AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Yes, for the love of God.” I shake a finger at her and do my best to ignore the throbbing of my ankle. “And you are not to check in on me every five minutes. I’m going to be just fine.”
“You told Azalea you’re taking the next week off, right? No going in at all?”
I’d had a healthy negotiation with my doctor. After next week, he admitted it should be okay if I go in during the day to help with prep and talk strategy—seated, of course. But I won’t be able to pull a full shift for another month and a half—at least. He keeps throwing around that two month figure, which I don’t appreciate.
Azalea is already looking for another temporary staffer to carry some of the weight, and in the meantime, Delia will be filling in. She’s helped out off and on since I first opened, and since her career is an eclectic assortment of part-time jobs, she has the ability to be flexible. I’m not confident we’re going to find a magical unicorn of a staffer, to be honest. The skyrocketing rents and mortgages in this town have priced out people who work in bars and restaurants, and the Wendy’s on Merrimon Ave has had a Help Wanted - $15/hr sign in its window for so long it has gone dusty—probably because no one is there to clean it. That’s why I lived with Byron for months after things went sour. And then more sour. And then so toxic it felt like we were chugging bleach every morning.
“Well?” Delia prompts.
“Yup,” I say, reaching for the door handle. “Not going anywhere. Not doing anything.”
“Wait, let me do that,” Burke says as if I’ve suddenly lost the ability to operate a door handle. He gets out of the car as I swing the door open, and I almost spear him with one of my crutches.
He shakes his head ruefully, amused, because he’s gotten to know me a bit. “You won’t let your future brother-in-law help you?”
“Nope. No can do,” I say, awkwardly lifting myself out with one leg. “And no treating me like I’m Delia’s decrepit spinster sister.”
“No one called you a spinster,” he says with a sparkle in his eyes. He’s a handsome man—a real prince charming type—but I don’t hold it against him. He’s a good one. He’s the kind of guy who’ll take care of my sister when she needs it and back off when she doesn’t. That’s a rare quality in a person.
“Ha. Ha. Very funny. You’re lucky I mostly like you.”
Delia’s already made it around the car by the time I managed to get out, and the worry in her eyes makes me desperate to get upstairs. It’s unseasonably warm, the kind of day that makes me want to stroll around downtown and soak up the energy. But I’m not in fine strolling form.
“I’m okay,” I tell her for what feels like the five hundredth time. I don’t hold it against her, honestly. Her best friend died eight years ago, and she’s understandably protective of the people she has left, but I need to pretend my body’s not broken. I’m not used to standing still, and I can already feel this whole situation throwing me off my game.
This girl’s game will not be thrown. I’m already clinging to the prospect of going into Glitterati for a planning sesh about our holiday drinks and events. A week and a half isn’t so long. I’ve talked to Azalea a few times, and the last time I called, she texted back:
I love you, babe, but you’ve got to leave me the fuck alone. I’ve got this. Focus on figuring out what else you want to do for the holiday line.
So, I have left her alone. Even if my fingers are itching to send texts asking for photos of the bar and stories about what happened last night and the night before. We’re closed on Mondays, so I’ve only missed two nights. Still, I can’t think of the last time I missed two nights in a row at the bar.
I said as much to Delia earlier, and she gave me a sad look, like I was a dog the shelter was talking about putting down, and said, “Are you listening to yourself?”
To be fair, I’ve been living with my ex for months, so staying at the bar was preferable to being home, but I guess she’s not wrong. Work’s been my life ever since I got the bar off the ground. And I like it that way. When I think about spending the next week at the apartment, with nothing to do, I want to crawl out of my skin. The last few days at the hospital, even though I was doped up, have been excruciating, with nothing to do except watch TV and read and look out the damn window. The view was pretty nice, not gonna lie, but I didn’t have any desire to stare at it repeatedly.
I used to love reading, especially the spicy stuff, but I’ve gotten out of the habit. It’s hard to sit still. To keep my mind focused on anything that isn’t related to the bar.
I’m still a little doped up right now, but I’ve promised myself I’m cutting out the hard stuff and only taking extra-strength Tylenol when I need it. I had a friend who got addicted to pain pills a few years back, and I’m not going there. No thank you.
“Look,” I tell Delia now, my voice a little pitchy. I point to Danny, who has only now caught on to our presence.
He’s making his way over to us, and my pulse picks up because I recognize my chance to escape from my little sister’s mother-henning.
“Danny came down to meet us,” I add, “so he’ll help me if I need any assistance. No need for you guys to give me an in-person escort.” I make a scooting gesture. “Go on and get to work. Or whatever it is you crazy kids have in mind.”
Danny gives me a long up and down look, taking me in, and although I’m sure he’s just checking out my pink cast, I feel every bit of his perusal. It’s those eyes of his, so intense and probing, behind his hideous glasses.
“I have a face, you know,” I tell him, and his eyes lift sharply to mine. Is he…blushing?
“You have a pink cast,” he comments factually. “It’s unusual. I figure people wear bright things because they want other people to notice them.”
“Or they just like pink,” I say, lifting my eyebrows. “Ilike pink.”
His lips lift into a small smile, not quite the kind that lights up his face, but there’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. Something inside of me responds to it. “You don’t say.”
Burke claps Danny on the back in that whole not-a-hug thing guys do, and my sister hugs me carefully with one arm, as if she’s still afraid I might break. Or break worse, I guess.
“Call me if you need me,” she says, her voice soft. “Or even if you don’t and you’re just going crazy from being stuck inside.”
