Now, to handle Brody. Why would he be driving out toward Burlington on a school night? Maybe Hannah threatened him. How could anyone be afraid of a sweet ten-year-old girl?
Me:Normally, I don’t go out on school nights.
Brody:There’s no school tomorrow. It’s a professional day. So …
Me:What’s the theme of the restaurant?
Brody:Frozen.
Me:?
Brody:Pick you up at five.
I haven’t seen Brody since Friday morning. He had to take Hannah to see her mother this weekend and ended up working in between the long drives. We’ve exchanged texts, but there hasn’t been a mention of our little party under the sheets, which has me wondering if he’s regretting moving at a stupid speed with someone who has more baggage than a plane could carry. With Hannah being around, the dynamic will be different, and I’m curious to see how a night with the two of them would be. Plus, I didn’t get enough meals for the workweek, so it’s one less thing to worry about.
Me:Okay.
Brody:Really?
I’ll leave him hanging on that note. Of course, I have the day ahead to think about dinner, and I’m more than likely to come up with a dozen reasons why I shouldn’t go.
13
I’ve gotto hand it to Melody and Brett; they’re keeping The Barrel House in good running condition. Considering Melody didn’t know corn was the main ingredient in bourbon a few months ago, she’s definitely learned a lot in a short amount of time, and of course, having Brett Pearson as the teacher has certainly helped with her attention span.
It’s almost three, and I’ve finished labeling a few crates of bottles and packed up the four shipments due to go out tomorrow. I’ve also dusted and polished some of the displays.
Melody returns to the shop only a few minutes past three but walks through the shop as if she never left. “Thank you for coming in. I appreciate it,” she says.
“How was your appointment?” She skirted around the topic when she left, leaving me curious as to what kind of appointment she had.
“It was fine.” Melody smiles and walks past me.
“What kind of appointment was it?” I press.
“Dentist,” she says quickly.
“For two hours? Dr. Helms is two blocks away. Did you have to get a filling or something?”
Melody looks like she’s in a spotlight surrounded by a hundred strangers. It’s the look she gets when lying. “Oh, my God. Why are you so nosy?”
Nosy would be me asking her what time the appointment was and which assistant was helping Dr. Helms today, but I asked if she had to get a filling.
“You weren’t at the dentist,” I tell her, smirking for good measure.
Melody finds the duster and begins to sweep over the areas I just cleaned. “It was just an annual. We don’t need to discuss it, Journey.”
“I wasn’t asking to discuss it,” I tell her.
Melody drops the duster down by her side and turns to look at me. “Have you been on the pill before?”
I glance around, feeling like she’s asking me a trick question. “Yes,” I say, unsurely.
“What is the percentage of guarantee that it works?”
“Are you pregnant?” I gasp.
“No,” she groans with a sigh. “Well—no. I got the morning-after pill.”
