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“I’ll plug in my number. If you ever get to a point where you need someone, you can call.” Celia smiled. “And I’ll send Malcolm your way.”
The woman’s lips tilted up. “You can’t be serious.”
Celia wriggled her fingers. “What do you have to lose?”
Jami let out a full smile. “When you put it that way…” She handed over her phone.
Celia was reminded of the time Trenton had put his numbers in her phone. She’d looked at his number a lot over the past two weeks. He’d stopped coming by the tavern. While she understood, she still missed him.
Letting the phone ring for a pulse or two, she hit ‘End’ and handed it back. “I’ll put your name in mine, too, so I’ll know.”
Jami tucked her phone away again, looking out at the overgrown garden. “I should get back.” There was an urgency to her words Celia recognized. The woman stood, hesitating. “Thank you, Cece.”
“It’s Celia, actually.” She shrugged as the other woman studied her. “It helps me to share, the pseudonym. I wanted you to know, though.”
“You’re really sweet.” Jami nodded once. “I’m glad I met you.”
Before Celia could return the sentiment, the woman jogged away.
She took in a steadying breath. Then she lifted her phone and assigned the new number in it a name.
During her forced dinner break, she told Malcolm about the woman.
“Wait, you offered her me?” Malcolm asked, laughing a little. His dark hair was pulled back in the bun he often wore, though strands had escaped into his face. He shook them back as he finished pulling the draft of beer.
Celia nodded, eating a fry. “You’ve always taken such good care of me.”
“That’s different.” Malcolm tweaked her nose as he walked past.
A warmth filled her as she watched her cousin cross to the customer to drop off their drink. While she waited, she ate another fry covered in ketchup, not even needing to force it. She’d found she liked them that way. She swallowed as Malcolm settled behind the bar again. “Don’t lie. Blake told me about some of the other women you’ve helped over the years.”
Malcolm shrugged. “Never on purpose.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” Celia frowned into her plate of food. “I doubt she’ll call anyway.”
Malcolm nodded. “A lot of them don’t.” One of the customers gestured to him, and Malcolm went to pull another beer to take to them.
Celia finished the last of her fries, and had already eaten more than half the sandwich. She worked on a few more bites while Malcolm made another round of the few tables. She pushed her plate away as he returned, and he smiled when he picked it up. “I’m proud of you.”
Celia sighed. “You worry too much about me eating.”
“Not that, silly, though I like when you eat well, too.” He dropped off the plate in the kitchen, wiping his hands as he walked back. “No, I’m proud of you for reaching out to someone. I know that’s hard for you.”
Celia wanted to squirm on the barstool.
“With Trent as well. What you said to him that night really seemed to help,” Malcolm said.
Celia bit her lip. “Is he doing all right? He hasn’t been coming in here lately.”
Malcolm winced. “That’s likely my fault. I warned him away from you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s not your call.” She thought back to the sight of Trenton on the floor of the kitchen. “But if it’s better for him, then I’m fine with it.”
“I wasn’t worried about him.”
Celia snorted. “Please. I know you better than that.” She slid off her seat. “Though if you’re worried about me, you don’t need to be. I’m doing better.”
“I just don’t want to see you like the other night again.” Malcolm’s hand tightened on top of the bar.
