Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
“Well, hell yeah, I’m scared. Scared spitless.” Tammy made a frustrated noise for good measure. “She’s a nurse practitioner. Practically a doctor. I’m just a waitress. About to be an unemployed waitress.”
“Hey, now.” I hated seeing her this down, hated how much the sale of Honey’s was weighing on her, and now this big decision that made my own worries seem rather trivial.
“Just stating the truth.” She shrugged, ample chest moving under her apron. “I’ll land on my feet. Somewhere. The other day, I counted my pennies, thought about whether my little savings account could maybe make a go of a diner of my own…” Her mouth twisted into a wistful smile that made my chest clench. “But no. What would I know about running a place?”
“More than any manager we’ve had here,” I said firmly. And damn it, Tammy deserved a business of her own. She was a good-hearted woman, the best server I’d ever worked with, and a better friend than I likely deserved.
“You’re sweet.” She reached across to pat my jaw.
“And you’re a damn fine person. Your daughter would be lucky to know you.” I didn’t know a lot about my own origins, didn’t much want to know, but I’d bet Tammy was better than whatever gene pool I’d sprung from.
“Oh.” Tammy made a soft noise, eyes going glassy and mouth drooping. “Thank you, but I don’t know the first thing about mothering.”
“You mother every customer who comes in.” I met her gaze because it was true. She bravely wore her heart on her sleeve. Just like Sean. Who was also brave, and not only on the job. He was brave enough to go for what he wanted, to ask me to date, to want me to stay. I was the coward who still didn’t know what to say to him, but I did know what to tell Tammy. “Write the email.”
Biting her lower lip, she nodded and got busy typing.
A short while later, we finally got a trio of customers, a group of EMTs mid-shift. They parked their rig out front and ambled in. I craned my neck to see whether any fire department vehicles were joining them. Nope.
I headed to the grill, but not before Tammy whistled low. “Someone’s pissy it’s not the firefighters.”
“Stop.” I gave her my best glower, but she merely laughed.
“If you can give advice, so can I.” She flipped her shoulders like a teen. “Call him.”
It wasn’t that easy. And it wasn’t that we weren’t talking. We texted. Okay, we texted some. I hadn’t seen Sean in days, and whether a call or an in-person conversation, I had no clue what to say. My talk with Tammy had only confused me more.
“Hey, Tammy, did you hear about the dispensary that caught on fire this morning?” Tate, the EMT who was also friendly with Sean and Caleb, called out as the three EMTs took seats at the counter.
“Is it the punchline of a joke?” Tammy narrowed her eyes. I shared her confusion because Tate was always joking and in a good mood. “Or was it an actual callout?”
“Both.” One of the other EMTs, a woman in her forties, shook her head, burgundy curly hair dancing. “And geez Louise, what a blaze. Sean Murphy and Caleb Endicott barely made it out, thanks to a cat.”
Murphy. My breath stuttered, an audible catch, and Tammy glanced at me.
“A cat, you say?” Tammy asked, louder than normal, undoubtedly for my benefit.
“Yep. More complicated than some human rescues.” The curly-haired EMT laughed, as did the other two EMTs. “Cat was high on catnip. And more than a few onlookers got baked on pot fumes. It was a mess.”
“I bet.” Tammy made a sympathetic clucking noise. “Any injuries?”
She glanced my way, more sympathy in her eyes. I’d already figured Sean was fine, given the high spirits of the EMTs, but I appreciated her asking.
“Just some treat-and-release bystanders for smoke inhalation and a few scrapes.” Tate set aside his menu to gesture. “Murphy is lucky he was in full turnout gear because otherwise, that darn cat would have flayed him. Menace of a cat.”
“Says the guy who adores his boyfriend’s cat.” The third EMT, a younger man, gave Tate a pointed look.
“Guilty.” Tate shrugged. “But I’m a dog person.”
“Your dog thinks it’s a cat,” the curly-haired EMT teased before I returned my attention to the grill. Well, most of my attention went to prepping their orders. But a good chunk of my brainpower was worrying about Sean. Did he have something to put on those scrapes? And more importantly, how close of a call was the cat rescue?
I’d known from the start that Sean was a firefighter. Like all first responders, he faced certain risks, but I hadn’t dwelled on those dangers. But for the first time, it hit me: Sean could leave me. I was so concerned with when to leave him, how not to hurt him, and why we couldn’t get attached that I’d forgotten.