Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
“Well, if it’s gonna be grown girls only,” Hendrix says, “let’s crash at my place. All this drinking I’m planning on doing, I didn’t even drive here. I walked, so we can hightail it together back to my spot and swing by the fountain on our way.”
“Oh, yeah. I haven’t done the New Year wishes in a long time,” Soledad says.
Every New Year’s Eve, people gather around the fountain to toss in their coins, hoping for a great return in the coming year.
“I got my coins ready,” I say. “Let me make sure everything’s okay, but we’ll hook up.”
I step carefully down the circular staircase to the bottom floor. The party is alive, the music pulsing like a heartbeat through the speakers, the crowd swelling as more people pass through the doors. We are wall-to-wall, and I make a note to check capacity. Last thing we need on the biggest night of the year is to get shut down. Knowing Josiah, he’s on top of that. I haven’t seen him tonight, but he’s probably in the kitchen more than usual. With all the preparations for the party, the long hours here with the holiday crowds, and moving forward on the Charlotte expansion, we’ve barely seen each other since he came over on Christmas Day. That morning lingers in my mind, though. The two of us eager, watching our kids tear into their gifts and squeal and scream their pleasure. Him at the stove with sweater sleeves pushed up over his forearms while he cooked Byrd’s famous sweet potato pie pancakes. We’d eaten our weight in breakfast, laughed and talked, Josiah at one end of the table, me at the other. It felt like old times. Even better in some ways. It felt right…until he went home and I slept in my cold bed alone.
When I reach the main floor, Cassie, wearing her chef’s uniform and a New Year’s party hat, stands at the bar chatting with the bartender.
“Happy New Year, Boss,” she greets with a warm smile.
“We got…” I glance at my watch. “Another thirty minutes before the year goes new. Don’t rush it now. How’s everything going?”
“Smooth.”
“Everyone seems to be eating up the specials. You and Vashti did a great job with the menu.”
“Glad they like ’em,” Cassie replies, nodding her satisfaction.
“Well, lemme go make sure we have enough champagne for the big toast. See you later.”
I thread my way through the thickening crowd, but I get stopped every few steps. The whole neighborhood seems to be happy I’m back this year. That careful look they used to give me when I first lost Henry—when I fell and couldn’t get back up, not just here with a loose floorboard, but during the long months that followed—that look is gone. I clear the dining room and stand at the threshold of the hall. I pause.
It’s a night for new beginnings. I pull out the necklace tucked beneath my dress and stare at another relic. My wedding ring looped onto a chain with the wheel charm Josiah gave me for our anniversary. I flip over the charm, reading the inscription on the back.
“Till the wheels fall off.”
Foolish woman, wearing it tonight. Wearing it ever, but especially tonight, when I have to see Josiah. I tuck the necklace and charm back beneath my dress. It’s not a night to look back, but somehow I hadn’t been able to help myself.
The dining room is all laughs and music, but the kitchen is contained chaos. Vashti is running things, barking instructions, her usually soft voice rough with use and urgency. For the people who attend, it’s the biggest party of the year. For our waitstaff and kitchen crew, it’s the busiest.
“Everything okay?” I ask her. “You need anything?”
“We’re good,” she says, sparing me a quick look and wiping sweat from her brow.
I’ve had very little interaction with her since she and Josiah broke up. We never really vibed or hung out, but I’ve been avoiding her, and I suspect she’s been avoiding me. I glance around the kitchen, filled with steam and buzzing with activity.
“Have you seen Josiah?” I ask.
She tilts her head toward the rear of the kitchen, her expression serene minus the telling tightness around her mouth. “Cellar.”
“I’m gonna go make sure we’re ready for the toast,” I tell her. “Happy New Year, Vashti.”
Her eyes glint with something that in anyone else I would take as resentment, but the glass over her emotions is opaque. I can’t be sure what I see. She nods and turns back to the team pulling down orders and preparing food.
We don’t have a true cellar, not with the two-story house we renovated for Grits, but we made do, creating a large space dedicated to the liquor at the back of the kitchen. Inside, Anthony, Milk, and Josiah are loading bottles of champagne from a cooling station onto carts. The three men glance up when I enter, and I smile, only looking long enough at Josiah to see he’s fine as hell in his impeccably tailored slacks, white dress shirt, and suspenders.