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)
"Want to talk about it?"
"Not really," he grumbles, but I know he's either going to talk about it now, or he'll be jabbering about it after a few more beers.
"I'm here if you need me," I say, tapping my knuckles on the bar top in front of him before turning to walk away.
"Hey, before you go."
I turn back to him, hiding my smile. Most people want to talk. They want advice. Claire is a different breed, wanting to struggle and fight her battles all alone.
"What's up?"
"Are you hiring?"
This question throws me for a loop.
"If you worked here, you wouldn't be able to drink beer while on the clock," I tell him with a laugh.
He laughs too, but he shakes his head while he's doing it.
"My cousin mentioned wanting to move to town at Thanksgiving when she came to visit. I thought she was just blowing smoke, but she called last night and mentioned it again. I think she might honestly be considering it. She asked if there was any place she could work and get good tips. I suggested The Brew and Chew, but I think the gagging noise she made means she isn't interested in that place."
"We're always hiring," I tell him honestly, even though I told Claire the opposite when she applied both times.
I've spent hours actively regretting not hiring her a lot sooner.
"Do you have a link to an online application?"
"Sure," I tell him, reaching into my pocket and pulling my hand out with my middle finger in the air. "Name one place around here that’s that technologically advanced?"
He huffs a laugh, nodding because he knows it's true.
"Let me get you a paper one. Maybe you can have Sage down at the bookstore scan it in for you and you can email it."
"I have a scanner, asshole," he mutters.
I'm still laughing as I walk away from the bar and head down the hallway to grab an application from the office. It takes me longer than it should to find it with how Claire has rearranged things. It reminds me that she hasn't given me a list of things she needs to get this place in order, and that makes me think she'll never come back. She really needs to stand her ground with the Kennedys and that means not having evening daycare.
My mood is sour by the time I drop the application off with Mac, and I have several customers standing at the bar waiting for drinks.
Megan is making her rounds and staying busy, so I help the customers one by one until the queue is cleared.
The night continues, and it seems like every second drags on.
Knowing that she's with Larkin and would never come here with her child doesn't keep me from watching the damn door as if she'll magically appear. My eyes stay locked on it nearly every second after five, knowing she’s finished her shift at the vet's clinic.
When seven rolls around, I'm disappointed all over again, even though she called in for her shift hours ago.
The woman has me all tangled up, but I'm not exactly angry about it. If I were getting to go home to her, having her waiting for me in a bed we shared every night, it would make these hours without her bearable, but as it stands right now, I don't know when I'll see her again.
I know from history she isn't just going to pop up someplace to see me. If I want to see her, then I need to be the one to make that move.
I'm considering all the ways I can run into her without making it look too suspicious when I see Riley Wilson walk in and take a seat at the bar a few spots away from Mac.
From the distance they've put between each other either, they know each other and hate the other or they never took my advice.
Riley looks just as downtrodden as she did the last time she came in here, and I know from a recent post she made in the town social media group that rather than changing her menu to something more palatable for the people she's catering to, she doubled down and announced she was offering something I couldn't even pronounce.
"Hey there, Riley," I say as I approach her. "What can I get you to drink?"
"Do you sell whiskey by the bottle?"
"I do," I answer, not sure if she's being serious. "But if you don't finish it, you have to leave it here. It's illegal to take it out of the bar."
"Of course, it is. Getting arrested is just what I need. I can see the headline now,” she says, swiping her hand in front of her face as if indicating something written there. "Police Chief Cash Tucker was seen dragging a drunk caterer out of the bar."