“You were going to sound like you might.”
“That’s a service.”
“That’s a lawsuit with cheekbones.”
I laughed, and she turned away with a smile she tried to hide behind the shaker.
By ten, the event had done exactly what she needed it to do. Not enough to end the debt. Not enough to make Uncle Sal honest. But enough that the room had proof. Tables full. Orders stacked. Staff moving. Customers taking pictures with printed specials and bright drinks. Card batches climbing.
Bite Me wasn’t dying.
Uncle Sal was going to hate that.
At eleven thirty-eight, the final patio table paid. At midnight, Shay finished the drawer with one hand on her lower back and murder in her eyes for anyone who ordered another blended drink before sunrise. Taryn took the last flyer from the rail and hugged it against her chest like a shield.
Dusty carried a bus tub toward the dish area. “I feel like tonight had weight.”
Mari wiped the pass. “If you drop that tub, you’ll have weight on your head.”
“I’m grounded by consequences,” Dusty said.
Nella leaned against the bar for the first time in hours. Her red halter was still tied perfectly at her neck, but the scarf in her ponytail had slipped again, and sauce marked the edge of her apron. She looked tired, flushed, and fierce enough to take on my whole family with a cash drawer and a garnish pick.
“Go home,” she told the staff. “Shay, stop counting. Taryn, leave the flyers. Dusty, if that tub is still in your hands in thirty seconds, Mari gets legal custody of your future.”
Dusty moved faster. “My future supports workplace safety.”
Mari slung her bag over one shoulder and paused by Nella. “You want me to stay?”
Nella glanced at me, then back to Mari. “No. We’re counting money and not committing crimes.”
Mari fixed me with a stare. “If that changes, call me before the crimes.”
“I’ll respect the chain of command,” I said.
“You better.”
Shay passed behind her, already pulling her visor off. “For what it’s worth, boss, tonight was good.”
Nella’s expression softened. “It was.”
Taryn smiled. “It was really good.”
Nella took that in for one breath. Then she clapped her hands once. “Great. Nobody gets sentimental on the clock. Go sleep.”
The staff left in stages, voices fading through the side door and down the boardwalk. The place settled around us. Neon hummed. The floor smelled like citrus, tomato sauce, spilled sugar, and the hot metal edge of a room that had worked too hard.
Nella brought the cash drawer to the back counter. I pulled a stool around for her.
She considered it.
I held up both hands. “Furniture support. Not management.”
She sat. “Accepted.”
We counted with the phone between us.
I left my hands on my side of the counter unless she handed me a slip. Nella separated cash, card batches, order totals, and deposit notes with the same focus she’d used on the floor. I checked figures when she asked. I didn’t reach for papers she hadn’t handed me. I didn’t tell her what to do.
