Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
This feeling inside of me reminds me of Grace of all people. The ache in my chest that creeps up out of nowhere. It’s been two days since we had our moment and took that picture and all. Last night she came in for a moment, but didn’t stay long. We were packed too. I barely had a chance to talk to her.
“You need a hobby, Charlie... a girlfriend.” She adds the last part beneath her breath, but I heard it and the subtle dig in her tone. Giving her a side eye, I watch her as she grabs the aprons off the hooks and bundles them in her arms. Laundry.
Irritation settles deep in my chest. I don’t need another woman telling me to settle down. God forbid I do get a girlfriend and she’s just one more woman to point out all of my errors. I stare at the stacked boxes for a second and then realize I need the clipboard. It’s been a long damn night, but it’s best I get this taken care of before I place the next order.
I have to walk around Maggie to get to where I’m going at the side of the back room, farthest from the dining area.
“You know,” Maggie calls out to me. I snatch up the board and pen from where I left them on my desk. “I really think you should hire a manager.”
Her arms are still full of the aprons as I come out of my office. She blinks once and waits for a response.
It takes me a moment for her words to sink in. I don’t have fucking time to find someone to help me, let alone actually train them and show them how all this works.
“I don’t think so, Maggie,” I answer her easily.
“I could find one. I could do the interviews and training,” she offers as I look down the checklist, trying to focus. I read the same line three times as her offer hovers in the air.
No answer comes from me, not right now when I need to get this right. Three more items for the local beer truck and I rub my eyes and slap the clipboard down. It’s a normal delivery, but a few brands just aren’t selling. I’m not ordering them anymore. They’re seasonal, and not many customers seem to be going for them.
Mags steps closer to me, crossing her arms and waiting for me to look up before she says, “You can’t do this on your own.”
“It’s been working out so far.” The words slip out, but my lighthearted playfulness is absent. Exhaustion weighing it all down. I know she’s right and in the long run it would help. It’s just that it’s going to set me back right now to take someone on and spend time training him or her, moving slower than if I just did it all myself. Mags would probably hire a friend or family member. She’s got a big heart and I love that about her. But hiring friends and family doesn’t always work out. It causes even more problems. James comes to mind at that thought.
“You know you can’t keep this up.” Genuine concern laces her voice.
My mouth opens to respond with some kind of joke, something to put her at ease, but Maggie leaves before I get a word out. Practically storming out. I watch her back as she heads out to the front, the double doors swaying and creaking. I’ve been doing this for years and it’s worked out just fine. That’s what I want her to get. But a piece of me knows she’s right. All the long hours are getting to me. I suppose that happens as you get older.
The doors hold my attention as they slowly stop swinging. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes with my pointer and thumb and my hand across my face, I think again about how she’s right. Just before I toss the pen down on the desk, I see the notification on my phone. Someone messaged me.
My brows pinch as I look at the number. I don’t know it, and it’s not programmed into my phone.
What should I wear to the wedding?
A smile curls my lips up. Grace. That’s right. Now I remember.
Last night before my sweetheart left, I put my number in her phone. I wasn’t sure if she’d use it or not, but I told her to.
I huff a small laugh at the text, remembering the night before. She was sweet after a couple more drinks, leaning on me a little more than usual. Asking if I was just messing with her.
If it was a few years ago, I may have thought of her as the clingy type.
Intending on grabbing my keys from my office to get the hell out of here, I lean against my desk and then decide to just fall into the chair as I look at her message again.