small sink and wiping down the counter. I felt the need to stay busy. If I didn’t, my mind would start to wander, which was the reason I was living on four hours of sleep a night these days. I couldn’t stop running what had happened through my head. How could I get everything I ever wanted and then lose it in a few short years? It would’ve been easier if I’d never been published.
“It seems so these days,” Grandpa confirmed. “She told me to fire you, by the way.”
I was stunned. “What? Why does she want you to fire me?”
“Why do you think?” His eyebrows hopped with amusement as he dropped the newspaper. He was one of the few people I knew who still insisted on regular delivery even though the local newspaper was so thin you could read it in five minutes. “She believes that you’ll write another best-selling book if I fire you.”
“Yeah, unless I starve first.”
He smirked. “She doesn’t understand what happened. I think perhaps that’s because you’ve never taken the time to explain what happened to her.”
Oh, well, of course he would think that. “Why is everything always my fault?”
“You make an easy scapegoat,” Grandpa replied without hesitation. “No one is at fault in this particular situation. You got lucky with that first book. You didn’t get lucky with the second. Maybe, after taking a little downtime and getting some perspective, you’ll get lucky with the third.”
I narrowed my eyes to blue slits. “What makes you think there will be a third book?”
“We didn’t raise you to be a quitter. Your mother may be a hippie-dippy freak, but she’s a hard worker. She owns her own real estate business now, which is something to be proud of. Your father is a hard worker, too. You always worked at the restaurant, even when you hated it. I don’t expect you to suddenly give up on your dreams now that things have gotten rough. You’ll put it back together.”
He sounded sure of himself, which only served to annoy me. “It doesn’t feel like anything is coming together right now,” I argued. “It feels as if everything has fallen apart and I’m sitting on the edge of a cliff, ready to fall off at any moment.”
“And people say your second book lacked dramatic tension.” He shook his head.
I glared at him. “You’re not funny.”
“I think I’m hilarious.” He patted my wrist and then turned back to his chili and onions. “You need time to absorb what happened to you, Stormy. You’re still young. You haven’t lost the dream forever. You’ve simply misplaced it for now. You can get it back.”
That felt unlikely. “I don’t know many literary agents willing to accept submissions from waitresses,” I muttered.
“Then don’t tell them you’re a waitress. Tell them you’re a princess or something. I know, tell them you’re a witch. Witches are everywhere now.”
“A witch? Stormy the witch? That’s just ... way too much.”
He smiled. “And somehow I think it fits.” He inclined his head toward the swinging doors, to where Brad’s head poked between the opening. “I think your uncle wants you.”
I scowled as I turned my gaze in that direction. I used to think the worst thing in the world was working a shift with my grandfather. I would gladly take it today if it meant I didn’t have to listen to Brad’s nonsense. His political conspiracy theories were starting to give me indigestion. I was running on caffeine and nerves as it was. “Do you need something?”
He nodded. “I’m out of pickles.”
I waited for him to continue. When he didn’t, I shrugged. “So what do we do?”
“They’re in the storage building behind the restaurant,” he replied. “You need to get them.”
“Why do I need to get them?” I was feeling petulant, in no mood to be ordered around. “Why can’t you get them?”
“I’m the chef, which means I’m in charge of the kitchen today. As my underling, it’s your job to do as I say.”
I wasn’t a fan of the word “underling,” but when I turned a questioning look toward Grandpa, I found he’d already disengaged from the conversation and was again reading his newspaper. Apparently I was on my own. “Fine. I’ll get the pickles.”
I muttered a series of nasty words as I cut through the kitchen and headed for the back door. There were two exits, one close to the steps that led to my apartment and the other by the industrial-sized freezers. I sidestepped two of