t call him dumb,” I insist with a giggle.
“You didn’t?” he asks, smiling.
“Well, rest assured, you didn’t offend him, I promise. Cade is very easygoing.”
“Unlike you, huh?” I ask, leaning my elbows on the bar.
He shifts in his seat but doesn’t avert his gaze. “Yeah, unlike me.”
“Anyway, Chuck and Guy have both filled me in a little about how the schedule is usually done, but I thought I’d speak with you directly, just in case things have changed.” Of course, I’m referring to the verbal arrangement we made, where I requested he give me a month and if he wasn’t happy, then he could quit.
He levels me with a look that causes my heart to beat a little faster and my breathing to become shallow. “Nothing’s changed.”
I release a deep breath. “Okay. Good.”
“I work two days on and then have four days off. So it’s not the same from week to week.”
“I understand,” I assure him, making a note in my book. “Chuck said he tried to use you in the middle of your four-daybreak so you could prepare to head back to the firehouse or catch up on sleep when you’re coming off a shift.”
He nods. “He did. That worked best.”
“Well, I’ll do what I can to continue that practice,” I reply, adding that detail to my notebook.
“What are you doing?”
I look up and find him watching me. “Making notes?” It comes out a question, since I would have thought it was pretty obvious.
“No one uses notebooks anymore. Everyone utilizes their phones for that kind of thing,” he replies without a hint of judgment in his voice. It’s as if he doesn’t quite believe that I’m hand writing something instead of using the app on my phone to take notes.
I lift my shoulders and set my pen down. “I’ve always been more of a physical notetaker. My dad used to do that behind the bar, and I think it just stuck.”
“May I?” he asks, pointing to the open book.
“Sure.”
He reaches for it and starts thumbing through the pages. He lands on the doodles I made with name options and logo designs, even though I knew I was going to turn the latter part over to Aunt BJ. It was still fun to tinker around with ideas and put them down on paper.
“Is this where your logo was born?” he asks, pointing to one of the designs.
“It is. I’m not an artist, obviously, but it was a rough draft to give BJ a starting point.”
He nods in understanding and flips a few more pages. When he lands on the list of ideas I’ve been coming up with to draw in a bigger crowd, especially the ladies’ night, he looks my way. “This is what my brother was talking about.” It’s not a question.
“It is.”
He scans the list. “What’s a paint night?”
“A night where customers can come in and paint a canvas, usually with a predetermined design. I thought about offering it monthly, with a different theme.”
