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My first thought as I walk inside is that the place looks a lot different during the day. There’s no music playing and it seems brighter than it did last night. The sign out front says they open at two, but there are only two patrons inside. One is at the bar and the other is in the far corner. I slowly approach the bar, where I see Mia wiping down some glasses.
“Hey,” I say.
She glances up and unhurriedly turns her body toward me. The first place her eyes land is on my hair. Please don’t say anything. Please don’t say anything, I chant over and over in my head. God must have heard my prayers because she simply shrugs and continues drying the glasses.
After she’s done she puts down her rag and walks to the end of the bar, lifts a portion of it, and motions with her other hand for me to come behind the counter. Once I’m standing beside her, she lowers the partition. It’s entirely different being on this side of the bar.
“You can put your purse there,” Mia says, gesturing toward a small cubbyhole underneath the counter. I bend down to place mine beside the one already there. When I stand back up, Jaxon’s right in front of me on the other side of the counter. I give a little yelp and jump back a step.
While I try to calm my racing heart, I notice today he’s wearing a black thermal shirt with the sleeves pushed up to just below the elbows. His vibrant tattoos are peeking out. He also has tattoos that run over his fingers. He’s still wearing his necklace and wristband. I can’t see below his waist, but I bet he’s wearing jeans again. He seems like a jeans kind of guy. Just as my eyes are taking him in, his are doing the same of me. However, while mine take in his beauty, his are assessing the hair that still hangs in my face.
“I thought I told you to put your hair up. I can’t have you around food with it hanging in your face. The health inspector would have my ass if he saw you in here with your hair down like that. If you can’t follow directions, then you may as well leave now and save us both the trouble later.”
Well, so much for trying to get away with leaving my hair down. I knew it was a long shot, but I had to give it a try. I just hope the people here fall into the category of ignoring, instead of being nosy and asking questions.
“No, please, I just forgot to pull it back,” I say as I reach into my pocket for a hair tie. Taking a deep breath, I turn my head away from him, gather the mass of brown hair, and pull it up into a low ponytail. Even with it up it still reaches past my bra strap. Other than the plain russet color, I love my hair. It’s full, thick, and goes down to the middle of my back.
When I turn back around to face Jaxon, I hear a sharp intake of breath from Mia, who’s still standing beside me—the side my scar is on. It doesn’t take Jaxon long to notice the scar either. He clenches his jaw, and his hands, resting on the bar, ball into fists.
“What happened to your face?” he asks.
It actually surprises me that he does so. I pegged him as the type who would ignore something like this. I figured he wouldn’t want to get involved with issues that weren’t his concern.
I glance down. This is why I hate showing my scar. I’m never fully prepared when someone asks me about it. What am I supposed to say? Oh, you know, the usual. My husband was in one of his moods and decided to push me down the stairs. Nothing new there. Yeah, definitely not saying that. I normally try to stick as close to the truth as I can. It’s easier to keep up with the lies if it’s the altered truth.
“It’s nothing. I fell down the stairs a few months ago,” I tell him.
“Look at me,” he growls.
Startled by his tone, I quickly look up at him.
“What happened to your face, Bailey?” he asks again.
The intensity and anger that flash in his eyes surprise me. They also scare me a little. He has no right to be angry. He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know what happened to me. I can understand some men getting upset about women being abused, but he has no clue as to what could have caused my scar. Why give off such an intense reaction to my answer? And why demand more details than what I’ve already given him? Why would he care? The answers don’t matter. I’m not giving him more than I already have. It’s none of his business.
“I told you, I fell down the stairs. When I hit the bottom, my face smashed into a table,” I say defiantly. What is it about him that causes me to step out of my safe and protective shell and have the ability to take a stand for myself? Normally, I’m shy and withdrawn around people. Not so much with Jaxon.
His eyes blaze. “You’re lying.” He turns to face Mia. “Paperwork and then show her the basics for the next few hours.” He then strides toward a darkened hallway and disappears.
Frown lines pop up on Mia’s face as she watches Jaxon walk off. When she turns back around to face me, her expression has cleared, and I wonder if I imagined the look. Her eyes briefly flutter over to my scar before she gives her head a small shake and turns away.
“He’s your brother, right?” I ask her retreating back.
“Yes” is her one-word reply. Obviously, Mia isn’t much of a talker.
She moves down to the other end of the bar, and I follow. She grabs some papers and a pen off the counter beside the register. Turning back in my direction, she offers them to me. “Here are the papers you need to fill out. It’s just a generic application to get some basic information from you. When you finish, let me know and I’ll show you how to get things ready for the evening crowd.”
I watch as she moves down to the other end of the bar and begins unloading cases of beer and placing them in the small fridges.
I set the papers down on the counter and rest my elbows on either side of them. The application in front of me is pretty standard. It requests the usual information: name, address, phone number, previous employment, etc. Unfortunately, giving the usual information could be dangerous for me.
Instead of putting down my married name, Montgomery, I put my maiden name, Winsor. Of course, my maiden name isn’t much better, considering the life I had as a child. I hate being attached to either name. Steven knows I hate the name Winsor, so hopefully, he won’t look for me using that route. Luckily, I still have my old driver’s license in my maiden name. I had lost it when I went to get a new one in my married name. I found it again several months later, behind Steven’s dresser one day while I was cleaning.
The address is going to be tricky. As I’m currently living out of my car, I don’t have an address to put down. I don’t want people to pity me if they know. I decide to just leave it blank for now and if asked, come up with a lie. I’ve gotten good at lying.
I write down my phone number, a few other snippets of information, and move on to employment history. I told Jaxon that I worked as a bartender before, which I have, but I lie again about where. I don’t want to take any chances of him asking questions where I used to live. Steven has a lot of people in his pocket and if someone starts asking questions, it may lead him here.
After a couple more bits of information, I set the pen down, pick up the papers, and start looking around for Mia. I glance down to the end of the bar where I last saw her, but she’s not there. In her place is Jaxon.
