Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 137871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 689(@200wpm)___ 551(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 689(@200wpm)___ 551(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
He sprung off his stool and lifted it from her. “Let me give you a hand with that.”
Startled by his offer, she hesitated and then agreed. “Uh, okay. It goes back there.”
He dragged it behind the counter to where she pointed. Dane watched as she rigged the valves, disconnecting them from the old tank and reconnecting the tubes to the new one.
“Can I take that one away for you?”
“That’s okay. They’re light when they’re empty.”
“Hey, Gabby, when can I expect that drink order?” a patron shouted.
“Relax, Steve.” She irritably flung a strand of hair away from her face. “I’m working on it.”
Dane lifted the empty tank. “Where’s it go?”
She sighed as more patrons formed a line at the bar. “Through the door and down the steps. Thanks.”
He took the empty tank to a cellar where several other bottles and cans filled the industrial shelves. The thought of possibly stealing some food crossed his mind, but he resisted the temptation. Instead, he carried a large sack of potatoes upstairs for her.
He’d overheard her telling a customer the kitchen was running low on fries, so he figured this would help her out.
“Did you want these in the kitchen?”
She frowned at the sight of the large sack on his shoulder. “Oh… um…sure. Thanks.”
He’d watched Grace fry potatoes a hundred times, so he had an idea of how it was done. Sometimes, he helped her dig up the potatoes in the garden. Her fair skin always glistened in the sunlight and he loved the way she smelled of sunshine and earth by the end of each day.
A familiar, sharp ache of longing drilled through him. He glanced at the exit, fighting the urge to return to the farm, back to her.
Every part of him wanted to return to Grace and demand she admit her feelings. But she never would. Nor could he go back now that the bishop, himself, had exiled him.
It wasn’t Eleazar’s fault. As the bishop, he needed to uphold the laws of The Order and answer to the other elders on The Council. Dane had violated their laws and that meant he was no longer welcome there.
The bishop could have acted harsher. He could have had him punished or worse. But he only wished Dane well. Then he stuffed his pockets full of cash and sent him on his way. It wasn’t much, but it was more than anyone else had offered, so Dane couldn’t resent the guy.
“Hey, what the hell are you doing back here?”
He stared stupidly at the bartender. What was her name? Gabby?
He glanced down at his hands where he held a potato under the rushing water of the faucet. “I, uh, figured you’d want these washed so you could use them.”
Her scowl deepened. “What’s your deal?”
He shrugged. “I wanted fries, and you said you were almost out.”
“Do you usually just help yourself to other people’s kitchens?”
He glanced around the small, industrial setup. Very different from any other kitchen he’d ever been in. “No.”
“Gabby, can I get a refill?” a customer called, and she huffed, clearly overwhelmed by the crowd.
Taking pity on her, he said, “I can give you a hand.”
She hesitated until another customer called her name. Then she pointed to the wall behind a metal counter. “The peeler’s there. Once they’re peeled and cleaned, drop them into that water cooler to soak.”
The corner of Dane’s mouth kicked up. “You got it.”
When she returned to the bar, he filled a bowl with water and snuck out the back door. Colby sprung to his feet when he saw him, his orange tail wagging happily.
“Hey, boy. Got you some water.” He’d see about saving some burger scraps too if any dishes came through the kitchen.
He nuzzled Colby one last time then left him to drink the water. When he returned inside, he sat on a flipped bucket, peeling and dropping potatoes into a cooler until the sack was empty and every spud was clean. He appreciated busy work, as it kept his mind off other things.
“So, what’s your story?” Gabby asked, leaning in the kitchen doorway once the bar crowd dissipated. “Are you Amish?”
“I… I guess you could say I have Amish family.”
“You guess?”
He shut the cooler lid. “My real family’s gone. I was living on an Amish farm for a while.”
“Guess that’s why you only look partially Amish.”
“Partially?”
She tapped her chin. “No beard.”
No one in The Order had facial hair. Once immortals reached their prime, their bodies sort of regulated that stuff. Dane didn’t want to stick out, so he made a habit of shaving.
“I’m guessing you’re looking for money.”
Her directness caught him off guard. “I…You just looked busy, so I figured I’d help.”
“Well, I am busy. My chef quit without notice, and my waitress has a sick kid at home, so it’s been a little crazy trying to keep up with everything.”