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I hang my bag and rain jacket on the hook by the door and pull the apron over my head. At least it will partly obscure the fact I’m still wearing my work clothes. Then I grab the tray and push through the doors into the bar area.
I serve the couple in the booth first, plastering on a smile as I ask them if they need a refill of their drinks. Next, I head to the bar to deliver the burger and fries, where I’m met with a pair of scrutinizing blue eyes and one raised eyebrow.
Of course he would be here tonight.
“Get caught out in the storm?” he asks, when I slide the plate in front of him.
My free hand immediately goes to my frizzy do which, I’m sure, is what prompted his inquiry.
Rick Althof, one of the more recent additions to Silence, is an annoyingly handsome but aloof man. Even after having chatted with him on several occasions—mainly while tending the bar—he is still as much a mystery to me as when he first walked into The Kerrigan sometime last year. I’m a person people tend to connect with easily, but this guy, although friendly enough, has remained as closed off as Fort Knox.
Somehow that irks me.
Rick
* * *
Jesus, the hair.
I’ve only ever seen the woman with that tight ponytail or a braid, and wasn’t even aware she was hiding this mass of tangled waves.
I thank her as she slides the burger I ordered in front of me.
I’m going to have to start watching my intake soon, I’ve been growing a bit of a gut since I moved to Silence last year. The small-town convenience of having everything—the pub, the diner, the coffee shop—within walking distance of my rental is doing a number on my waistline.
Or perhaps, it’s just my stress levels have come down significantly since I left the Coeur d’Alene PD, or CDAPD for short. I’ve been sleeping better too. At least I’m getting fairly regular meals now, which wasn’t the case before.
And it’s not that I can’t cook—I can certainly find my way around a kitchen if I have to—but I find myself going out more often than staying in. That’s a definite change from before. Back then, if I had any time off, I’d spent it hiding in my old apartment or disappearing into the mountains for a day or two. The old me avoided people like the plague outside of work, but these days I seem to be drawn out in public.
I’m about as far from a social butterfly as I can be. I still keep to myself—even when I’m out—but I like observing people, and every so often I don’t even mind a conversation with someone that doesn’t revolve around some crime being committed.
Dana is one of those people I’ll occasionally talk with when I’ve come into The Kerrigan. Just run-of-the-mill stuff, nothing deep or particularly significant. I think it started after I bumped into her at the hospital when I brought in a young punk who’d tried to exit the house he’d broken into through a closed window. The dumb kid got himself cut fairly significantly, and Dana tended to him. The next time I came into the pub, she inquired about the boy’s well-being. Since then, we chat every now and then when she’s working the bar.
“Yeah,” she responds to my question as she self-consciously fusses with her hair.
I notice she’s still wearing her scrubs; she must’ve come straight from a shift at the clinic.
“It’s getting pretty nasty out there,” she adds.
I glance out the large front window of the bar to see rain has started coming down in sheets. Wonderful, I’m going to have to walk home through that shit.
“I hate rain,” I share. “I’d much rather have snow.”
She gasps and makes the sign of the cross with her fingers. “Don’t you dare tempt the weather gods, I’m not ready for winter. I barely got to enjoy summer as it is. I have some vacation time coming up next week, and I’ve been looking forward to spending some time outside.”
“Oh yeah? Going somewhere?”
“Nah, not really. Just hoping to catch up on stuff I’ve been putting off for too long and taking in some fresh air.”
“That doesn’t exactly sound like a vacation,” I point out.
“Oh, I don’t know, it’ll be nice to set my own pace, catch up on some sleep. I’m hoping to meet up with friends I’ve been neglecting, maybe get some hikes in, maximize my time off.”
“Fair enough. Well, in that case, I hope the weather cooperates.”
“Thanks.”
She flashes me a tired smile that still manages to light up her face before turning her back and disappearing to the kitchen. I take a bite of my burger, as I watch the doors she pushed through swing shut.
