Page 16 of Everything I Crave

The mental exhaustion to keep my hands physically to myself is worse than a busy night running back and forth.

Chapter Nine

Willow

I’m finally getting the hang of being behind the bar. I’ve been working with Bennett the last few days that have been slower than the weekend. I can pour beer and make the basic, more popular drinks. It helps that Bennett is actually nice to me, unlike Madeline.

My first night here I learned quickly that Madeline only turns on the charm for our illustrious boss. The only saving grace for him, is that he seems oblivious to her attempts at flirting with her boss.

I’ve also been able to build a rapport with most of the regulars who come in everyday.

An older man, Albert, is my favorite regular. He’s a recent widower, and comes in early every night for dinner and a drink, a gin and tonic, just one. I even came in on my night off last night to eat dinner with him.

But tonight we are back to a busy Friday night with live music. I’ll take the patio tables, Bennett inside at the bar, Gunnar running tables inside, andMack in the kitchen.

I never thought Mack would come to like me after that first night, but I think I’m finally cracking her. Tonight she made my favorite dessert that I had mentioned in passing to Bennett yesterday. I take that as a sign I’m wearing her down. The thought makes me smile.

Mack likes to put off a tough as nails attitude but I know it’s not true. She’s really a big old teddy bear under that gruff exterior.

When I come back from returning some dirty dishes to the kitchen, I see my sisters all sitting at one of the patio tables. The three of them are sitting in the corner by the heaters, all laughing at something that someone said. The pang in my chest at missing out hurts a little more right now. And I have no one to blame but myself.

I run over and give each one a hug, genuinely happy to see them.

“What are you guys doing here?” I ask excitedly.

“We had to come check out the beautiful new singer that Gunnar hired.” Scarlett holds out her phone and shows me a video of me when I sang on the bar during the fight.

“What, where is this?” I usually get tagged but the person who posted this doesn’t seem to know who I am, meaning a local who prides themselves on not using social media, or one who understands privacy. The video is dark and even I'm having trouble making out that it's my features on the video.

I click on the comments and see all the guesses on who it might be, some flatter me with the namesmy voice is being compared to. Some diehard fans that I’ve gotten to know around town, know it’s me.

“Gunnar, look at this, our girl here is putting you on the map,” Lacey calls.

He takes the phone from my hand, and I can see the smile he’s fighting to let come across his face.

Something between us changed the night he was teaching me to pour a beer. He’s been keeping his physical distance since, even though I’ve tried to get his attention all week in the apartment. My skimpiest shorts, getting close to him, nothing is working. I’m firmly in the friend zone to my dismay.

“Looks like you’ll have to sing again tonight, I want to see my baby sister sing!” Adelaide demands.

At the mention of being her baby sister, I see a wince cross Gunnar’s face. And it hits me, maybe he’s holding back because he’s good friends with the guys. Or maybe because it’s a reminder how young I am compared to him.

“We’ll see. I’m not singing much these days,” I say sadly. I miss it.

“Yea, we know. We’ve seen the hashtag #WheresWillow on social media. Why did you stop?” Scarlett asks.

Only Adelaide knows part of my story. And I’ve been avoiding my sisters for this exact reason. I’m not ready to talk about it. Ithought being at work would prevent them from digging. Clearly, I was wrong.

“Oh sorry! I have to go grab an order.” I run back into the kitchen leaving my sisters and Gunnar on the patio.

In a quiet spot by the walk-in freezer, I take a deep breath, squatting down on the ground, and dropping my head in my hands, trying to keep the tears at bay.

“Little Red, what are you doin’?” Mack stands over me, arms over her chest.

“Uh, sorry. I’ll get out of your way.” I stand up quickly and dust off the front of my pants, willing the tears back into my eyes.

“I wasn’t saying you’re in my way. I was asking what you’re doing,” she says in a gruff voice.

“I just - I don’t know. I needed a minute. My sisters asked me why I stopped singing,” I answer honestly for some reason.

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