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As usual for a Monday, the tables filled quickly. Folks who came in on their own tended to sit at the bar. In the time she’d been working there, Jenny had met folks from Canada and Mexico, England and Europe, and even a few from Australia.
Of course, she’d also met people from nearly all of the fifty states, including Hawaii. Oh, I can count Alaska, too, because Sean and Noah Kendall had lived there for a couple of years.
Jenny had discovered early on, talking to Bailey, that she and her coworker had a similar approach to their work. Rhythm. Bailey confessed she’d used that very system working as an accounting clerk, too, before she’d come to Lusty.
Jenny considered it one of the laws of the universe that when faced with repetitive work, the secret was to find its beat. The music that played on the roadhouse’s sound system helped—that gave her a rhythm to sync to. But it wasn’t necessary. She could make her own rhythm based on what she was doing, just as Bailey did.
They met at the clearing station midway between the back of the restaurant and the bar. They were both kind of bouncing to the music softly playing and moving efficiently.
“Do you think we should co-author a book?” Bailey asked. “We could call it The Rhythm Method.”
Jenny burst out laughing. Bailey had developed a very quirky sense of humor since she’d married her two accountants.
“I don’t know. I think that title might already be taken.”
“Probably. The good news is, titles aren’t subject to copyright law. Better news, it might get filed in the ‘sex aid’ section of the book store or on Amazon. It could be a best seller!” Bailey grinned, picked up a damp, clean rag, and headed over to clean the table she’d just cleared.
Jenny walked into the kitchen and looked at the lunches waiting to be delivered. One was a plate of puffy tacos with a side of queso, destined for a guest sitting at the bar. She knew Laci had just taken a tray of drinks to deliver to various tables, so Jenny scooped up the plate. The orders she was waiting for would be up very shortly.
Jenny approached the person in seat 8—a woman with short black hair, cut in a chic style, dressed in jeans and a tee and wearing cowboy boots. She figured this guest for a native Texan. “Puffy tacos and queso?”
“Yes! I swear I’m so hungry I could eat a cow.” The woman sighed. “I nearly ordered the twelve-ounce sirloin, but I try to limit myself to one steak a week.” She met Jenny’s gaze and grinned.
Jenny couldn’t help but grin right back at her. “Our chef, Patrick, grills a wonderful sirloin. If you’re in the area for a while, you could always come back when it’s your steak day.”
“Whether or not I’m still around will depend on how successful I am in my job hunt.”
Jenny tilted her head to the side. “What kind of work are you looking for?” She knew Angela was going to take on a couple more part-time waitstaff. She’d hired one two weeks ago, and that little princess hadn’t lasted even a whole week.
“I’ve done a lot of this.” She used her hand to indicate the dining room. “I’ve also clerked in a couple of clothing boutiques, and I worked for six months in real estate.” She wrinkled her nose. “I think I hired on to the wrong company there because I didn’t care for the lying we were encouraged to do. I can’t believe all real estate companies are like that, but I haven’t had the heart to try again.”
Jenny thought this woman had a good, outgoing personality for waitressing. “I’m Jenny Collins.” She extended her hand, and the woman immediately accepted.
“Nancy Drew. Please, no jokes. I think I’ve heard them all.”
Jenny laughed. “Okay, no jokes, I promise. Enjoy your lunch, Nancy. I’ll mention to Laci, our manager here, that you’re looking for work and have experience in the service industry.”
Nancy’s eyes widened. “You will? That would be great. Thanks!
“You’re welcome.”
Jenny headed back toward the kitchen. Laci was there, chatting with Patrick. She turned and nodded to Jenny.
“Thanks for that. I was waylaid by a guest asking about the area.”
