Page 17 of Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

6.

Livvy

Gage has stayed true to his word. We talk every day, but since I made him that promise a week ago, he’s not once asked for my location. Not once.

Though I can’t lie, especially to myself, that there’s a little part of me—okay, maybe a big part of me—that wishes he’s discovered my whereabouts and is waiting for me in my living room or sitting in my driveway, waiting for me to open the door.

And every morning I feel that twinge of disappointment when he’s not sitting in my living room or waiting for me to open my front door to let him in. This morning I get up and shower. Then dress for work. A black peasant blouse with red, yellow and blue flowers around the neckline, the short sleeves and at the waist. My tight pair of skinny jeans and those same strappy leather sandals I wore with the sundress.

New Livvy makeup gets me the positive attention I never got with biker Liv.

After a last face and wardrobe check, I grab up my purse, keys and cell, then head out to my truck. I love how close to work my house is. I love that after only a couple of minutes, I’m turning into the parking lot of Smitty’s.

Employee parking is around back. I get out, lock my truck and use my key to let myself in through the backdoor, flipping lights on as I go along.

Smitty keeps a small safe in the office where we take the day’s starting till from. I get that into the old cash register, walk over to flip the ‘Sorry, we’re closed’ sign to ‘We’re open,’ flick the lock to unlock the glass front door and walk back behind the counter.

Only minutes pass before the first customers begin to file in.

One of our regulars, Dr. Grandville, walks up to the counter with a steaming cup of freshly brewed coffee in hand, which had been set to brew from a timer third-shift John sets after filling the dispenser with water and loading the grounds before he leaves for the night, leaving one less thing for me to concern myself with in the mornings. He, Dr. Grandville, also wears his sweet old-man smile that I’m pretty sure he reserves just for me.

As old as Smitty, he’s actually a retired doctor and comes in for the gab rather than the gas.

“How’s the missus?” I ask as I wait for him to pull the frequent shoppers’ card from his wallet.

“Same.” He touches the card to the card reader. Although the cash register might be original, Smitty’s wife Georgie forced him to upgrade the checkout process a few years ago. Now they have card readers, for swipe, chip and touch. Then Mr. Grandville pays the dollar seventy-five cash and steps aside, out of line, but stays to keep me company.

“That’s good.” I happily reply, because it is good. Mrs. Grandville fell and fractured her hip. Hip fractures, so I’ve been told, could be life threatening, especially for the elderly.

“You only say that because you don’t have to live with her. After forty-seven years of marriage, she’s still the worst patient to look after.”

“You’d be lost without her.”

“A fact she reminds me of daily, my dear.”

I snicker. He snickers.

“Don’t suppose you’d ever find interest in an old man?” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively, which causes my snicker to bloom into a full-on laugh.

“No,” says a new voice, and at the sound of it, my laugh dries up immediately. “She’s in a committed relationship. Isn’t that right,Liv?”

The man from the bar. He found me.

“You know this guy, Liv?” Dr. Grandville asks. Even being older than dirt, he shifts his body protectively between me behind the counter and the guy.

“Met him the other night at Sea Breeze’s. I wasn’t buying what he was trying to sell.”

“You get gas, son?” Dr. Grandville turn his very practiced glare at the man.

“Not your son,” the man responds. He holds out a hand with a twenty between two fingers and approaches the counter, shoving Dr. Grandville out of the way with his shoulder.

He had, in fact, gotten gas.

I ring him up, then reach to take the twenty. “It’s probably best you get your gas elsewhere from now on. I’m sure Smitty will agree with me.”

The man surprises me by grabbing my wrist. “Come on, Liv. You’re just being rude now. I’ve been nothing but nice to you.”

“I already asked you not to call me ‘Liv.’ That’s not nice.” I attempt to wrench my wrist away, but he has a surprisingly firm hold. “Let go,” I order through clenched teeth.

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