Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 141951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 710(@200wpm)___ 568(@250wpm)___ 473(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 710(@200wpm)___ 568(@250wpm)___ 473(@300wpm)
Delaney blinked away a few stray tears, mumbling a shaky, “Yeah, I know.”
“But you need to call Callie and try to get some of that stuff in your head and heart sorted, Delaney. Call her.”
*
Delaney had to work up the courage over the course of the day to call her boss. A pathetic feeling, to be sure.
The woman was gracious when she did finally get Delaney’s call.
“Don’t worry that it’s after seven,” Linda assured as Delaney tried to get an apology out for the late time. “I’m just getting around to closing here, anyway. I had to wait most of the day for the electrician to get in and see what we’re going to have to do about the half of the salon with no power at the moment. Looks like it’ll take a few days to get everything fixed and back to normal.”
“Still, I should’ve called—”
“When you were ready,” her boss interjected. “And now you are. I hope you called to tell me that you planned to take tomorrow off—the rest of the week, maybe? After today, I think you need a break. Nothing wrong with taking it, girlie.”
The woman didn’t pose the question like there were options to the answers.
Delaney laughed weakly. “Believe it or not, but a part of me would just like to get up tomorrow and restart this whole day over like it didn’t even happen.”
On another day, she would done exactly that, too.
“But?”
“But I don’t think I should, either,” Delaney admitted. “Avoiding it isn’t helping anything.”
Not her proudest moment. Courage and pride were not always the same thing, and she was trying to figure out what fit where in her life at the moment. Including those two things.
“I am going to take the week to get some stuff sorted,” Delaney went on to explain. “If it might bleed into another week, is that okay?”
“Perfectly fine, you do what you need. We are here and ready for you to come back whenever, Delaney. The other ladies were really worried about you today.”
She bet.
Regardless of her feelings about her private information being shared with coworkers, Linda wasn’t all bad. She probably hadn’t given her slip of the tongue much thought considering the upsetting situation. Everybody had to give a little grace sometimes.
Delaney would try for this.
“Thanks, Linda. I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Things happen sometimes. And, while we’re on the topic, don’t worry about your chair rental this month,” Linda said. “It’s covered. I know you can’t apply for sickness benefits being I hired you girls into the salon as independent contractors, but if you need any help coming up with money to pay something, you let me know. Do you hear?”
It was sweet that Linda cared enough to provide Delaney with that kind of help, but it wasn’t needed. She wouldn’t explain that her savings and checking accounts were well-funded because the insurance had paid out for the Haus fire shortly after arrests were made, and her current living situation with Bexley in the modest Fredericton apartment cost far less than she made. Delaney was debt-free, could do anything if she wanted to, but here she was.
Stuck.
“I hear you,” Delaney eventually said.
“Good,” replied the older woman.
“I sincerely hope the girls didn’t pool a fund to pay for my chair rental or something,” she added after a moment. “I can cover it myself, if that’s the case. They don’t need to do that for me.”
“Mr. Dalton wrote a cheque to me for that, actually, and then he had to head off. A plane to catch, or something. He really was in a rush this morning.”
Delaney’s brain took a second to catch up, and even then, she couldn’t wrap her mind around what Linda had said. “Lucas—the first guy in my chair this morning?”
“He let you call him Lucas. The rest of us just got Mr. Dalton.”
Huh.
How about that?
Chapter 4
Three things about Dalton men carried across continents and generations never failing: their imposing size, laughter that boomed, and a family brewery with recipes older than the country they now called home.
Down the corridor of upstairs offices in the bottling factory on the east side of Saint John waited the largest of all at the far end with windows that overlooked the line below. Lucas didn’t like to spend days stuffed away in the big office after returning from being away from the brewery.
Like he should still be down on the factory floor making rounds and walking the long blocks back and forth from the docks to barrels.
Despite taking over the day-to-day business and management of the brewery and plant in Saint John for his father a handful of years back so that Ronald could move his private office toward the center of the city, it was only supposed to be temporary. Before his father got up and changed location to work out of their warehouse and distribution arm across the country entirely. Without a lick of warning, too.