Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 84250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
"This is too much," I tell the one standing in front of me. I haven't spent enough time around either man to be able to tell him apart from his brother. On occasion, I'll hear someone reference the other so I know for the night who is who but that advantage is gone once the night is over.
"I promise it isn't," the man says as he smiles down at me.
He's at a respectable distance, but there's still a hint of something more in his eyes.
"Stop," his brother says, smacking the man in the chest. "That won't fix anything. I'm sorry for Donnie's behavior. He's in a mood."
"Seems to be going around," I tell him with a gentle smile.
He shakes his head when I try to hand the money back. "That's yours to keep."
I've kept out of as many people's business as I can manage but I hear more than I'd like to, both working here and working at Raise the Woof, the local veterinarian clinic in town. As with most small towns, the people here know everything about each other, and they don't mind sharing information with the people who might be out of the loop.
Ronnie turns Donnie to face him, and I bolt when he starts speaking to him in a low tone. They're obviously going through something, and despite having lived here for three-plus years, I've never been one of those who will invade someone's privacy to get the latest gossip.
"Can I get a beer?" I turn toward the gentle touch on my arm, my body stiffening when I see Corbin McBride, the vet at the clinic where I work during the day.
"Hey, Dr. McBride."
"It's Corbin," he says with a gentle smile, something he does a million times a day. He never seems annoyed with me.
"Do you want a bottle or tap?"
"You decide," he says.
I know people think they're doing the waitress a favor by asking them to choose, but really they aren't. It's added stress, and it can also compromise my tip on the chance that I pick something they don’t like. It feels like a test, and school was never my thing.
I grab the man a bottle of beer because, honestly, it's less work for me to throw the empty away rather than having to walk a dirty glass back to the kitchen. Doing that means I might run into Walker who could fire me on the spot before I close my tables out for the evening.
Dr. McBride thanks me for his beer before turning back to the conversation he was having with someone else, and I feel a sense of relief.
The man is as nice as can be, but I've heard hints from several clients about how he's single and I'm single and maybe we should date. Like dating your boss is the best idea in the world. Kristina, another single parent who works at the clinic, told me it took years and her getting mad many times before people stopped making the same suggestion to her. Even now, there are a few elderly women who just can't understand why the nice doctor hasn't been taken off the bachelor list.
The rest of the shift goes by way too fast for my liking, considering the conversation I'm going to have to have with Walker. I don't run into any issues, and there are no prolonged distractions like we've had on other nights.
"Walker said he'll show you the shutdown routine," Maggie says before heading for the front door. "Have a good night."
I can't help but feel betrayed as the door closes behind her, but I know enough to follow her and lock the door. The last thing I need is someone coming in and witnessing Walker giving me the boot. It would be the number one topic of conversation over breakfast at The Brew and Chew come morning.
"Your list," Walker says, sliding a piece of paper across the bar when I turn back in that direction.
He turns to face the cash register before I can speak.
The list is simple enough, but he wasted his time writing it out. I know how to close down a bar and make it ready for the next shift. I could do it in my sleep from muscle memory.
I guess I should be grateful he's giving me at least another hour on the payroll, but the man isn't an idiot either. He doesn't want to have to wipe down all these tables, sweep, and then mop the floors. Maggie would have his ass if she came in tomorrow and it wasn't done.
I've always wondered what would be worse—firing someone at the beginning of their shift or waiting until they get ready to clock out to have that conversation.
As I clean and feel his eyes on me nearly the entire time, I think this is far worse than a phone call telling me not to bother coming in.