by Kathy Altman
Gil shoved his hands into his pockets before he did something stupid. Something that would involve having to buy himself a new pair of glasses. “If there’s nothing I can help you with, I need to get back to work.”
Burke snorted. “Yeah, didn’t think so. She’s way out of your league. But dude, you don’t seem to realize the opportunity you have here.” He gestured for Gil to come closer, and spoke in a whisper no softer than his regular speaking voice. “She’s been in prison. Missing out on...you know.” He poked Gil with a sly elbow. “I’m thinking she’d be hella grateful to any guy who paid her the right kind of attention, if you know what I mean.”
Rage licked fire into his veins and Gil flexed his fingers. After a few deep breaths he found himself channeling Seth and cracked his knuckles. “Yeah, I know what you mean. You’d better get the hell out of here before I kick your ass.”
Burke responded with a slow blink. “What?”
“What’s the matter with you, disrespecting a woman like that? I don’t want you back in here until you’ve learned some manners.”
Burke rolled his red-rimmed eyes. “No way you can kick my ass.”
“You’re drunk. Sure you want to find out?”
The firefighter hesitated then held up his hands in an unsteady surrender. “Look, I just came in to get some string for my weed whacker.”
Gil herded him toward the door. “Get it online.”
“You suck, dude. And so does your store.”
Gil watched the firefighter barrel down the sidewalk, back toward the firehouse. He took out his phone and fired off a quick text to a buddy on the day shift, suggesting he convince Burke to hit his bunk and sleep it off.
“You didn’t have to do that for me.”
Damn. Gil swung around. “You heard.”
“It’s not the first time I’ve heard something like that.” Her shrug was far from the casual gesture she was probably going for. “Not from him, though. He drinks a lot, but he’s never caused any trouble.”
“He’s a decent guy when he isn’t drinking. Seems like lately there’s a lot more drinking and a lot less decent, though.” And that was enough talk about Burke Yancey. He jerked a nod at the clipboard she held. “Question?”
“Would you mind showing me where you keep the soft copy? I need to add some items.”
“Sure.” Before she could turn away, he touched her arm. Beneath his fingertips her sweater was fuzzy and warm.
“We should talk.”
“About?”
“The cash register.”
She hugged the clipboard to her chest. “As in, I’m not allowed near it? Don’t sweat it. I didn’t expect anything else.”
He shook his head. “One advantage to having you here is that it frees me to work in the office or run errands. I can even make deliveries again, which would be a big boost to my bottom line. Not allowing you near the register would mess all that up.” The muffled slam of a car door pulled his attention to the front. A middle-aged man wearing a bright yellow windbreaker was making his way toward the store.
Gil checked the time on his phone. “When do you need to head to Snoozy’s?”
“Ruthie’s opening for me, so I can stay until noon.”
Gil began backing toward the office. “Then for the next hour, you’re it. Come get me if you need me.”
“Wait, what were you going to tell me about the cash register?”
“You need to type in a code before you can use it.” The cowbell clanged and Gil quickly recited the numbers.
Kerry narrowed her gaze. “You’re planning on pouring yourself another cup of coffee, aren’t you?”
With a mock innocent look, he spread his hands. “Someone has to drink it.”
He had a feeling he’d be having a lot of secret assignations with the Cap’n in the future. At least he’d be having assignations with someone.
* * *
KERRY SPENT HER entire shift at Snoozy’s half hoping, half dreading Liz would show. She never did. When she wasn’t stressing about Liz, she was second-guessing her decision to tell Gil she was pregnant. Why hadn’t she waited until a blood test confirmed it? If it came back negative, she’d have freaked them both out for nothing, and Gil would be sure to withdraw his job offer. Which meant Kerry would probably end up commuting to Erie after Snoozy got back.
Not that the time away from her father seemed like it would be a big deal after all. Not when he couldn’t bring himself to talk to her. Doing dumb things like hurting Liz’s feelings wasn’t helping her cause any.
No wonder she managed to shatter four whiskey sour glasses and her lunch plate before her shift ended. Good thing Snoozy wasn’t around to see it. Ruthie was, though. Kerry had sent her home early just so she wouldn’t have to see the disgust on the redhead’s face. And of course the breakage meant the tip jar took another hit.
Her evening was saved from being a total disaster when Dylan walked in. He was later than usual, and she’d been petrified he wouldn’t show because she had no idea who to recruit to look after Mitzi. One of her customers had suggested she call the Castle Creek librarian, a guy named Noble Johnson, but that had to have been some sort of joke.
Dylan did his python caretaker bit and set up his usual homework station at the end of the bar, moments before Gil walked in.
Just one glimpse of his dimples had her stomach trembling and her fingers tingling with the need to touch him again. Her disgust with herself matched Ruthie’s. How could she continue to crush on a guy who had such a low opinion of her?
He had put her off-kilter that morning with his friendly attitude. And trusting her with the cash register. What was that about? Maybe he hoped if he stopped growling at her, she wouldn’t rob him blind?
Funny not funny, girlfriend.
He slid onto the stool next to Dylan’s and made a big deal about showing the teen his set of retractable pencils. Dylan was more interested in teasing him about the pocket protector he kept them in.
Kerry was trying hard not to smirk about the aforementioned pocket protector as she approached them for their drink order.
“Dude,” Dylan was saying. “What happened to your hair?”
Gil’s face was the color of the maraschino cherries Kerry had just finished stocking. “Nothing,” he said, and shot a weak smile at Kerry. “Why?”
“Did your girlfriend cut off a hunk of it for a bracelet? That’s what my brother’s girl did to him. Whacked off a piece to weave into some sort of keepsake, she said, and left a bald spot over his ear. He didn’t text her for like, a whole week.” He eyed Gil’s hairline and shook his head. “Love sucks.”
Kerry could have kissed Dylan for banishing all the awkward out of the encounter. “What can I get you? Another cran-dandy cooler?”
He made a face and tipped his head sideways at Gil. “Nah. I’ll have what he’s having. You know, that golf drink.”
She donned a crafty expression. “Actually, I was going to pour him a mix of everything I have on tap. You know, the draft version of a suicide.”
Gil’s head jerked back and his jaw flexed. He bent his head and took his time selecting a pencil from his collection, finally mumbled something to Dylan and opened his notebook.
“I’ll have an Arnold Palmer, too, please,” he said, his voice all sand and gravel.
Kerry bit the inside of her lip. She’d struck a nerve. A sinking sensation chilled a path from her chest to her belly.
Apologizing would only make things worse. She fixed and delivered their drinks and moved to the opposite end of the bar to give them their privacy.
As she worked her way through her bar space, cleaning and taking inventory, she realized they were talking about Dylan’s family. She couldn’t help herself. She moved closer.
“He doesn’t let me do anythin
g,” the teen was saying. “It’s like he’s scared something’s going to happen to me, too. I can’t go anywhere.”
“He lets you come here.”
Dylan squirmed. “That’s ’cause I need money for lunches and stuff, and a lot of times he doesn’t have it.”
“Your mom’s care must be very expensive,” Gil said quietly.
“I guess.” He didn’t look up from his textbook.
Gil met Kerry’s gaze, and something bleak passed between them.
“Hey, you hungry?” Gil asked Dylan. When he nodded, Gil turned back to Kerry. “Too late to get Ruthie to fry up a couple of burgers?”
“She shut down the grill and went home,” Kerry said apologetically. “But I can put together a couple of ham and cheese subs if you’re good with that.”
“Cool with you?” he asked Dylan.
Dylan nodded and exchanged knucks, and Kerry fought another bout of tears all the way to the kitchen.
Only three weeks pregnant and she was pretty much crying at the drop of a hat. What would three months be like? Or six?
Gil and Dylan continued working for about an hour. The sight of their heads together—one blond and one red and yes, the blond did seem a little patchy—had her heart in perma-melt mode.
She couldn’t wait to go home and indulge in a good cry. Get it out of her system. Until the next day, anyway. So much for not feeling pregnant.
Gil offered to drive Dylan home and they left together, after Kerry reminded Gil she might be late the next morning because of her doctor’s appointment. He gave her a thumbs-up and, with a hand on Dylan’s shoulder, guided him out the door.
The moment her last customer left, Kerry locked the door, turned off the neon blue Snoozy’s sign and retrieved her cell from behind the bar. She pulled up the number Ruthie had reluctantly recited and sent the text it had taken her all night to draft.
Could we meet for an early breakfast Friday?
She’d rather meet tomorrow morning and get it over with, but her doctor’s appointment made that impossible. She set down her phone and gave her fingers a quick cross for good luck. She didn’t expect Liz Watts to answer anytime soon, if at all. According to Eugenia, Liz had a nine-month-old boy at home—chances were the entire family was already in bed. Even if Liz were still awake, Kerry doubted she’d respond.
Who could blame her for blowing off the woman who’d made her cry? In public?
She tugged the clip out of her hair, gathered it up again along with all the pieces sweat had glued to her neck and replaced the clip. Then she got down to her favorite part of the shift—closing up. Setting everything to rights. Making everything fresh for a brand new day.
She’d already covered and stored all her mixers and juices and restocked her glasses. Before she could leave for the night, she had to restock the beer cooler and check for liquor empties, wash her blenders and utensils and soak the soda gun nozzles, wipe down the bar area, the tables, and the bar stools, sweep and mop the floor and finally, close out the register.
She was just settling down at Snoozy’s desk when her phone pinged. Liz had responded to her invitation to breakfast.
Do you plan to apologize?
Kerry rolled her eyes, but found herself smiling, too.
Meet me and find out.
Liz replied,
Can’t manage breakfast. Come by the greenhouses for coffee. Any time after 7.
Kerry considered Liz’s words. Chances were she’d run into her father at Castle Creek Growers, but she might as well get it over with. Two for one. Such a deal.
Be there around 8.
Kerry’s phone lit up a few seconds later with Liz’s reply.
Bring coffee. Your dad makes it too strong. It takes me half an hour to pour a cup and with every sip I expect a fossil to bubble up to the surface.
Heartened by Liz’s joking tone, Kerry set aside her phone and turned back to the computer. She glanced at the clock and grimaced. Despite having been through closing a number of times, she was still a slowpoke. She’d be lucky if she made it out of the bar before three.
But within half an hour she’d finished updating the sales spreadsheet and the comped drinks and waste log, made notes about inventory, and prepared the bank deposit. She was getting better at this. With a record-setting yawn, she pulled on her sweater, grabbed her purse and conducted one last walk-through.
“Good night, Mitzi,” she called, then scurried out the front door, still not thrilled with the idea of being locked in with a ten-foot python.
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING, Kerry completed her outfit by shrugging into her favorite navy sweater. The look wasn’t exactly chic, but she needed all the support she could get. Although she was ninety-nine percent certain what the outcome would be at the doctor’s office, she couldn’t help the nerves that made it impossible for her to even consider eating breakfast.
She pulled her hair back into a loose bun, swiped a pink gloss across her lips and let herself out of the apartment. She stood at the top of the metal staircase and prayed her legs wouldn’t give out. At the moment, they felt as sturdy as a pair of those cheap plastic sword picks Snoozy used for garnishes.
She was halfway down the stairs when she realized that big silver blob she’d been seeing out of the corner of her eye was Gil’s pickup. He stood beside it, looking dressier than usual in khakis and a blue button-down shirt.
He spread his hands. “Might as well get used to going to these things together.”
She didn’t know whether to salivate or cry. A few deep breaths eased the pressure in her chest and she managed to blink back a small surge of tears. The spit thing was already a done deal.
She swallowed. “You’ll be late opening the store.”
“I put a note on the door. I doubt anyone will even notice.”
She walked the rest of the way to the truck and hesitated at the tailgate. “Part of me is relieved I’ll have someone to keep me company. The rest of me resents that you’re here because you don’t trust me.”
He grunted. “Where was all this straightforwardness when you were helping your husband commit insurance fraud?”
His words smacked the warm and fuzzy right out of her. Wordlessly she followed him to the passenger side and accepted his help stepping up into the truck. After he settled himself into his own seat, he pointed to a travel mug in the center console.
“That’s for you.”
Still smarting from his words, she poked at it. “Doesn’t smell like coffee.”
“Because I figured you’d already had your one cup. That’s orange juice. No pulp.”
She swung her head around. “How’d you know I don’t like the pulp?”
“Lucky guess.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He started up the truck and pulled out of the parking lot. She gave him directions and settled back with her juice.
The butterscotch rays of sunlight filtering through the windshield warmed the cab, and—along with the steady drone of the engine—lulled Kerry into a state of sleepiness. Through slitted eyes she glanced over at Gil, and tried to imagine what it would be like if they weren’t on their way to finding out whether their one night of passion had a consequence that would bind them together forever.
Maybe they would be on their way to a day of shopping, or breakfast with Harris and Eugenia.
Errrrrt. Her fantasies halted with a mental squeal of brakes. It would take a miracle for her father to forgive her. Especially now. And Gil was understandably disgusted by the things she’d done. Her shoulders sagged under the weight of hopelessness.
How frustrating, to have your intentions constantly questioned. And she had no one to blame but herself.
“Help me understand why you did it,” Gil said.
&nb
sp; She opened her eyes and sat upright. What was the point? she wanted to ask. Nothing she could say would mitigate what she’d done. Nothing would make him feel better about taking a chance on her. But he’d asked, and she would answer, if only as part of her penance.
Gently she placed the cup back in its holder. “I don’t know that I understand it myself,” she said. “I loved my husband and I was scared our life would change. I ignored my conscience and betrayed a lot of people.”
“Did he threaten you?”
Her fingers curled together in her lap. “There weren’t any extenuating circumstances. I did a terrible thing for selfish reasons. I did wrong because it was easier than doing right. I was not a good person, Gil.” She turned her head, and let her gaze rest on his strong, long-fingered hands. She ached for the privilege of lifting one of his hands from the wheel and joining it with hers. “I’m not that person anymore.”
“Do you still love him?”
“I started falling out of love the moment I learned about the fraud.” Shame delivered heat to her face. “Makes no sense, I know, considering I helped, but there it is. When I found out he was having affairs with most of the women he recruited, that was the end for me.”
He slowed the pickup, bent his head to peer through the windshield and flicked on his turn signal. “We’re here.”
“Don’t you have an ultimate regret?” she asked thickly. “That one huge, dark, smothering regret you’d give anything to be able to off-load?”
He killed the engine and stared through his side window. “Yes.”
Her inhalation was so sharp, she wondered if she’d sliced her windpipe. “It’s not me, is it?”
“No.” His fingers weren’t quite steady as they worked his seat belt. “I have bigger regrets than you and me.”
Without another word Kerry got out of the truck.
An hour later they were climbing back in. Doors thudded, seat belts clicked. Then nothing.
The sun had climbed higher. Instead of soothing, its amber rays irritated. Kerry’s eyes watered, and she sneezed.