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I duck my head, more affected by the sentiment than feels warranted. I shift my focus to our food. “What do you need me doing, chef?”
She points her knife to an unlabeled jar. “The flour needs a tablespoon of my secret spice mix, then you can batter and fry the fish. Also,” she says, pinning me with a serious look, “as happy as I am that you love your work, you’re still doing too much.”
I lift the spice jar and give it a sniff, ignoring her comment. “I smell cumin and something else I can’t pinpoint.”
“Way to dodge the topic, and don’t ask what’s in the mix. The recipe was my aunt’s. It goes to the grave with me.”
“I’m sure she’d love that you’re using it, and that you’re doing a great job with the bar.”
She slumps slightly. “Can we not talk about the bar? I’m enjoying having a night off.”
“Jo.” I gently take her shoulders and turn her toward me. “What’s going on with work? Something’s clearly upsetting you.”
She places her knife on the counter and stares at it a moment. “It’s not what I thought it would be. Or it is, andI’mnot what I thought I would be? Day revenues haven’t been great, but I’m doing well enough financially. My aunt would be thrilled to see me running this business she created, but…”
“But?” I prod when she doesn’t go on.
She shrugs a shoulder. “I don’t know. I think I’m just having a bad run lately. Staffing issues keep popping up. Equipment is breaking all the time—like our fridge a few days ago. Javier’s been too busy to fix it, so we’re using ice buckets for beer, lugging that back and forth from the chest freezer in the basement. Some days I seriously dread walking in the front door.” She gives another defeated shrug. “It’s just exhausting at times, but I really am lucky to have it. It’s all good.”
No, it’s not. Jolene sounds stuck. “The night you moved in, you mentioned that you live your life scared these days. That the traumas and setbacks you’ve dealt with have left you afraid to rock the boat. Is that part of the reason you’ve stayed with the bar until now? You’re scared to strike out on your own and fail?”
“Jeez. Way to make me sound embarrassingly pathetic.”
I cross my arms and stand so close to her she has to crank her neck back to look up at me. “Jolene Cynthia Daniels, you’re as far from pathetic as a person gets. You’re the girl who picked up snakes with your bare hands and pranked Lennon by making orange juice with Kraft powdered cheese just to watch him drop the cup and retch.”
She laughs so hard, she tips her head into my chest. “I did do that, didn’t I?”
I run my hand down her back, laughing with her. “You also walked up to Lane Ternent when he said rude things about Delilah and told him the only way he’d get laid is if he crawled up a chicken’s butt and waited.”
She laughs harder, the two of us shaking until we’re wiping tears from our eyes.
“Lane was an asshole and deserved it,” she says as she catches her breath.
“He was, although the mooning prank was satisfying.”
Abruptly, her face sobers. “Prank? I thought his shorts just got caught on his bike.”
I scratch the back of my neck, wincing. “I maybe put glue on his bicycle seat for knocking your books to the ground?”
“But we’d only just met back then. Why would you do that?”
The same reason I do most things. “I didn’t like that you were upset.”
She blinks at me, as though seeing my face clearly for the first time. “Are there other things you’ve done for me I don’t know about?”
About a hundred and one over the past twenty-two years. “Nope.”
She scrutinizes me so long I feel antsy, then she sighs. “All that stuff you mentioned was things I did when I was younger. That’s not who I am now.”
“Bullshit.”
“Not bullshit.”
“Totalbullshit,” I say with more force. “You cared for your aunt when she was sick, going there every day, no matter how busy you were. You’re a boss who holds a monthly prank contest to make work fun for your staff. When customers are too drunk, you don’t make a scene and throw them out. You escort them outside, cracking jokes, so it looks like you’re just hanging out. I also heard you once told a table of bikers to quit making your server uncomfortable with their come-ons. So yeah, you’re still smart and strong and ballsy and hilarious, and goddamn gorgeous. You’re the type of woman men look at and think,I’m not good enough for her. So don’t you dare go thinking you’re any less for having fears or insecurities.”
And…shit.
I’m breathing hard, unsure how those truths tumbled out.
