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Trenton glanced at the dark edge of the curtain. “What time are you getting off?”
“I’m not sure. Whenever the tavern closes, I guess.”
That wasn’t until midnight. “I’ll come up to give you a ride home.”
“No, you don’t have to do that. I’ve got it covered.”
Trenton paused, hearing a similar edge to her voice as had been there the night before, when he’d offered to carry her duffel bag. “Is Malcolm driving you home?”
“Malcolm? No, but I told you—”
“You’re not walking back to the condo after being on your feet all night.”
“Of course not. I got a bus pass today.”
Trenton set down the salad. “I’ll come up there.”
“Look, Trenton—”
“I understand you want to do things on your own, and I respect that. But you need to understand that I have quirks too. There’s no way I’m letting you find your own way home in the middle of the night.”
Her breath fanned the mouthpiece. “Fine. Thank you.”
“I’ll see you soon,” Trenton said, hanging up before she could try to argue with him again. He pinched the bridge of his nose. A bus at midnight. That seemed like asking for a pervert to make a pass at her.
He stared at the salads on the counter. What had been his go-to suddenly seemed less appetizing. He placed both in the fridge and headed toward the front door. There was some time yet. He’d grab something to eat at The Long Shot and get to see what type of waitress Celia turned out to be.
Insteadofsittinginhis usual bar seat with his back to the tables, Trenton chose the other side. As he sat, Malcolm nodded to him but continue to pour a draft to set with a few others on a tray. Celia hurried up, grabbed the tray, and returned to the tables, all without glancing at him.
“Ouch. Seems like you aren’t having luck with the ladies either,” Blake said, slumping into the seat next to him.
Trenton felt a twinge at the cold shoulder he had received from Celia, but focused on his friend instead. “Please tell me the waitress was worth the trouble you caused.”
“Nah, she was a lousy lay,” Blake muttered, fiddling with one of the coasters on the bar.
Trenton stared at him. “Jesus, Blake. What is up with you lately?”
Blake froze, then dropped the coaster. “Shit, you’re right. That was a dick thing to say.” He rubbed a hand over his face.
At least he had acknowledged it, Trenton thought. He didn’t push Blake; instead, he waited for what he would say.
His eyes found Celia again, and he watched her make her rounds. She wasn’t much for smiles or small talk, but she was efficient. He watched her place a refill next to one table, drop off some extra napkins, and promise the check to another table. She had a way of noticing the small things, it seemed.
It made it more obvious when she avoided acknowledging his presence as she passed him to pick up some food that was up.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve been fucking up more than usual,” Blake finally said.
“That’s not something I want to hear, not when you’re revamping my building,” Malcolm said, dropping off Trenton’s usual gin and tonic.
“Even there. I can’t believe I messed up that pipe yesterday.” Blake laid his head down on the top of the bar. “I may have taken on too much with that big job over on Ninth.”
Malcolm sighed. “I told you, my job doesn’t have to be finished immediately. Ease back here if you need to.”
“Thanks, man,” Blake said.
“And keep your hands off my staff,” Malcolm added. “It’s a pain to have to keep hiring people.”
“No problem there.” Blake turned his head the other way, tracking her with his eyes. “It’s a shame, but Celia has always been immune to my charms.”
