Page 83 of Run to Me

I’ve offered to pay Javi for his help at Bruno’s, but he refuses. Sure, he’s a social butterfly who enjoys being in the mix, but I’m no fool. He helps as an excuse to babysit me, especially now that Maisy’s in town. More than likely, he’s concerned that if he’s not on watch, I’ll wander off into my mind’s desert like a lost soul, unable to find my way back. He has his own career as a life coach, but he invests a lot of hours in keeping my business from going under.

“What about him?” Charlie jerks his chin toward the bar where Trevor taps away at his laptop. He changes work locations more often than he changes his damn crew socks.

I lean my elbows on the table and shake my head. “Don’t worry about him.”

Just as I open my mouth to kick off the staff meeting, Javi bursts through the door with a to-go cup from The Drip, the liquid sloshing over the rim and wetting his hand.

“I’m here. I made it,” he says, catching his breath, winded from the one-block sprint.

“Made it for what?” I ask, frowning at his sudden appearance.

He couldn’t have possibly known about this impromptu meeting. As the thought crosses my mind, Ainsley slips her cell phone over the edge of the table, a blush warming her cheeks.

“Did you text him and tell him about this meeting?”

She winces, seeming a little chagrinned at least. “He may not technically be an employee, but he works here a lot. And we might need him at the festival, right?”

“I’m sure the three of us can manage a beer cart and the table.” My tone leaves no doubt I’m ruffled by their lack of confidence in my management skills.

Once again, Charlie looks around the room and asks, “What about Riley?”

Jesus Christ. Does this kid have zero faith in me too?

Riley is another server who helps when we have big events—parties and karaoke nights and such. She’s a freelance server who floats between multiple restaurants and bars in the area, a labor source that works well for bars in small towns like Walford.

“We won’t need anyone’s help,” I snap. Charlie flinches, and regret floods through me. I sigh and rub a hand across my scruff. “Trust me, between the three of us, we’ve got this covered.”

Javi and Ainsley share a look that makes my skin boil. It’s bad enough for him to monitor my mental well-being, but to have Ainsley keeping an eye on me like his little minion irks me to no end. This is my bar, my pride and joy. I’m the boss here, and I don’t appreciate them observing me as if I’m a loose cannon.

I summon my calm through a long inhale. “Our setup will be simple. We’ll serve cheap beer from kegs. The indoor bar will be closed until the festival ends, then we’ll open it for the night, business as usual. Two people will man the cart, and one of us will work the table for the karaoke sign-ups and the prize raffles.”

Crap. That reminds me, I need to create and print a Bruno’s gift certificate to add to the Main Street gift card bouquet offered jointly by the businesses. Every year, it’s the most high-value prize and the most coveted.

“How big is this festival?” Ainsley asks. This will be her first year to experience Walford’s May festival, which has a larger turnout than the one held after Christmas, triple the number of attendees at least.

“Big enough,” Javi replies between sips of his drink. “People come from all over for the local artisan’s stalls, but we estimate only about a quarter—maybe less—will drink beer throughout the day.”

I hammer the point home. “Like I said, it’ll be simple. No frills, no spills.”

Nods and murmurs of agreement come from the trio. With a rap of my knuckle on the table, I call the meeting to a close and leave the students to their textbooks. My next stop is the kitchen to prep food for the evening. Thankfully, Javi doesn’t follow and joins Trevor at the bar instead. I’m irritated that he barged into my meeting as if I don’t have a handle on things, and I can’t deal with him right now.

Alone in the kitchen, I check the tracking app on my phone. It didn’t take me long after Maisy left the other morning to break my self-made promise not to look. The app shows she’s at Pam’s house now. I’d love to see the blinking dot at my house every minute while she’s in town. I vowed to be patient, but a desperate man can only maintain his resolve for so long.

Phone in hand, I consider sending her a text. Each time I’ve drafted a message today, asking when I’ll see her again, I deleted it. I’m afraid of saying the wrong thing and scaring her away.

I know better than anyone how words can affect people. They can cause problems after being misinterpreted or misconstrued. They can also burrow into your mind and stay forever, a constant reminder of your shortcomings. When Maisy needed me to be Mr. Perfect for her, I failed. On Vera’s porch, those two words seared into my brain, and they haunt me to this day.

27

MAISY

Me

Can I come over tonight?

Perched on the arm of Vera’s boring grey couch, I chew my thumb nail and wait for Jensen’s response. I have a feeling I’m already failing at being a…girlfriend, I suppose. I’ve sent him a handful of text messages since my awkward goodbye at his front door three days ago. He hasn’t pointed out my lack of communication in any of his replies.

To be fair, I don’t know what I’m doing. I may have expressed my desire to explore a relationship with him, but what happens now? What are the rules and expectations? I’m floundering like a fish out of water, and it’s only been three freaking days.