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I shake my head. “No, not much anymore. I moved on to photography in high school for the yearbook and never looked back. It’s everything now.”
He asked for me to tell him everything, and photography is my most important truth. I can at least give him that.
“Whatcha take pictures of?” he asks.
Safe territory, thank goodness.
I pull out my phone and show him the picture I snapped of the burger I ate. He grabs my wrist, pushing the phone further away like he should be wearing glasses but refuses to on principle. When he focuses on the screen image, his mouth moves a little as he reads the caption.
“What’s tee-dee-eff? And the little pictures?”
I can’t help but grin. “It means ‘to die for’, because it was so good. The skull is shorthand for dead, the angel for heaven. Just saying it was really delicious, basically.”
He quirks a bushy white brow. “Then why not just put delicious? You kids are taking the nuances of the English language and turning it back into hieroglyphics for no good goddamn reason.”
I shrug, amused at the drawl of his accent. High-ROW-gli-fix. That second syllable lasted at least a full two seconds. “Just how we communicate to keep the old fogies from understanding,” I tease back.
“I’ll show you old fogie,” he scowls before winking, and it feels so easy and right, as if no time has passed. “So, what brings you to Great Falls?”
“Wanted something different than the city, I suppose.” Just keep repeating that as your mantra, Willow.
“City life not treating you kindly?” He sounds irked at the very idea.
“It was. I make money off my pictures, but like to stay busy. Just realized that I’ve never been more than an hour from home and thought this sounded like as good a place as anywhere. At least I have family here.” His jaw tightens, and I rush to fill the moment with chatter before we get off on the wrong foot. “I considered a beach in Mexico too, but you won out, so feel special,” I tell him with a smirk, hoping to ease those questions in his gaze.
“You picked this shithole over a beach? You are stupid, ain’t you?” There’s no heat in the insult, more that he’s laughing with me at the joke.
And it’s okay. We’re okay for the moment. Too bad it’s time to pick at the sloppy stitches of family that are barely holding us together.
“Stupid enough to pick up with no notice and drive across the state to a town I’ve never been to with only a few hundred bucks to my name and approximately no plan past this moment right here.” I cringe. “Actually, I thought I’d see if you need any help around here.” I look around the bar before focusing back on Unc. “I bartend in the city too.”
That bushy brow lifts incrementally and his arms cross over his chest, not believing a bit of my bullshit.
I roll my eyes and push at my bangs, which are stuck in the top of my glasses because this trip happened so quickly, I didn’t even get a haircut before setting out. “I’m good, can keep up with a busy weekend night pulling beers, mixing drinks, and making sure people have a good time—but not too good of a time,” I assure him. I’m not usually one for tooting my own horn, but I need to right now because this is the make-it or break-it moment. I need Unc to say yes to me working in his bar. It’s the pivot point to Mom’s whole plan.
One gnarled hand reaches up to stroke his chin as he thinks and my fate hangs in the beer and fried food-scented air between us. “Can ya waitress too? You a switch hitter?”
I blink, having zero plans to tell my old Uncle Hank that switch hitter does not mean someone who can waitress and bartend. “Yes sir, I can.” I’ve never waitressed a day in my life, but if that’s what it takes to get a foot in the door here, I’ll do it.
“You cook?”
“Uhm . . .” I can probably fake waitressing having worked in bars, and now I know what LTOP means, but actually cook the food? That’s not something you can fake.
Unc laughs. “Just pulling your leg, girl. Ilene won’t let a soul in her kitchen unless she’s training them herself. Not sure how she chooses ’em, but she’s definitely pickier than I am, luckily for you. When can you start?”
A relieved breath gushes out, along with all my excitement. “Really? Oh, that’s great! Thank you!” I grab around his shoulders for a hug, a habit that Mom instilled in Oakley and me from a young age.
Everyone needs hugs. Every day needs hugs.
Thankfully, he hugs me back, and for the first time in a long time, I feel a twinge of hurt over losing my grandfather. He wasn’t an easy man to love, but I did, and he loved me back the only way he knew how. But having Unc’s arms wrapped around me for this tiny space of time feels like family, even if all we share is a bloodline at this point since we barely know each other anymore.
