Page 18 of Rowdy St. Nick

She puts her hand out for my phone, and I unlock it, pull up a new contact screen, and hand it to her. She taps around on the keyboard, then holds the phone up. I see the flash go off. When she hands the phone back, I see she’s added a smiling photo of herself in that hostess outfit to the contact info.

I put the phone in my pocket, tip my hat to her, then turn to leave again. I don’t turn back this time, but I want to. I want to take her into one of those back rooms and explore all the new things this place has shown me with her. When I get into my truck, I take a look at that photo and smile at it like it’s her standing in front of me.

I won’t need my phone screen to have that image of her in my mind. It’s burned in there good and well. Work is going to be difficult tomorrow.

Chapter 8

Tess

I pay the Uber driver and take a second before I head up the stone paved pathway to my mom’s front door. Weekend meals are always a great time, but I know Lucas told everyone all about my rescue from a cowboy. My mom in particular is absolutely going to try to get details out of me about that.

Pretty sure Jordan is going to be here today. He may be older but he’s not more mature in the slightest. He’s going to rag on me too. I need a minute to gather myself before it begins. At least I know I’m getting a good meal out of it, and Lucas is bringing my car over. I can’t believe his friend was able to get it all fixed up last night.

Lucas said they had the part the car needed in stock, and someone was available and willing to get it done so it was a quickthing. I’m grateful. I don’t want to be without my car. I fucking love that thing. I had to get a ride home with my boss last night. She’s always so cranky at the end of a shift, and it brings me down.

I head to the door and walk in without knocking. I’ve never had to knock on my parents’ door, and they usually don’t lock it. When I enter, I’m immediately at home. The photos I grew up with are still on the wall, showing the fun moments of a childhood I enjoyed. Some people think that the kind of work I do is indicative of a rough childhood. Not the case for me at all.

“Oooooo is that my baby Tess!”

My mom comes running into the foyer from the kitchen with her apron still on. She envelops me in one of her tight hugs, always acting like it’s been years since she’s seen me when I was here for dinner last weekend.

“Hi, Mom. Whatcha makin? Smells delicious!”

“I have a roast about to come out of the oven with potatoes, carrots, and broccoli.”

For some people, this might seem like a lot. For my mom, it’s a regular Saturday dinner. My mouth is already watering at the smell. It’s about 1pm right now, but they do dinner early on Saturdays. So, I’ll have enough time to drive back out to The Castle, change, and do my makeup before my shift.

I take off my coat and follow her to the kitchen after she lets me go. Dad stands up from the kitchen table and holds his hands out for my coat.

“Hey, pumpkin, how’s life?”

“Not bad, Dad. Same old, same old.”

He crosses from the kitchen entrance to the hallway closet.

“Still at that job?”

He tries not to, but I can hear the suppressed sneer in his voice when he says “job.” He’s never been happy about what I do, set in his ways and wishing I’d wanted to be a teacher or a nurse.

“Yes, Dad, I’m still working at The Castle.”

He hides his head shake with the closet door, but I see it as he steps back and closes it. He comes back to the kitchen and hugs me.

“Sit down, sit down. What do you want to drink?”

“Coffee.”

“With dinner?”

“I’ll drink water when dinner’s ready, but if I know Mom, that’ll be about another half hour. Besides, Lucas and Jordan aren’t here yet.”

“If you say so.”

He starts filling up the coffee maker and setting the pot underneath it. I settle into the chair at the table where I always sit. There are the same cushions that my mom has used since I was in kindergarten and one of her homemade tablecloths on the table. She’s already set everything up, as she always does.

Dad hands me a steaming cup and with the pitcher of cream and the sugar caddy that was on the counter next to the coffee pot. He smiles as I make my coffee with a bit of cream and three sugars.

“At least your coffee never changes.”

---