Page 93 of Second Down Fake

My eyes wandered down the list of words on the menu. "What exactly is this?"

"You pick two and I make you something that fulfills the brief. I suggest you stay away from spicy and spicy if you know what's good for you."

"Good advice. Now I need to decide whether I'm trying to get a decent drink or I'm trying to make you sweat."

"You can't do it," Cassandra said, setting a balled fist on her waist. "I've been practicing, and there's nothing on this menu I can't nail."

"Cocky. I love that." I winked. Her face flushed, eyes jetting down to the opposite end of the bar before her lips turned up in a smile. "Alright, a challenge it is. Refreshing and Umami."

"Ah, I hate umami," she admitted. "Especially since it's nearly 2 a.m."

"You said there's nothing you couldn't nail."

She narrowed her eyes and walked to the liquor, pursing her lips as she grabbed a bottle. She effortlessly moved around the bar, taking two last call drink orders as she mixed my drink. Once she'd rung out the couple in the back, she returned with a pale pink drink garnished with a purple flower. "I'm calling it the Passport. It's a sake with miso-honey syrup, persimmon and pomegranate liquor, and a touch of grappa."

I took a sip, letting the flavors coat my tongue. "Wow. You really are good at this."

Cassandra bit her bottom lip, holding back a smile. "And here you thought I was just the best ghost tour operator in North America and an up-and-coming disc golf champion."

"North America, now?" I raised an eyebrow.

"My talent can't be contained." She leaned over the bar and swiped a kiss across my cheek before turning to the stragglers in the bar. "Wrap it up, people! It's time to close up."

I sipped on the drink as Cassandra finished closing up the bar. By the time she collapsed into my car, it was nearly three.

She rested her head on her arm, not even bothering to raid my console for snacks. "Bec's place or yours?"

A voice at the back of my head died to tell her my place, but Noa hadn’t steered me wrong before.

"Whichever one you want." I pulled up to a stop sign, waiting for Cassandra to decide which way to go.

"Yours," she muttered. "I like your place better."

THIRTY-ONE

CASSANDRA

A generic sign with the name of the clinic beside the road directed me to the parking lot of a nondescript building. I stared at the front door, dread in my stomach and a faint stirring of optimism. This job would solve a lot of problems.

I plastered a smile on my face and walked into the office. The black heels I wore pinched my toes and my skirt rode up over my knees. I shimmied the fabric down.

“Hi, I’m Cassandra Barton,” I told the woman at the front desk. “I’m here to interview for the receptionist position.”

The older woman tilted her head, eyes freely roving my outfit and nose crinkling. “Well, that was quick. I’ll let Sandy know you’re here.”

With no other direction, I sat down in a chair and waited until a middle-aged woman with bleached blonde hair and a kind smile opened the door.

“Cassandra?” I stood, and she smiled warmly, taking my hand in a firm handshake. “I’m so glad you could come in. Let me give you a tour of the office.”

We made small talk as she ushered me through the small building, stopping to introduce me to staff and the doctors. Each person got a little anecdote that hinted whether Sandy liked or disliked the person. Dr. Fraiser paid for the Christmas party. Dr. Hall got thrown out of his last clinic for cheating on his wife with a nurse. But there was no need to worry, his new wife kept him in line. Nurse Betty fostered kittens in her spare time.

After the tour of the clinic, Sandy handed me off to the cankerous front desk receptionist for a walkthrough of the job duties. Those duties mainly seemed to be whatever the receptionist didn’t feel like doing at the moment. Mainly anything that involved patients.

After ten minutes that felt like a lifetime, Sandy grabbed me for the formal interview in her office with two of the doctors. I answered their HR-generated questions pulled from online articles aimed at job seekers.

What was my biggest strength? My biggest weakness? Name a time where I felt disappointed in my performance. I kept my answers focused on a few jobs. I’d found out years ago that ricocheting between my various professions just led to more questions about my work history.

I left the building with a warm goodbye and the promise of a phone call I wasn’t sure I would receive or really wanted.

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