Page 8 of Troubles

“Is he married?”

“No.”

“Is he a murderer?”

“No, Lisbeth.” Francie huffs, obviously frustrated with me. “I’m looking out for you and…”

“Is it my heart in general or is Aidan the problem?” My phone pings with a message distracting me from Francie’s assurances that it’s me he’s worried about.

Unknown #: I’ve switched shifts with Jimmy. Just ignore Francie.

L: Aidan?

Unknown #: Yeah. Just tell him you understand and let him go. I’ll take the verbal lashing and see you tomorrow.

Unknown #: 7pm

I stare at my phone trying to think of a response, but I’m at a loss.

Unknown #: Sleep well, love.

I’m finally able to get off the phone after giving Francis the required, yes, I understand. With a freshly poured glass of wine, I head in for a long hot soak in the bath. The bubbles will relax me, or maybe the wine will, but there aren’t many things that a hot steamy bubble bath won’t make better. And while the tub fills with lavender-scented bubbles, I make sure to save Aidan’s number to my contacts.

The night bartender was supposed to be here an hour and a half ago. His car trouble means I’ve done all the dinner shift prep, restocked the beer coolers, and I no longer have time to buy something new to wear tonight. With both blenders whirring, a blown keg that needs to be replaced, and the clock ticking down the minutes, I’m about to come unglued.

I’m not normally a bitch, but I just can’t today. Can’t even.

“Let’s get caught up and then you can run.” My boss, Jenna, slides behind the bar and grabs a stack of drink orders. “Dumbshit needs to know he can’t take advantage of you like this.”

I’ve been working for her since high school, bussing tables until she needed another server. When a spot opened behind the bar, she gave me the chance. I get the new keg tapped and pour out the daiquiris, moving on to the next order up.

A few minutes later, we’re caught up and Jenna pushes me out from behind the bar. “Go—I’ve got this. Have fun, Lissy.” She hands me my bag after upending my tip jar into it.

“Thanks, Jenna. You sure this is okay?” She’s been so tired lately, I feel really bad leaving her like this.

“I’m good.” She stares past me to tonight’s bartender ambling through the front door looking like he just got out of bed. The sound of Jenna ripping into him follows as I hop down the stairs, fading as the door shuts behind me.

I haven’t heard much from Gracyn since she left for the beach and I need her desperately right now. She’s posted a few pictures on her Instagram, but has been pretty quiet—for her. Something’s up, but I have a feeling, it’s gonna take a bottle of wine to figure it out when she gets back to town this weekend.

I text her really quick, hoping she’s available now—Lord knows, she might decide in the middle of my dinner that she needs to talk to me.

L: Hey…you there? I need to borrow clothes.

G: Sure. Whatcha got going?

L: Dinner?

G: Who with?

L: Aidan. From McBride’s. Chatted last night. He’s sweet.

G: Mhmmm. Make good choices. All of that…

L: Thnx. Talk later?

I check when I get home and again when I get out of the shower but she doesn’t text back.

My plans for a glass of wine while I straighten my hair and YouTube makeup tutorials are replaced with half-dried wild waves spilling down my back and a quick swipe of mascara.

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