Page 22 of Love Me Steadfast
She glances to the side, and I can practically see the gears of her mind turning. “It’s puzzling. You were poised to be the next Tom Brady. Instead you turn down a career that would have made you millions to be a firefighter in your hometown, and now you’re a small business owner in an industry you know nothing about.”
“Is there a question in there?”
A look of annoyance flashes in her eyes, but it’s gone just as fast. “Why trade a career that would have given you financial security and fame for this?”
“Maybe I’m more than just a dumb jock.”
With another huff, she closes her notebook. “I guess we’ll see.”
I pourmy pent-up worries on sifting through the rest of the items in the office. The dinner crew trickles in, and the music turns edgier, punctuated by chopping and the occasional burst of laughter. At four o’clock, Mike pops his head in.
“Oscar’s here. You ready?”
“Great,” I say, and follow The Limelight’s bar manager out of the office, locking it behind me. I’m going to need to return there, but maybe not today.
“Can I put in an order for you before we sit down?” Mike asks over his shoulder. He’s compact, with a buzz cut and a bristly mustache. Full lips and kind, expressive eyes.
“No, thanks, I’ll grab something later.” One of the perks of now owning a restaurant is free food. It’s…weird…but just add it to the list. Never in a million years did I think I’d put my environmental science degree toward being a firefighter or running a place like The Limelight. Annaleise Bell wasn’t wrong. I should be out collecting water samples or coring trees or watching bugs fuck.
Oscar, The Limelight’s lead chef, a big dude with a thick beard and thinning gray hair tied back in a ponytail ambles out of the kitchen in a pair of pink crocs, royal blue chef’s pants with cheeseburgers printed on them, and a white chef’s coat. He’s carrying a giant plastic cup full of what I hope is iced tea and settles into the booth at the end with a satisfied sigh. Mike sits next to him and with zero idea what I’m doing, I call our little meeting to order.
An hour later, I stagger out of The Limelight with the headache I had hoped to avoid tightening like a vise around my skull. There’s little I can do about it at this point, and though I really should stick around, there’s a good chance by the evening I’m going to be out of commission. As I’m pulling away from the curb, my phone chimes with a call from Zach. He might be the only person I’m willing to talk to, so I answer, and his voice fills the speakers.
“How was your first day?” he asks. His kids are chattering in the background, so he must be home. Probably in their backyard where he built a swing set. In the summer, Sofie grows the most incredible garden and is always offloading her extras on me.
“I had a productive meeting with my managers,” I reply.
“Fire anyone yet?”
I laugh. “I’m working up to it.” Though the hostess is at the top of my list. She disappeared for an hour during her shift, and she flat-out told me she couldn’t work evenings or weekends, which is actually when I need a hostess. The lunch rush could be handled by the waitstaff, which I’m hoping they’ll agree to because it means they’ll get to keep more of their tips. “Finally met with that journalist.”
“Annaleise Bell? Watch out. She’s a bulldog.”
I laugh. “It wasn’t too bad.”
“Have you figured out why Ray was so eager to sell?”
“Full honesty? I think he’s exhausted. And he’s worried about Morgan.”
He gives a low hum of acknowledgement. “Can’t say I blame him.” After a tense pause, he adds, his tone all business, “Speaking of which, are you off againtomorrow?”
“Yeah. I’m planning on spending it on that hellhole of an office.”
Zach grunts. “Okay if I drop by in the morning? I’ve got a couple of follow-up questions.”
I wince—he’s talking about the call to Thunder Mountain. “Okay.”
“What are you up to tonight?”
“I’m headed home. Gonna take Ollie up Rumble Creek.”
“Nice. It’s so pretty up there this time of year.” From the background comes Curren’s shriek, then Sofie’s laughter and the gurgle of running water. “How’re the headaches?” Zach asks, his tone softening.
I hate lying to my brother, but the truth would only worry him. “I haven’t had one in weeks.”
“That’s good,” he says.
We say goodbye just as I reach Morning Star Road, giving me a chance to enjoy some silence before I arrive home. Once there, I change and load up an excited Ollie, then drive to the Rumble Creek trailhead. Walking makes me feel like an old man, but a run is a recipe for pain. Ollie bounds up the trail, her fuzzy ears perked and her nose leading her in a zigzag through the brush as we climb.
