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Huh?
“Because I’m a widow,” I blurt.
Jenny’s face falls, and she reaches for my hand. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks,” I mumble automatically. “But it’s okay. Really.”
“How long were you married?”
“Ten years.”
“Damn, that’s rough.”
I huff out a breath. “Rough. Yeah, you’d think, wouldn’t you?”
She narrows her eyes. “Not a good marriage?”
“An arranged marriage.”
Jenny whistles. “People still do that?”
I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “In my world… my previous world, yes.”
“So, I was right,” she says. “You’re not from here.”
I shake my head. “No. I grew up in Rhode Island, but after my husband died, I had to get out of there.”
“How long have you been in town?” She waves her hand. “Ya know what? Never mind. I’m being nosey.”
“It’s fine, really,” I assure her with a smile. “Honestly, it’s nice to talk to someone who isn’t judging me.”
“Honey—” She presses her lips together and tilts her head. “I never got your name.”
I thrust my hand across the bar, and she clasps it. “I’m Kennedy. Kennedy St—”Nope. I never wanted Michael’s last name and there’s no reason to keep using it.“Kennedy Hollings,” I finish.
“I’m Jenny Barlow,” she says. “And no judgment here.”
“Thanks.” I take a deep breath. “And to answer your question, I’ve been in Denver for two days. I’m hoping to stay, but I need to find a job and a place to live first.”
Jenny grins. “Well, you’re in luck.”
“How so?”
“It just so happens I’ve got an efficiency apartment upstairs that’s sitting empty. If you wanna stick around, I can show it to you after I close up.”
“Oh, wow. That’s, uh, that’s very nice of you. But I should probably find a job first.”
“I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say you don’t have much work experience.”
I bristle at her assessment. Not because she hurt my feelings, but because she’s right. How the hell am I going to get a job with no experience?
“No, I don’t,” I admit. “I’ve got a nursing degree but don’t really want to be a nurse.”
“What do you want to be when you grow up?”
“I… well, I don’t know. No one’s really asked me that before.” I shake my head. “Why am I telling you my life story? You’ve got work to do, I’m sure. I’m sorry for taking your time.”
I move to slide off the stool, but Jenny’s words stop me.
