I should leave it. Should tell Hector to put it in the register, donate it, or throw it away. I didn't need charity. I didn't need some wealthy stranger assuaging his guilt by making it rain on the help.
But Zoe needed new shoes. Her sneakers had a hole in the toe that I'd been patching with duct tape, hoping they'd last another month. And the electric bill was due next week, and I was still short from when the car needed new brake pads, and?—
I pocketed the money.
Pride was a luxury I couldn't afford. Not anymore.
When I looked up, the quiet one was standing by the door. The others had already filed out, their voices fading into the cold night. He was watching me, and when our eyes met, he smiled.
"Thank you," I said. The words felt like glass in my throat. "For the tip."
His smile widened. "For the trouble. I know we're not an easy bunch." Then he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him, and I was alone with a thousand dollars in my pocket.
I finished clearing the booth. Wiped down the table. Carried the glasses back to the bar and started washing them, the hot water stinging my chapped hands.
Through the window, I could see the quiet one climbing into a car parked at the curb. The driver's seat, I noticed. The car was ridiculous. Some sleek European thing. I didn't know enough about cars to identify the make, but I knew enough about money to know that thing was worth more than I'd earn in a decade.
That kind of money could change everything. Could set us up for life, me and Zoe. We wouldn't have to live in a building with a broken elevator and a hallway that always smelled like mildew.We wouldn't have to choose between groceries and electricity. I could get a car that didn't make ominous noises every time I turned left.
But no. Give that kind of money to rich people, and they spend it on cars. On watches. On bottle service at clubs.
I watched as the car pulled away from the curb, taillights disappearing around the corner. I wondered who he was, or if I'd ever see him again.
Probably not. Men like that didn't exist in my world. Not anymore. Not after Cole, who had promised me everything and delivered nothing, who had disappeared the moment things got hard and left me to figure out the rest on my own.
I finished my shift. Clocked out at 2:12 AM. My breath came out in white puffs as I walked to my car—a fifteen-year-old Honda Civic with rust spots on the fender and a heater that only worked when it felt like it.
I kept the radio off as I drove. I needed to reset my mind from all the chaos of the day. I parked in my usual spot a few feet from my building and headed straight for Dani’s.
Her apartment was on the third floor, same as mine, just down the hall. I knocked softly, not wanting to wake anyone, and a moment later the door cracked open.
"Hey." Dani was in her pajamas, hair wrapped in a silk scarf, eyes heavy with interrupted sleep. "She's out cold."
"Thank you. Seriously. I don't know what I'd do without you."
"You'd figure it out." Dani stepped back to let me in. "She's on the couch. I didn't want to move her and risk waking her up."
Zoe was curled into a ball on Dani's sofa, her stuffed elephant tucked under her chin, her dark hair fanned across the pillow someone had slipped under her head. She looked so small. So peaceful.
I scooped her up as gently as I could. She stirred, mumbled something unintelligible, then nestled her face into my neck and went still again.
"She ate all her dinner," Dani whispered. "And she beat Joey at three games of Candy Land. He's convinced she cheated."
I smiled despite my exhaustion. "She probably did. She's ruthless."
"Wonder where she gets that from."
I carried Zoe down the hall to our apartment, fumbling with my keys one-handed, managing to get the door open without waking her. Our place was dark and quiet, the streetlight outside casting long shadows across the living room floor.
I navigated by memory, avoiding the coffee table, the stack of library books we hadn't returned yet, and the tiny shoes Zoe had kicked off by the door.
Her room was barely bigger than a closet, but it was hers. I'd made sure of that when we moved in. She deserved her own space. Her own walls to hang drawings on, her own bed to have bad dreams in, her own door to close when she needed to be alone.
I'd never had that, growing up. I'd had shared rooms and foster siblings and the constant awareness that nothing was really mine, that everything could be taken away at any moment.
Zoe would have something different. Zoe would have better. I'd make sure of it.
I tucked her in, smoothing the blanket over her small body, brushing the hair back from her forehead. She sighed in her sleep, and my heart squeezed the way it always did when I looked at her.
