Page 19 of Employing Patience

I can’t imagine a job like that exists though.

Resigned to at least try, I open my laptop and start searching. Cafe, nope. Retail, nope. Scrolling and scrolling and—

Convenience store assistant—early hours.

Hmm … taking stock deliveries and organizing inventory. Between five and eight each morning.

That could work. If I close the bar the night before, it’ll be tough, but those hours don’t clash with anything. My shifts at Killer Brew don’t start until after nine.

I fill out the application details and send it off, but then grab my stuff and head down to Kilborough Convenience. Can’t help to give my application the personalized touch, right? Freddy has owned the convenience store since before I was born, and I thank the universe that I’ve always been friendly with him whenever I’ve been in there. Most people rush in and out, knowing how Freddy likes to talk, but I give myself the extra time.

Hopefully, that’s about to pay off.

It’s a small shop: five rows of goods, a newsstand, and homewares jammed in by the front counter, and the heavy smell of lemon cleaner on the air.

“Ah, Joey,” Freddy says, perking up the second I walk in. “Good day, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s great out there. How is everyone?”

Freddy smiles, and I lean against the counter as he makes his way through updating me on everyone in his family. Wife, kids, grandkids, great-grandkids. Pictures and all. He’s proud of them.

And as he talks, I glance around the store, breathing in the scent of lemons, and decide I could work here. It won’t be glamorous, but it’ll be mindless enough work for a few dollars.

It also comes with the benefit of not wanting to climb the boss like a tree, which will be a big improvement.

I wait for a natural lull in the conversation before making my move.

“I saw you’re looking for an assistant?”

His craggy face brightens. “Yes! My last one moved away, and I’m getting too old to do it all myself.”

“What’s involved? Taking deliveries?”

“Deliveries, stocking the shelves, and making a few home runs that I have on my books.”

I pretend to think it over, even though it’s basically a no-brainer by this point. “I’ll take it.”

“You will?”

“Sure will. I can even start tomorrow if you need me.”

“Ah, Joey …” He climbs off his chair and rounds the counter to swamp me in a hug. “You’ve always been such a good fellow. Listen, Tony is handling all this stuff for me, so …” Freddy grabs a scrap of paper and shakily jots a number down. “You give him a call and tell him I’ve hired you. He’ll sort out all the other stuff.”

Relief—and also panic—settles over me. “Thanks so much, Freddy. I really need this.”

“You and me both.” He chuckles and picks up a chocolate bar, which he presses into my palm. “On the house. I’ll see you in the morning.”

I leave him to it, resigned to spending the next … fuck.

Years. Years and years.

Just trying to get ahead.

* * *

Normally, I love opens at the bar. It’s the one time the place is quiet enough that Art works downstairs and I’m treated to unobstructed eye candy. Everything he does, from staring at his computer to scrolling through his phone to flipping through his notebook, is so damn erotic I revel in watching him.

While I try to concentrate on working.

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