Page 16 of Homesick

“A little?”

“Fine. A lot,” I admit as I continue to follow him down the fence row and hand him a new fence insulator to replace the old one. “But I would like to get better at that while I’m home. I want to stop being such a . . .”

“Loner?”

I roll my eyes at his quick response. “Not really the word I’d use, but sure. Loner.”

“Well good. Mom and Dad really miss you.”

“Just them?” I say with a smirk.

“Okay, I miss you, too, little sis. Don’t tell Ashley this, but you’re a much better assistant than she is.” He smiles. I begin to relax a little as a feeling of warmth spreads across my chest.

“I am sorry about not giving you a heads-up about Blake. However, I’m not sorry for being friends with him again. He has his . . .” Chris starts to say but then stops himself. “Just go easy on him, okay?”

Weird, I think to myself “He didn’t go easy on me,” I mumble under my breath.

“Listen Wren. Blake is probably going to be around the farm a lot. I’m not saying you have to be friends with the guy, but maybe just be civil. Also, don’t take it out on his truck. You know how much he loves that truck.”

My face starts to get red and Chris breaks out into a fit of laughter. “I’m never drinking again.”

CHAPTER 6

“Okay, so here’s all you need to know about waitressing at the inn. The more the customer drinks, the more they’ll tip at the end of the night,” Sheila explains with a smile.

After a few days of working at the Rustic Inn, I realized working at a bar is a lot harder than they make it look in Coyote Ugly and I didn’t get to hose down the customers if they asked for water. That part was a real bummer.

So far, I’ve broken two glasses and one bottle of tequila. Long story short, I will never try to flip a bottle of alcohol again.

I came in during the day while it was slow, and Sheila would walk me through everything and shadow me when she wasn’t busy. I was thankful for the opportunity to get out of the house and get my mind off my job hunt for a while. I also needed to get my mind off other things which was hard when I work with said thing’s mom now.

“That seems simple enough,” I smile back.

For a second, I step back and look at Sheila in the dim light of the bar. A frown begins to weigh down my face when I notice the dark bags under her eyes. I quickly take a page from Sheila’s book and replace my frown with a smile when she makes eye contact with me.

“Well, I have to take care of some things in the back. Can you clean up a little and just holler if any customers come in.” The bar is usually dead earlier in the day, but things pick up closer to dinner time.

I quickly wipe down the bar and make sure everything is stocked for later. My eye catches on a sign above the bar with a very outdated Facebook logo and bright capital letters that read, Follow Us on Facebook!

I take a break from cleaning and pull out my phone. I easily find the Rustic Inn’s Facebook page and cringe at the unflattering picture of the outside of the bar proudly displayed as the cover photo. I scroll down and see the page has 3.2k followers, which is pretty good for our little town. The last post was made over a year ago with a status announcing their specials for the week with a lot of typos.

I switch over to Instagram and see they don’t have a page, which isn’t surprising. They’re basically missing out on free advertising, I think to myself. Back in Cleveland, I was always checking out bars’ social media pages for things like events and specials. I’m sure they would get a lot more business from neighboring towns and further if they were on social. Tourists loved these little hole-in-the-wall places.

I hear the door ding, alerting me to a customer walking in the building. I shove my phone back in my pocket and put on my best customer service smile. Unfortunately, it’s wasted on Blake. My smile instantly drops, but then I remember my brother asked me to be civil.

“Hi, Blake. How are you?”

He gives me a suspicious glare and replies, “no dirty look? No smart remarks? Geez Wren, I know my mom is your boss now, but I promise I won’t tell on you.”

He slides up on one of the bar stools and makes himself at home.

“I was told I had to play nice,” I say dryly. Blake’s eyes light up and I know my manners will only last so long around him.

“I like you much better when you’re mean to me. I love seeing that little vein pop out on your forehead when I get you all worked up,” he says smugly, leaning into the counter as he talks.

Is he flirting with me? Fuck that. “Okay, first?—”

I’m abruptly cut off by Sheila’s voice ringing throughout the room. “Blake! Hey, hunny. I thought I heard your voice.”

---