After the last customer leaves and Stacy locks the door, Troy waves me over to the bar. Sweet relief comes when I sit on the stool, letting my aching feet rest for a blissful few minutes.
“Pick your poison.”
I chew on my bottom lip. “I, uh-”
He takes pity on me. “Okay, let’s do this over. What won’t you drink?”
“Tequila.” There’s no hesitation with my answer. “Oh, and Jagermeister.”
“What?” Troy’s brows draw together. “You can’t be serious.”
I nod. “We don’t get along.”
“Then you’re not drinking them right.” He moves behind the bar, throwing several liquids into a shaker and lining up five glasses on the bar. “Boss man, you in?”
Henry takes a seat next to me, even though the whole bar is completely empty. “You know it.”
Troy puts out another glass. A red-ish liquid greets me as a glass gets pushed my way. “I feel like I should prepare myself for something gross.”
Both Troy and Henry laugh. “Are you a newbie?”
I can feel a flush crawl up my neck. “Let’s just say I don’t get out much.”
Stacy, the hostess Samantha, and Caroline, the other server, join in. We raise our glasses for a toast.
“To our wives and girlfriends. May they never meet.”
Stacy rolls her eyes. “Troy, you’re so lame.”
He laughs. “Fine. Here’s a better one. If at first you don’t succeed, skydiving is not for you.”
A round of laughter breaks out and I watch everyone tip their glasses back. I look down at the liquid and pause. It’s sweet, yet there’s still a slight hint of licorice.
“Come on, Joss. Let it buck.” Caroline’s cheering isn’t helping.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and swallow it down. There isn’t a burn like I was expecting. And it’s actually quite…good.
“She survived,” Troy exclaims. “And?”
The glass clinks against the bar as I set it down. “Not bad.”
“Not bad?” Troy clutches his chest. “You wound me. That was a masterfully created shot. You don’t know what’s good for you. Did you even taste the jag?”
I tilt my head to the side. “I could smell it, but not taste it. What was it?”
A smirk tilts the corners of his lips. “A red-headed slut.” He gives a sly wink to Caroline, who throws a wadded-up napkin at him.
“Jerk. Stop looking at me every time you make that.”
We laugh again before dispersing to start our closing procedures. Henry walks back with me, his hands shoved into his pockets.
“I take it this was your first experience of the ‘after close’ shot?”
“Was it that obvious?”
We slow to a stop by the broom closet. He props a foot against the wall as he leans against it. Mischief plays at his face, partially hidden beneath his hat and beard.
“You do kind of stand out.”
Another flush crawls up my neck. “I just want to fit in.”
“You do. It’s been fun these last few weeks to watch you blossom. Nothing like the girl that came in here looking for an application.”
He’s seen the change I’ve felt. The slight shift in my personality feels good. Probably the reason why I exploded like I did this morning.
“Don’t get me wrong, you’re still you. There’s just something different.”
“Hmm,” is my only reply.
Henry pushes off the wall and brushes his shoulder against mine. “Whatever it is, it looks good on you.”
And with that, he leaves me to my chores.
The busy work is good, keeps my mind occupied on other things than the destruction of my home life. I can’t believe I kicked him out this morning. The look on the kids’ faces replays over and over in my mind. How dare he talk to them because he decided to do something without asking? Or knowing what the routine is because he can’t be bothered with details like that.
The broom scrapes against the floor, rhythmically matching the nerves flying through my system.
“Uh, I think that spot is clean.” Stacy slows to a stop next to me.
I hadn’t noticed I never moved from my spot. Just kept sweeping the same area. “I guess I lost track of what I was doing.” Feeble at best, but seems to appease.
She takes the broom from my hand. “Why don’t you start rolling silverware? Caroline’s finished with the back and from the looks of it, you’ve got this part covered.” Her pleased smile has me mimicking it.
After resetting the tables on the floor, I start working on the extras we’ll need for the next day. Stacy and Caroline find me mid-roll.
“You okay if we leave?”
I nod. “I’m good. There’s only this little bit left.”
They nod. “Perfect. Have a good night.”
Good thing Troy kept me company at the bar while I had the mundane task of rolling silverware. He was hell bent on making me laugh, telling me joke after horrible joke. But now he’s gone. Silence surrounds me, leaving the little voice in my head as my only companion.
I was in such a hurry to kick Mike out that I never thought of how I’m going to tell the kids when they get home tomorrow. How do I break the news? And what will they think of me. Will I be hated? Even worse, how is Mike going to see them?
A rogue tear streaks down my cheek, the first emotion I’ve let show since my breakdown earlier in the living room. Everything will work out. There are two scenarios I’ve allowed myself to dwell on. One, Mike will come to his senses and change his life around, be the guy from our past and not the asshole he’s become. Or two, we get divorced and find a new happiness without each other. He could find a woman who enjoys being treated like shit and I could find someone who thinks I’m worth more than being his nanny and housekeeper.
Option one makes me laugh.
Henry joins me, pulling out the chair next to mine. “Mind if I join you?”
“Knock yourself out,” I reply, keeping my gaze locked on the silverware in the tray. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him watching my movements. It’s not unnerving or creepy. It’s kind of nice being able to sit in comfortable silence with someone. Just to know I’m not alone.
“So how come you’re here late?”
I raise a brow and smirk. “Um, still have work to be done?”
His masculine laugh has my stomach doing flips. “Besides the obvious. Usually you’re running out of here as fast as you can on Saturday nights.”
“Yeah, well, the kids are staying at their friends’ houses tonight, so there’s no need to rush.”
He nods. “Well, want a glass of wine while you roll?”
I stop and turn. “Are you sure? We’ve already done the ‘after close’ shot.”
Henry ignores my argument and goes behind the bar, grabbing two white wine glasses. “Any requests?”
“For white? It doesn’t matter. They’re all good.”
He nods and pulls one from the fridge. I’d know it anywhere by the label. Nothing beats a good Pinot Grigio. Sliding the glass over, he picks his up and reclaims the seat next to me. The cool crispness hits my tongue and I internally sigh. Exactly what I needed.
It takes me a second to get back in gear as I sit and watch Henry sip his own glass of wine. When I fail to turn away, he gives me a puzzled look. “What?”
I flush and look down. “Nothing. It’s just…”
He chuckles. “Spit it out.”
“Well.” God, I feel stupid saying this. “I never would have pegged you as a wine drinker. You seem like you’re a beer guy.”
His chuckle grows, pulling his lips into a full-blown smile. “Contrary to what you think, men do drink and enjoy wine.”
“I’m sure they do; it’s just I’ve never witnessed it myself.”
“Even with your tables?”
“I…” Shit. He’s got me there.
“Thought so,” he says, still laughing at my expense.
It’s nice
to joke around and know he’s not being mean about it.
“So no kids? What about Mike?”
I twirl the stem of my glass. “He’s…out.”
Henry doesn’t say anything, just nods and takes a sip. “I see.” We sit in silence again. It isn’t until Henry lifts his hat to run his fingers through his hair that I get distracted enough to make a sound. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him without a hat, but man, why is he hiding all that luscious brown hair? It’s screaming to have fingers run through it.
I cough again as Henry places the hat back on his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you go without a hat before.”
Why isn’t my filter working? Just because I think it doesn’t mean I need to say it.
He humors me by laughing anyway. “Huh, I didn’t realize I’m always wearing one.” He taps his chin. “Are you sure? I swear I’ve gone without it once or twice.”
I laugh. “Once or twice? No, not that I’ve ever seen. You’re always hiding your hair. I was beginning to think you were bald underneath.”
With a grin, he shakes his head. “Not bald. Though in the summertime I wish I were. It gets hot back in the kitchen. It’d be nice to lose some insulation up there.”
“I can imagine. It’s hot now and it’s only the beginning of November.”
“Trust me, it’ll get worse. You’ll see.”
I push the stack of rolled silverware to the side. “Any big plans tonight, Mr. Night Owl?”
“Nope, not a one. Thought about maybe popping in a movie and passing out on the couch from exhaustion.”
“Ooh, party animal,” I say.
He nudges my foot with his. “What’s your big plan since you have a quiet house to go home to?”
I shrug. “Probably the same. Maybe I’ll do a movie marathon and see if I can make it past the first ten minutes of Star Wars since it usually puts me to sleep at night.”
“Star Wars?” He quirks a brow up in question.
I point a finger at him. “Don’t you mess with my movie. It’s the greatest saga ever made.”
He holds his hands up in defense. “I didn’t say a word. But if it’s the greatest, why do you fall asleep every time you watch it?”
“Not every time I watch it. Only when I’m ready to fall asleep. I don’t know. Maybe it lulls me into a sense of calmness by using the Force.”
“Pretty sure that’s not how the Force works.” Laughter dances within his eyes. He’s making fun of me.
“How would you know? Are you a Jedi Master? Or a padawan? What’s your midi-chlorian count?”
This time, his amusement shows in more than just his mesmerizing eyes. “Okay, your nerd is showing now.”
My grin widens. “I’ve never denied that I was a nerd. I’m fully aware of my capabilities.” I pause, taking a drink of my wine. “What about you? Any secret nerd fetishes?”
“Sadly, no. I think you’re nerd enough for the both of us. Next you’re going to tell me you enjoy marathon runs of The Lord of the Rings.” I look away and let the wine glass hover next to my lips. “Seriously?”
“What?” It’s hard to contain my amusement now. “Have you seen Viggo Mortensen in those movies?” I over-exaggeratedly fan myself.
Henry drains his glass. “I’m going out on a limb here and say you were a straight-A student in high school.”
Heat creeps onto my cheeks. “Not quite, but I did have a 3.8 GPA.”
“You got a B?” He feigns surprise. I kick his shoe, which makes him laugh.
“Yes, I got a B. A couple. I had a hard semester one year.” He shakes his head. “Okay, Mr. Smarty-Pants, what about you?”
“Well,” he starts, adjusting to lean closer to me. “I wasn’t quite as smart as you. More of the lower 3.0 variety.”
“Ah, dumb jock? Letting your teachers pass you so you could lead the team to victory week after week?”
Henry gestures to his body with a smirk. “Does this look like someone who was athletic?”
I take my time roaming his body, trying not to spend too much time hovering over his shoulders and narrow waist. No, not muscular, but not someone who lets himself go either. His t-shirt clings to his chest in just the right places, playing with my hormones; the ones that haven’t been used in a very long time.
He clears his throat and the heat on my cheeks feels like a full-on forest fire now.
“I’m not the right person to ask that question to.”
“And why not?”
“Because.”
He smirks. “That’s not an answer.”
“It is in my house,” I say with a smile.
“So, you’re one of those moms, huh?”
I shake my head. “Not usually. Depends on the question.”
“Let me guess,” he starts, swiveling toward me. “It’s the ‘why’ questions?”
I take a sip of wine. “Mostly. And it usually works or they don’t want to argue.”
“I can’t see your kids arguing too much. They’re pretty great.”
Tilting my head to the side, I throw a puzzled look. “Are we talking about my kids? You know they’re pre-teens who fight like cats and dogs. Besides being the opposite sex, they’re too close in age. You’re lucky. You and Wendy timed them perfectly. Two and a half years is the perfect distance if you ask me.”
Henry nods. “Yeah, they have their issues too, but overall they get along great. Luke idolizes his big sister and wants to tag along everywhere she goes. Some days it’s tolerated more than others.”
“Being an only child, I wouldn’t know. Sometimes I want to sympathize with my kids, but other times I want to tell them they should be happy to have someone to play with.”
“You were an only child?” He pushes away his empty glass and gives me his full attention.
I take another sip to calm my nerves. “Let’s say I was a surprise baby. My parents had trouble conceiving and resigned themselves to never having a child. Then, as my mom tells it, one night–and a bottle of Zinfandel–voila, I became their miracle.”
“How old were they?” He rests his fist under his chin as he leans against the bar.
“Early forties. They’re long retired now and moved away so they don’t have to deal with the winters anymore.”
“Do you see them often?”
A pang hits my heart. “No. They come up once a year around the kids’ birthdays. And we can’t afford to fly down to Arizona.”
“That’s too bad. Then again, my parents live a few hours away and I hardly ever see them. But they’re both still working and my crazy schedule doesn’t give me too many days off. Not without leaving me in a constant state of panic.” His smile dips slightly.
I nod, knowing we’re kindred spirits in this sense. “At least yours are still young. Every time my mom calls, I’m afraid she’s going to tell me something bad happened to my dad.”
“Is he sick?” Whatever sadness filled his face before is gone, replaced by concern.
“No, he’s fine. But the little voice in my head always goes to the worst-case scenario.”
“Ah,” he says with a knowing smile. “You have one of those voices. I’m intrigued. What else does that negative voice tell you?”
I hold my hands up. “You don’t want to know.”
Henry crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Oh, now I do for sure.”
On a sigh, I drain my glass. “Okay, but you asked for it.” I can’t believe I’m about to relinquish the inner thoughts of my screwed-up brain to him. “Are you sure?”
Henry laughs, lighting his whole face up. “Quit stalling. Yes, I want to know.”
He asked for it. “Well, for starters, I don’t like my food to touch.”
He blinks once, twice, three times. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Yeah, my food cannot touch, unless it’s supposed to. You know, like in a breakfast scramble or things like that.”
“Wait, timeout.” He holds his hands up in a T. “You’re telling me when you load up a
plate at dinner, nothing touches.”
I nod. “There has to be space between each food item. And all the hot stuff has to go together and the cold stuff has to be far enough away.”
The bewildered look he’s giving me has me wanting to laugh out loud. “So, you’re saying nothing touches.” He’s still caught up on that?
“Yes.”
“You know it all gets mixed up in your stomach, right?”
This time I do laugh. “No, I’m pretty sure I have separate compartments in my stomach for each food item.”
“Like a cow?”
I quirk a brow. “Are you calling me a cow?”
Red sweeps across his face instantly. “No, but, come on. You have to hear how ridiculous this sounds, right?”
Again, I shake my head. “And I have to eat in order.” He throws me another confused look. “I determine what I’m eating first, usually my potatoes or rice, then work clockwise around my plate.”
Henry holds a hand up while trying to suppress a grin. “Let me get this straight. You plan how you eat?”
“You make it sound weird.”
“That’s because it is weird.” The laugh escapes, but it doesn’t make me feel self-conscious. Not how Mike’s laughter does. I know his is mocking and scornful. Henry’s seems amused and playful. Like the old saying, he’s laughing with me, not at me.
“It’s not weird.” I cross my arms with a mock scowl.
Henry pulls at my limbs as his chuckles drift away. “If you say so. I can honestly say I’ve never met someone who’s that coordinated about their meal. It must take you forever to eat.”
“Not really. I’m a fast eater, but then again, I don’t put much on my plate. I’m always thinking about what needs to be done at night and spending time eating gets in the way.”
His smile dips again. “That’s not healthy. You need to eat properly.”
“Oh I do,” I say a little too quickly. “I just take smaller portions.” He nods, seemingly satisfied with my excuse. Whether he believes me, I don’t know. Clearing my throat, I ease the tension that suddenly built around us. “What about you?”
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