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“Your name is Sage?” I read the name tag on her burgundy apron.
I may have traveled around the world, but I’ve never met someone named Sage. Look at that, Hartville is providing unique experiences.
“Yeah.” She nods slowly, pointing to the tag. “Let me guess, you read it here?” Her eyes widen, a teasing smile curling her lips.
I laugh and nod. “Are you as wise as your name?” I tease.
My stress begins to melt away.
“Ha, ha. If I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard that joke.” She shakes her head. “I wouldn’t stress about my bills,” she mumbles, clearly not intended for my ears, but I hear it anyway.
“Money trouble?” I question.
She just started working here, so I’m not sure why she’d be afraid of that.
“No.” She shakes her head at high speed, like a mixer on turbo.
“Are you sure?” I lean forward with my hands on the counter. “You just started this job.”
“I’ve had a hard time keeping past jobs.” Her tone is clipped.
Her face burns a dark shade of red, similar to her apron, and she turns her back to me, using the excuse of filling my coffee cup to hide.
“Here you go.” She practically slides the cup to me. “Your quiche will be served in a second.” Her eyes avoid mine.
She’s gone from welcoming to building a barbed-wire fence between us.
“Thanks.” I take my cup and find a table where I can work.
I purposefully choose one where I can see Sage. Her comment about losing her job intrigues me, and I wonder what her story is.
While my laptop boots up, I take a sip of coffee and watch Sage cut a slice of quiche. It’s the distraction I need after my meeting with my dad. When she walks my way, I notice a slight limp in her gait.
“Your quiche.” Sage places the plate on the table to the left of my laptop.
“Thanks. I would’ve gotten it.”
“It’s my job.” She turns and walks back to the counter.
When she’s behind it, she takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. Maybe she isn’t used to working on her feet all day.
Focusing on work, I look at my business plan, my outline, and email. I thought coming back would put me one step closer to opening a non-profit organization. Each time I meet with my parents, that dream is crushed a little more.
I want to leave my mark in the world as more than a rich kid. First, though, I need to convince my parents that I’ve matured. I just have to figure out how to do that.
I need to be settled to gain access to my trust fund. Something about the right job or a serious relationship, whatever they’ll deem worthy.
Ironic. Because being subpar parents gives them leave to make demands on their grown children.
I need a plan to con my trust fund from my parents’ controlling hands. One that will transfer control to me on my twenty-fifth birthday. In two months.
I won’t be getting a nine-to-five job just for the money. It would drive me crazy, and besides, not any old job would satisfy them. And without a college degree, I won’t get hired in places my parents would accept.
If I stick around Hartville, it may just show them I’m settling down after what they believe is impulsive traveling, but it won’t be enough. I need another way to demonstrate my maturity to them, and it leaves me with one other idea I’ve been avoiding—a relationship.
How hard could it be to find someone to fall in love with me? Pretend to fall in love with me.
People get in fake relationships for lots of reasons. I’m not trying to swindle a green card from the government. I want the money that belongs to me so I can start my own non-profit organization and help those who need a bright light in their lives.
