difference with your hands. Check the thickness of the wallboard and, more importantly, check the warranty. Think about how often you want to tear out walls and replace the unit,” he said.
Buying fixtures is like getting into a relationship. Melanie’s voice popped into his head. You need to be sure that the one you get has a fifty-year warranty and won’t fall apart with use.
We had that kind of relationship, darlin’. He stood perfectly still, hoping that she’d say something else, but she didn’t.
“This is going to involve a lot of plumbing,” Jolene said.
“Before we get done, we’ll probably have the whole house refitted. And maybe most of the electrical wiring redone.” He was a little aggravated that Jolene had broken the magic by speaking. It might be weeks before Melanie said anything else. And what did she mean by that comment about relationships? What they’d had couldn’t be compared to bathtubs and showers—not by any stretch of the word.
What we had, with “had” being the key here. There was her voice again. I keep telling you to let me go and move on, Tucker.
“I can’t,” he said out loud.
“Can’t what?” Jolene frowned. “Who are you arguing with?”
“Myself, I guess,” he muttered and quickly changed the subject. “Move on to the last one in the line. That’s the one I’d pick. It’s got a lifetime warranty and . . .”
She laid a hand on his arm. “Okay, partner, if you’re sure.”
“I’m not real fond of redoing bathrooms. Putting in a new one isn’t so tough, but trying to redo one in such a tiny space is a bitch.”
“Well . . .” She dragged out the word. “Then you can pick out this stuff and I’ll work on the antiques and pretty things.”
“I can agree with that, but I would like to see what you pick out before you buy it,” he said. “It’s not that I don’t trust you to choose gorgeous things, but I want to be sure the pieces will fit where we want to use them.”
“Deal.” She stuck out her hand.
There was another bit of chemistry when he took her small hand into his, and he didn’t like it one bit. He couldn’t be unfaithful to Melanie again—he’d felt guilty as hell the few times he’d had one-night stands in the past couple of years. They hadn’t done a damn thing to ease the pain, anyway. He certainly hadn’t felt anything for those women. So why was he feeling sparks now?
Chapter Seven
Give a bunch of stir-crazy folks some loud country music, a few beers, a pool table, and maybe let them do some two-stepping or line dancing, and they’re happy. By the looks of the parking lot that Friday night, there was going to be a full house at the Gator.
When Jolene rapped on the door, Dotty opened it immediately. “I thought you might be here soon. We’ve got a few minutes until opening. Want a root beer while we wait?”
“Yes, ma’am, with a shot of vanilla. But why wait?” Jolene tied an apron around her slim waist and tucked a towel in her hip pocket. “I’ll get it. Since there’ll be two of us tonight, which end do you want me to work?”
“I can see you’ve worked with more than one bartender.” Dotty twisted the cap from a bottle of icy-cold root beer and gave it a shot of vanilla.
“You haven’t?” Jolene took a long gulp.
“Couple of times, but it never worked out. We got in each other’s way too much. I’ve held down the place with only my ever-changing bouncers since my Bruce died.”
Jolene hopped up on a barstool beside Dotty. “We split the bar down the middle. I’ll take one end, and we stay out of the other’s way, unless one of us gets a rush and the other one hasn’t got a customer. That way we don’t get confused about who we’ve served. Do you run tickets or is it cash when ordered?”
“Cash,” Dotty said.
“How do we do the register?” Jolene asked. “I used a code at the Twisted Rope. The journey tape let the owner know at the end of the night how many drinks were served and how much tip money belonged to each of us.”
“Well, in this establishment I’m going to trust you, chère. We sell. We get paid. We put it in the register and make change if we need to. Tips go in our pocket and we don’t take time to count them until the night is done,”