My crew and I settled at a table, and moments later she approached, notepad in hand.
“Well, if it isn’t Huckleberry Creek’s finest. What can I get you boys?”
“Finest is right,” Donkey grinned. “We’re on duty, so just food and sodas.”
“Four specials coming up.” She didn’t bother to write it down. The daily special was muscle memory around here.
I caught her eye. “How’s Doc doing?”
“Still cranky and stubborn.” The corner of her mouth lifted. “So basically back to normal, except he’s supposed to be resting.”
“Must be driving him crazy.”
“Like you wouldn’t believe. I had to hide his car keys.” She leaned against the edge of the table. “He asked about you, though. Said you stopped by again.” There was something in her eyes. A question? Gratitude? I wasn’t surel.
“Tell him I’ll be back to check on him soon.”
“I will. But fair warning, he’ll just complain about his ‘prison warden’ of a granddaughter.”
“I’ll bring donuts to soften the blow.”
She laughed, a quick, warm sound I remembered so well. “Bribery. Smart man.”
The ease between us felt impossible after all this time, yet here it was—that rhythm we’d always had, like picking up a conversation we’d paused only yesterday.
“How’s the bar treating you?” Twitch asked.
“Like I never left.” She straightened. “Though I’d forgotten how much my feet hurt after a full shift.”
“Corporate law not as physically demanding?” I kept my tone dry and hoped the bitterness stayed out.
“Different kind of exhaustion.” Her eyes met mine again. “Less physical, more soul-crushing.”
I fought back a smile. “Sounds delightful.”
“It pays the bills.” She shrugged, but there was something tired behind her eyes that made me want to ask more.
Rachel, the other server, appeared with a tray. “Your drinks. Food’s coming right up.”
“Thanks, Rachel. I’ve got to check something in the back.” Gillian was already moving from the table. “But I’ll be back to check on you guys.”
As she walked away, Donkey kicked me under the table.
I glared in his direction. “What?”
“Dude, you’re smiling too much. It’s freaking me out.”
“It’s weird,” Twitch agreed. “Your face doesn’t usually do that.”
Moose glanced between Gillian’s retreating form and me. “So that’s your mystery redhead, huh? You two seemed... friendly.”
I kept my voice neutral. “I knew her years ago. Small town.”
“Uh-huh.” Moose nodded in a way that said he wasn’t buying it. “And that’s why you look like you just won the lottery when she walks over.”
Before I could respond, Gillian’s voice came from near the back office—sharper, more clipped than moments before. She was on her phone, her posture suddenly rigid, professional.
“I understand the timeline, sir. I’ll have the revisions to you by tomorrow morning.”
