Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 101629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
I smile softly. “I like that. To a new beginning,” I repeat, and when he taps the bottom of his glass on the wood of the bar top, I do the same and then follow his lead, licking the salt from my hand without breaking eye contact with him and shooting back the cold tequila, my eyes watering a little until I bite into my lime, which soothes the tiny bit of burn with its acidity.
“Oh my gosh. That wasn’t bad at all,” I say excitedly, proud I took it like a champ.
He smiles, lifting a brow in question. “Want another?”
I let out a little laugh. “Only if you’re sure the boss won’t catch us,” I joke.
The boss in question gives me a wink. “What’s another two ounces of liquor? There’s no way he’ll be able to tell.”
We go through the process again with the salt, tequila, and lime, and by the end of it, my belly feels nice and warm, and my lips feel slightly numb. “God, I’m such a lightweight. I feel that already,” I admit, and he corks the bottle.
“Am I gonna have to take you home?” he asks, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the bar.
“Nah, I’ll be fine. Just might have to hang out here for a while. Which I’m not mad about. I don’t really want to go home to an empty house anyway,” I tell him, and I grimace. I don’t really share much about my dirty details with the people I work with. I don’t want it skewing anyone’s perception of me, especially Winston. Aside from the word vomit that happened during my interview, and I’m sure Stephanie downloaded the entirety of it to Winston, I’ve kept the rest of what’s going on at home close to the vest, just like I do about most of the things that go on inside my mind with everyone else in my life. I’m not very big on sharing with the class, and I know that makes my sister absolutely crazy, but that’s just how I’ve always been.
“An empty house?” he prompts, and a look crosses his face, but I’m not quite sure what to make of it. Worry? Anger?
“Well, not exactly empty. My sister will be there, but my kids aren’t home,” I explain, and I see the unmistakable look of relief in his eyes. He was worried about me being home alone? That’s… sweet.
“Where are the kiddos?” he asks, because he at least knows my sister always watches them on the nights I have to work.
I allow the liquid courage to loosen my tongue, feeling oddly at ease about spilling my guts to this man. “Well, it turns out my ex had no plans of trying to fix our marriage and instead got his own place. The girls spent the night at his new apartment.”
His eyebrows lift at that. “Had you thought you were going to get back together?” he asks—the million-dollar question.
“Like I told my sister, yes and no. There had been no mention of divorce on his part, so I thought maybe he just needed some time… and he stayed with his parents for seven freaking months, so I didn’t know what to think. Then finally he just sprang it on me last week that he’d finally gotten his own place, so I knew for certain he had no plans to try to keep our vows. Which shouldn’t surprise me, seeing as he broke the one about staying faithful.” My nose wrinkles. “Sorry, TMI.”
“Cece, you know I’ve been a bartender for like… a decade, right?” he prompts, and my head tilts to the side.
“Well, not only that. You own the whole damn restaurant. But yes. So?” I ask.
“That liquor license may as well be a therapist’s certification, only I didn’t have to go to school for years to earn it. I promise, you can vent to me, and it won’t be nearly as bad as some of the things customers have told me.” He gives me an encouraging smile, and I relax against the bar, my elbow coming to rest on the wood and my head propping on my fist.
I know what he means. The last several weeks I’ve been bartending, people like to spill all their tea, and I’ve learned just to keep on pouring while they let it all out. “But I work for you. You sure you want to know what a hot mess your employee is?” I question.
He takes our glasses and refills them once more, but I don’t take the shot just yet. “There’s nothing you could say that would ever change my opinion of you, naekkeo,” he assures, and his tone nearly makes me swoon off my stool.
“You know,” I start, feeling rather brave, “I looked that up after the first time you called me it.”