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“It’s silly, I know,” Jami said, reaching under the counter for a glass to hand him. “I’m glad Reggie doesn’t put the powder on them. I’d look a mess.”
“Powdered sugar, huh?” Malcolm tilted his head as he measured the drink. “That’s a good idea. I’ll mention it.”
“No, I—”
He tapped her nose. “It’d be cute if it got here.” Turning, he delivered the drink down the bar.
Jami resisted swiping her own finger over her tingling nose.
Tanya was an efficient server. She switched between sending the customers to the register and taking up the cards herself, depending on how much she juggled, but her grin never faltered.
Malcolm ran a corner of the tables himself and also worked the bar. He was a toucher, she came to realize. Not with the customers, though. No, he was hands-off there, and with Tanya, but throughout the evening he’d squeeze Jami’s hand when reaching for a ticket or nudge her aside with his hips when he wanted her to sit again. And his fingers brushed hers a lot when she tried to hand him the glasses he needed.
Jami had always hated her father’s hands. The clawed bones they had become had gripped too tight, and the time he’d tried to choke her wasn’t easily forgotten. It hadn’t been the first time he’d left bruises. Andrew had known and had avoided touching her as much as possible, all except for her hair.
Her stomach clenched, making her regret eating all those fries. She wondered if she should feel guilty for not being sad anymore that her father had died. Would he have been aware when the fire reached him? Would he have screamed as he burned? The gruesome thoughts made her breath catch in her throat, and the room dimmed.
Warm hands gripped her shoulders, urging her to sit on the barstool again. “Hey, you okay?” Malcolm asked, his hands buffing her shoulder.
Jami blinked, her lips pressing together. “Fine.”
“Liar. Take a break.” Malcolm said, his hands wrapping around her as he forced the stool back from the register.
“I’m really okay, Malcolm,” she insisted, even though her throat still had that tight feeling.
“Rest for a minute here, or I’ll carry you to the back again.” There was no give in his expression.
She glared up at him, but knew when she wasn’t going to win. A jerky nod had him releasing her and turning to the register himself. At least things had begun to slow down.
When the bell above the door jingled, Malcolm looked up and his back stiffened. He handed the customer he was ringing up the receipt to sign and headed to the door.
Jami craned her neck to see around the register. Celia’s smile looked nervous and familiar. A man hovered behind her, one of his hands resting on her shoulder.
Malcolm said something, but the din of the room masked his words. Whatever it was, Celia didn’t appreciate the rebuke, if the stubborn tilt to her chin was anything to go by. She made her way toward the bar, leaving both men behind.
Jami slipped off the stool, moving toward the smile that had appeared on Celia’s face just for her.
“Jami!” Celia said. She didn’t do anything silly, like try to hug her or hold hands, but her expression soothed Jami. “I wanted to check on you.”
“Thanks for sending Malcolm,” Jami said. She could see him scowling in their direction as he approached. “I think.”
Celia let out a surprised laugh. “I’m surprised he’s letting you work.” Her eyes fell to the bar top.
“Sit, Celia. And no alcohol for you.” He glanced at the man that had followed her in. “Gin and tonic? You probably need it.”
“One,” the man said. His hands hovered around Celia’s shoulders again while she sat, and he took the barstool next to her.
“Oh, you haven’t met Trenton, have you?” Celia smiled at the man. “This is Trenton. He’s my…” She trailed off, staring down at her left hand, where a square-cut emerald sat. “He’s my fiancé.” She blushed.
Jami nodded to the man. “I’m Jami. Celia and I are…” Calling them friends seemed wrong. She barely knew the woman, beyond the sad things she’d shared in therapy. “Well, we met at group.”
Trenton’s hand squeezed Celia’s even as he smiled at Jami. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said.
Malcolm had made his way around the bar again. “Why aren’t you sitting?” he growled at her as he reached for the gin.
Jami flushed but decided to sit to help take that worried look off his face. Apparently, given the way it stayed on, most of it wasn’t directed at her.
“Did you talk to the doctor yet?” Malcolm asked Celia. He slid a glass of water in front of her and the gin and tonic in front of Trenton.
