“And I’m tellingyouthat I’m staying. I’m not an idiot,Ezra. I can do this simple task.”
“I never said you were an idiot.”
“No, but you sure as shit implied it,” she snaps right back. She huffs. “I’m staying, okay? You need to stop treating me like you’re my babysitter. You’re not. I’m just another employee.”
“Good. Then you’re fired.”
“Really? Are you going to be the one to tell my father that?”
Fuck. She has me there.
“Fine. You’re not fired. But you’re also not—”
“I’m staying.”
My teeth gnash together for what feels like the fiftieth time since I met her. She’s infuriatingly stubborn.
“Fine. Stay. I don’t care.”
I turn on my heel, making my way to the break room to grab a cup of coffee. It’s later than I’d usually drink it, but I’m going to be here for at least another hour or two. I need it.
Coffee in hand, I make my way to my office and lock back into work.
Or at least I try to.
I can still hear her moving around in the taproom, and it’s distracting as hell.
It’s not that I don’t trust her to close. I have no doubt Warner taught her how to do it the right way, because, while he’s a shithead, he does know what he’s doing. I just ... fuck, I don’t know. I’m on edge, and I have no idea why. Maybe it’s from the lack of sleep I’ve been getting or the fact that I don’t even remember if I had breakfast this morning, and I’m just hangry. Whatever it is, I need to get it together.
I take three deep breaths, then swear to myself I’m actually going to get some work done so I can get out of here and head home. I could use a good seven hours of sleep for a change.
But forty-five minutes later, when I’ve barely moved my pencil or touched my laptop, I rise from my chair and make my way back to the bar.
And there she is, resting against it, her chin in her hand as she stares at the door.
She’s wearing another pair of shorts today, these frayed a little at the ends, and a simple black T-shirt that’s been threatening to show off her stomach all day. We don’t exactly have a uniform here at the cidery—just whatever everyone is comfortable in.
I guess this is what’s comfortable for her. Those tiny shorts, a shirt that hugs her curves, and that damn red lipstick that I find myself liking way too much.
“Can I flip the sign?”
I force my gaze from her lips to her eyes. “What?”
“Can I flip the sign fromOpentoClosed. Nobody has been in for an hour, at least.”
She’s right. We’re unusually slow tonight, though I suspect that has to do with the event at Hank’s.
“Yes, then you can go.”
She huffs, pushing off the counter and heading for the door. “Still not happening. I have more work to do.”
“I can take care of it.”
“Not a chance.” She spins the sign around, then dead bolts the door, the sound loud in the otherwise quiet cidery. “Just go back to your office.”
“Are you always this obstinate? Is that why your boyfriend broke up with you, and you moved back here?”
Fuck. Why did I say that? I don’t even care.
