“Fair enough.”
We’re quiet for a few minutes, just enjoying our coffee in silence, and I try not to focus too much on the red lipstick she’s leaving behind on her mug.
“So,” she says, “what exactly is it I’ll be doing here?”
“Well, you could work outside with the animals.”
“Like the murder chicken out there?”
“I promise Tootsie is harmless.”
“I don’t know ... she gave me thoseWatch your backeyes.”
“She’s just wary of new people sometimes.” I can’t believe I’m talking about a chicken like it’s a person. “Anyway, if you don’t want to work with them, you can work in here. The taproom is where we need help most, anyway.”
She grimaces, and I can tell she hates the idea of it, but we need another reliable bartender. We’re getting busier and busier each night, and there just aren’t enough people to make it flow as smoothly as I’d like.
“Look, if you don’t want to do this, just say the word.”
“I don’t want to do this,” she says simply. “But I got myself into this mess, and you’re clearly already doing my father a favor. So I’ll ...” She blows out a steadying breath. “I’ll work in the taproom.”
I don’t know if she’s that stubborn or just ready to tackle her fears, but I nod anyway. “Okay. Taproom it is.”
Coffee cups in hand, we head out to the bar. Aware of Summer behind me, I do my best not to let my uneven gait show. It’s not always prominent, and I like to think most people don’t even notice it now, but I know it’s there. Fuck, do I know it’s there. This ... weakness of mine.
I hate it, and not just because of the stares I get.
I hate it because it’s a reminder of everything I lost. Everything I could have had and now don’t.
Even though I’m thankful for the years I got on the ice, it wasn’t enough. I wanted more, and now I’ll never get it. So I have to settle for finding a thrill in other ways, like my slight speeding addiction. It’s the only thing that makes me forget about my shit mobility.
Pushing those thoughts away, I step behind the bar and reach under the register for the stack of papers I stashed there a few weeks ago.
“First things first, you need to fill out an application.”
“What? You were serious about that?” Summer asks, settling onto a stool, her coffee cup at her lips.
“Yes,” I say, thrusting a piece of paper her way. “I’m a records guy, and we need to make this seem legit.”
Mostly for Noah. I haven’t exactly told him about our newest employee just yet, and I really don’t want to hearanotherlecture on my speeding problem.
“You getting arrested would be a bad look for the business, Ezra.” That’s what he said after my last ticket. But I don’t thinkanythingwe do would reflect poorly on the business. Noah is this town’s golden child. He could probably set the local diner on fire and still be lifted on the people’s shoulders as a hero.
It’s great for us, but he’s right. We’re held to higher standards than others, and we need to act like it. Which means I really,reallyneed to stop drawing the attention of the local law enforcement.
“Ugh. Fine. Do you have a pen?”
I grab one from the cup next to the register and hand it to her.
She hunches down, scanning over the paper before she starts filling out the little boxes.
She’s quiet as she works, and I flick my attention between her answers and the way her brows cinch together the further along she goes.
“Do I really need to write down my last three jobs?” she asks, not looking up from her work.
“Fill it out entirely. Don’t want to make anyone suspicious.”
She groans but does as she’s told.
