“For all of us.” She leaned against the counter, cradling her mug in both hands. “He thinks I’m throwing away my career by being here, helping Doc.”
I took a careful sip before responding. I was walking a razor’s edge here. These were the same expectations that had taken her away from me years ago. The same pressures that had made her choose law school over what we might have had.
“What do you think?” I asked instead of offering my opinion.
“I think he’s full of shit.” The bluntness of her response startled a laugh out of me. “Doc isn’t some confused old man. He knew exactly what he was doing when he opened this place.”
“He certainly did.” I smiled. This bar had become the heart of Huckleberry Creek because of Doc. “And he’s good at it.”
“That’s what my dad will never understand. Doc isn’t failing at being a doctor. He’s succeeding at being himself.” She shook her head. “He wanted to make a place where people connect, where stories happen.”
I watched her as she spoke, noticing how her exhaustion seemed to fade when she talked about her grandfather. Her eyes brightened; her gestures became more animated.
“You really understand him,” I said.
She gave me a small smile. “Doc’s always understood me. Even when nobody else did.”
The unspoken comparison to her father hung in the air. I couldn’t help wondering if she included me in that “nobody else” category.
“It’s funny,” she continued, “even when I went to law school, Doc never pushed me one way or the other. He just asked if itwas what I wanted.” Her voice softened. “He was the only one who did.”
I studied her face, taking in the dark circles under her eyes, the tension in her shoulders, and the way she kept glancing at her phone. She understood her grandfather, sure. But I wondered if she understood herself—what she really wanted, beneath all the expectations and ambitions.
“Does he know you’re killing yourself trying to keep this place running while working remotely?”
She winced. “He’d have my head for pulling an all-nighter.”
“Seems like the Holliday stubbornness runs in the family.”
That earned me a genuine laugh. “Takes one to know one, Rivera.”
For a moment, we were us again—the easy banter, the shared understanding. Then her phone buzzed, and the moment shattered as her eyes darted toward it.
“Your dad again?”
“No. Work.” Her shoulders tensed. “It never stops.”
I set down my mug, studying her. “Neither do you, apparently.”
I watched her waver on her feet, exhaustion written in every line of her body. The urge to help, to fix things, rushed through me like a current, and I stepped in, loosely stabilizing her with my arms. “What can I do to help?”
Instead of pulling away, Gillian shook her head against my chest. “I don’t know.” Her voice was small, muffled by my shirt. “I just... I don’t know anymore.”
I leaned back slightly to see her face. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her skin had the waxy pallor of someone running on empty. She was wearing the same clothes from last night, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. Even with all that, she was still the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.
“I can pitch in behind the bar,” I offered. “Be another set of hands for Saturday night. Then you can get some rest tomorrow.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “You’d do that?”
“Of course I would.” The words came easily because they were true. I’d do almost anything for her, and always had been. “I’m off shift until Monday. I’ve got plenty of time.”
She hesitated, and I could see the reflexive refusal forming on her lips. Gillian had always been stubbornly self-sufficient, determined to handle everything on her own. It was one of the things I’d admired about her. And one of the things that had ultimately driven us apart. She’d never been able to see that sometimes accepting help wasn’t weakness.
“You’re dead on your feet,” I added gently. “And Doc would kill me if I let you run yourself into the ground.”
A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “Doc would kill me too.”
“It’s settled.” I dropped my hands from her shoulders, missing the contact immediately. “I’ll be here tonight. I’ve worked enough pickup shifts in this place to handle myself.”
