on Unc. “I bartend in the city too.”
That bushy brow lifts incrementally and his arms cross over his chest, not believing a bit of my bullshit.
I roll my eyes and push at my bangs, which are stuck in the top of my glasses because this trip happened so quickly, I didn’t even get a haircut before setting out. “I’m good, can keep up with a busy weekend night pulling beers, mixing drinks, and making sure people have a good time—but not too good of a time,” I assure him. I’m not usually one for tooting my own horn, but I need to right now because this is the make-it or break-it moment. I need Unc to say yes to me working in his bar. It’s the pivot point to Mom’s whole plan.
One gnarled hand reaches up to stroke his chin as he thinks and my fate hangs in the beer and fried food-scented air between us. “Can ya waitress too? You a switch hitter?”
I blink, having zero plans to tell my old Uncle Hank that switch hitter does not mean someone who can waitress and bartend. “Yes sir, I can.” I’ve never waitressed a day in my life, but if that’s what it takes to get a foot in the door here, I’ll do it.
“You cook?”
“Uhm . . .” I can probably fake waitressing having worked in bars, and now I know what LTOP means, but actually cook the food? That’s not something you can fake.
Unc laughs. “Just pulling your leg, girl. Ilene won’t let a soul in her kitchen unless she’s training them herself. Not sure how she chooses ’em, but she’s definitely pickier than I am, luckily for you. When can you start?”
A relieved breath gushes out, along with all my excitement. “Really? Oh, that’s great! Thank you!” I grab around his shoulders for a hug, a habit that Mom instilled in Oakley and me from a young age.
Everyone needs hugs. Every day needs hugs.
Thankfully, he hugs me back, and for the first time in a long time, I feel a twinge of hurt over losing my grandfather. He wasn’t an easy man to love, but I did, and he loved me back the only way he knew how. But having Unc’s arms wrapped around me for this tiny space of time feels like family, even if all we share is a bloodline at this point since we barely know each other anymore.
I talk into his shoulder. “I can start right now.”
He leans back, humor dancing in his eyes. “At least take the day and get settled, though I wouldn’t say no to you hanging around and watching the comings and goings if you’d like a little education about what you’re getting into. Tonight’s two-dollar drafts, so it’ll be a busy one.”
As he says it, I can see a flash of weariness in the depths of his eyes, though he hides it quickly behind a blink. Even as he straightens his back, looking strong and formidable, I know what I saw. He’s tired after doing this on his own for so long. But I’m here to help now.
“I’m your girl.”
Chapter 2
Willow
I set my bag down in the living room of the short-term rental my mom is paying for since she’s the one who sent me off on this adventure. It’s an end unit in a small row of houses that look like small summer camp cabins, with white siding and green trim. From here, I can see everything but the single bedroom. The living room has a small fake leather couch in bright red, the kitchen’s wood cabinets are painted a sunny pale yellow, and the Formica table and vinyl chairs remind me of a 1950s diner. It’s nice, bright, and cheery.
Who am I kidding? It’s better than my studio apartment in the city that’s more of a walk-in closet than living space. But that’s home. This . . . isn’t.
I walk down the hall, not surprised to see a small but cute bedroom. The full-size bed is a bit tight for two people, not that I’ll be sharing it with anyone, and decorated with more pillows than I can possibly ever use in the few months I’ll be staying here. I toss my duffel bag of clothes onto the closet floor, though I promise myself to hang stuff up later, and carefully set my camera bag on the chest of drawers.
Home, sweet home.
I take a shower, letting the hot water wash the stress of the drive and