Page 14 of Dreaming of Dawson

“You’re not helping.”

“Okay,” he says, sitting up a little. “I assume you’ve advertised?”

“Didn’t you notice the help wanted sign in the window?”

“Sure, but you might need to look further afield. People around here know you far too well.”

“Are you trying to get thrown out? You might be my oldest friend, but…”

Tanner chuckles, clearly not taking me or my threat seriously. “Has anyone applied?” he asks.

“I’ve had a couple of people come in, but they’re not gonna work out. Neither of them had any experience, and while I don’t mind some on-the-job training, I can’t hold their hands forever. I need someone who’s done bar work before, so I can trust them to get on with things by themselves. Apart from anything else, I need to take the occasional break myself.”

He nods his head. Owning the bookstore, he knows how this feels, I guess.

“Dawson?” I turn around at the sound of my name, and focus in on Maggie, who’s still at the other end of the bar, several customers lined up in front of her.

“Yeah?”

“Can you give me a hand here?”

“Sure.” I look back at Tanner. “Duty calls, I’m afraid.”

“That’s okay. I should probably head off home. Zara and Bentley will be back soon.”

“She took the dog to Peony’s place?”

“Yeah. Peony wanted to meet him, and she volunteered Ryan to take him for a walk around the orchard while they looked at Zara’s wedding dress. Still, she said she’d be back by nine, so…”

His eyes are sparkling with anticipation, and for a second, I remember what it felt like to have something to look forward to.

Chapter Three

Macy

Ryan’s suggestion has been rolling around my head all evening and most of the night, and this morning, I’ve decided this is too good an opportunity to pass up.

Even if history tells me that working for someone I’m attracted to is bound to end badly, I have to remind myself that Dawson is a man I’ve seen from across the street. I don’t know him, and he doesn’t know me… and therefore putting the problems of my past into the situation is unreasonable. Not to mention just plain dumb.

Especially when I need a job.

I don’t work on Wednesdays. That was how Peony arranged it, and although I’d prefer my day off to be a Friday or a Monday, this is what works for her, and I can’t complain.

At least I’m free this morning to go to the bar and inquire about this job… assuming it’s still available. Although I can’t go just yet. They won’t be open until eleven-thirty. I checked with Ryan when he brought me home yesterday, and while he wasn’t absolutely certain, that was his best guess. I’m going to aim to get there at twelve, just to be on the safe side.

All of which means I’ve got time to have a leisurely breakfast with my aunt, and that’s never a bad thing. Most of the time, one or other of us is dashing off somewhere, but today, other thanlaundry, grocery shopping, and going to Dawson’s bar, neither of us has much to do.

“Are you gonna be okay if I take the car?” she says, helping herself to a second slice of toast, while I pour some more coffee. In her late-fifties, my aunt’s dark hair has grayed slightly, and she needs reading glasses, but otherwise she’s as youthful as ever.

“Of course. I don’t mind walking.”

Aunt Bernice lives about a half mile from the apple orchard, which is about a mile outside of town, but I’m sure she thinks that being from a big city, I’ll find a mile and a half too far to walk.

“And you’ll be okay to fend for yourself this evening?”

“I’ve done it every other Wednesday evening since I got here,” I say, pushing her cup toward her. On Wednesdays, Aunt Bernie goes to see her friend Vivienne in Willmont Vale. Like Aunt Bernie, Vivienne is a widow, and I think it helps them both to spend time with someone who understands. Not that they dwell on the sadness of their lives. Far from it. They enjoy playing cards and gossiping, like everyone else here. Neither is Vivienne Aunt Bernie’s only friend. She has many of them, both here in Hart’s Creek, and in Willmont Vale, and even further afield in Concord.

When my uncle was alive, they had an even more active social life, and traveled widely… the result, perhaps, of not having had children. It gave them the freedom to please themselves. And they did, until Uncle Emmett was diagnosed with cancer. He was sick for just over nine months before he died, and Aunt Bernie nursed him through it all. She claims it gave her time to get used to the idea of losing him, but I know she misses him more than she’ll ever be able to say.

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