“Thatisspiraling with extra steps.” She set her mug in the sink, stepped around the counter, and grabbed her lab coat. “Finn, listen to me. You have done the work, Mark is scattering the flyers, and you have Rod making amazing food. You have assembled a solid team; now you must trust in your planning.”
“I’m not good at trust.”
“I had no idea.” Her eyes rolled as she donned her coat and grabbed her brown bag lunch. “Just breathe and enjoy the day. Whatever happens, happens.”
“That’s terrible advice.”
“It is excellent advice and you know it.” She headed for the door, then paused and looked back. “Hey.”
“Yeah?”
Her smile grew wide. “You’ve got this.”
Then she was gone, leaving me alone in the apartment with my coffee and anxiety and six hours before the Lightning game started.
Six hours.
What was I supposed to do with six hours?
I checked my phone. 9:04 a.m.
Mark had spent hours shoving flyers under windshield wipers last night. He and Jacks were planning to hit the streets again this morning, but they weren’t meeting until 9:30.
Rod wasn’t due at the bar until eleven to start prep and finalize his special menu.
The bar didn’t open until two—earlier than our usual 4 p.m., but still so many hours away.
“I should go to the gym,” I said to the television I hadn’t turned on. “Work off some of this nervous energy, lift weights until my arms are too tired to shake.”
I pulled up the gym’s hours on my phone.
It opened at 6 a.m.
I could be there in twenty minutes.
I stared at the screen.
Then I put my phone down and drained the rest of my coffee.
Who was I kidding? I wasn’t going to the gym. I was going to the bar, because sitting in my apartment for three more hours would drive me insane.
At least at the bar I could do something.
I could check things, prep things, make sure everything was perfect even though itwasalready as perfect as it was going to get.
I was out the door by 9:15, travel mug in hand, keys jangling in my pocket, and a gajillion scenarios playing on loop in my head.
The bar was silent.
Empty.
With only me, morning light pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows, and the sound of my flip-flops smacking against pavement.
I unlocked the door, hit the lights, and stood in the middle of the floor.
What now?
The TVs. I should set up the TVs.
