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I leave the building with a heavy feeling in my heart. Shit. That was horrible. She was so nice and didn’t even bat an eyelid when I told her that Tyler was the dad. She simply smiled, a knowing glint in her eye.
I get in my car and take a deep breath. It seems like there are a thousand things that need to be done right now—already. Before Tyler even decides to move me out of my home and into his. I look at the clock and note the time. I have to get to the Crimson Lounge for an interview.
I pull away and head in the bar’s direction. In one week, it’ll open and I’ll be on my feet for hours every day. How will I cope when I’m all big and tired? How will I cope when my hormones really kick in now? Hell, when my cousin got pregnant a year ago, she spent the first few months in bed sleeping.
Of course, she was having twins, but…
Holy crap. What if this is twins? Tyler’s a twin, right?
I dial his number and he answers immediately. “Are you okay?”
“What if it’s twins?!” I shriek. “Two of them!”
“Then it’s twins,” he answers calmly. “I have experience with them, you know.”
“Yeah, but two babies? Two? No. I quit.”
“Liv? Liv, breathe, babe. It’ll be fine.”
“I’m pretty sure this is today’s panic quota.”
“And I can hear that you’re driving, so calm the hell down before you kill both of you.”
I blink harshly and pull into the parking lot of the Lounge. “There. I parked. Can I freak out now?”
“No. You’re not allowed to freak out unless I’m there,” he says firmly. “Can you do lunch?”
“I have to interview for the bar. I’ll call you then. Okay?”
“Okay. See you later.”
I hang up and walk into the bar. The guys stop me to tell me that they signed for a big delivery from the supplier earlier, and glee makes me clap my hands together. I skip off to the stock room and stop dead at all the boxes.
Oh, alcohol. Alcohol everywhere.
Alcohol I can’t touch.
Oh, well. I guess I’ll have to ply Dayton—and Tessa for as long as she’s here—with my cocktail recipes.
I glance at my watch. I don’t have time to install all the optic bottles before the interview. I lock the door, pocket the key, and walk back out into the bar. A guy who looks barely ready to graduate college is waiting at the bar, looking around.
“Hi—are you Dylan?” I ask, approaching him.
He turns to me and nods. “Are you Liv?”
“That’s me.” I hold my hand out, shake his, and motion to the bar. “I’d offer you a drink, but we only just got our delivery in.”
“Don’t worry.”
“So…” I run through the standard interview questions. How old are you? Have you done this before? How flexible are you? Can you do weekdays as well as weekends? Days as well as nights?
I was right in assuming that he’s in college, which means he’s good for weekends and some evenings, but not much else.
Usually, I wouldn’t give him another thought. But Aaron’s words about looks and drawing in the college crowd as well as adults filter through my mind. Dylan is kind of cute—cute enough to bring girls in and keep them coming back.
I thank him and tell him that I’ll be in touch in a few days.
Rubbing my forehead, I close the notebook and sigh. I’m actually glad no one else could get here today. One interview is mentally exhausting.
