Page 14 of Dodge

A slim hand appeared and snatched a fried ring from his plate. Dodge glanced up to see Mallory standing next to him. She leaned in to press her hip against his shoulder and place her arm over his back. “Hey, baby. Hey, Brick.”

Dodge wished like hell he’d seen her come in so he could have prepared himself and maybe avoided her touch. It had been about a month since she showed up at his doorstep and had gotten comfortable being with him. He spent most of his nights at the Lair to avoid her advances, but he had to admit it was kinda nice having someone to come home to again.

The older man gave a short nod. “Mallory.” He didn’t sound rude, but his unsmiling face had no friendly aura either.

Mallory straightened a bit. “I’m out looking for jobs again. You know any?”

Brick tried another onion ring and frowned at that one, too, but kept chewing.

“Ask Katie Grace if Jimmy has openings,” Dodge finally said to fill the silence and answer her question.

She wrinkled her nose. “A waitress?”

“Nothing wrong with being a waitress. My Betsey did that for years.” Brick didn’t look up as he spoke. Dodge recognized the hardness in his voice. Brick was one of those people who didn’t have to shout or erupt and spew anger to get his point across. His authority rang in simple vocal inflections, and very few ever questioned or argued with him.

Mallory, to her credit, recognized her flub and backtracked. “Um… yeah, I’ll check with… who was it? Katie Grace?”

“You do that.”

Dodge didn’t have to be clairvoyant to sense the tension at the table. “Mallie, we need to finish up and get back to the garage. There’s a lot of Help Wanted signs all over town. I’m sure you can find something.”

“Thanks, baby.” She leaned in and kissed Dodge on the temple.

He wished like hell she hadn’t done that, but he didn’t lean away from her either. It wasn’t exactly painful, but he could tell the beginning pull of two different directions. Brick said nothing.

They finished their food, and Brick slipped his card to pay while Dodge left a generous cash tip.

Mallory left the restaurant without talking to anyone.

CHAPTER8

I heavedanother load of trash into the dumpster and wiped my brow. At this rate I’d be lucky to open by the end of summer—three years from now.

Getting a business loan on my own had proved to be a bigger challenge than I expected. I had no assets or collateral other than my car. My trust fund wasn’t completely under my control, and even though I could pull a substantial amount from it, there still wasn’t quite enough to do what I envisioned, but I had to start somewhere. I made the quick decision to live in the apartment over the restaurant and deal with those conditions later. My focus and energy had to be on the bistro and getting it open by the fall season.

Furnishing the inside came first. I needed to make over the place to fit the upscale image I wanted, but on a tighter budget. The plaster from the bricks was so far gone, it was easier to just crack it all off and skim it with new grouting. Most of the freestanding tables wobbled and were so worn and outdated they had to be replaced. I found some deals online for used restaurant equipment, but there was still a price tag attached. One way to get decor for the place was to hook up with some local artists and work a deal that they would hang their pieces for sale on the walls. That’s one expense I would avoid, at least for now.

The kitchen had most of what I needed. Some of the equipment I’d have to adapt to using, then add the ones I wanted later. The biggest problem was the front counter. It had to go. I wanted that space for a smaller finished bar with nice backed stools and a small raised stage in front of the window. Local musicians usually wanted to be paid up front, but there were some who would come play for tips. At least I hoped so. I could do more later, but all of these pieces would have to come in the future, when I had business revenue coming in.

First impressions would get people in the door, but the food and good service would bring them back. I’d have to hire waitstaff and a competent bartender.

I sighed and stretched my neck. My head was full of what this place could be for me, but my eyes only saw dollar signs. Lots of dollar signs that were on their way out instead of in. It was overwhelming, and the easier road would be to admit defeat now and cut my losses. But that wasn’t in my nature, and I’d be damned if I quit before I even got started.

“I remember Miz Mae behind the counter. Lord have mercy, she was a pill to deal with, wasn’t she?”

I cocked my head. Someone had come in the dining room of the restaurant. Female from the voice and very Southern.

I hurried back through the kitchen and saw three women standing in the middle of the scrappy room, gazing at the half-done walls and the debris scattered over the floor.

The leader of the group seemed to be the one with the bright red hair. She turned to me with a huge smile that showed lots of white teeth. “Hey there! You must be the new owner. I’m Betsey. This is Molly and Tambre.” She stuck out her red-taloned hand for me to shake.

“Fauna Somers.”

All three were older, middle-aged I supposed, but obviously none of them got the dress code. Betsey had on leggings and high-heeled boots.Boots in the summer?Her green sleeveless blouse shimmered a bit with shots of glittery threads through the bit of fabric that peeked out under the vest she wore. In fact, all three of them wore the same vest. Must be part of the local version of junior league, but I didn’t get the country club vibe from them.

“Fauna. That’s such a pretty name. So nice to meet you. We wanted to see who ended up buying this place. I thought about it, but we already have an ice cream shop around here, and further down is Psalm’s place. Have you been there yet? Soap-n-stuff? She’s got the best hair products ever.”

I did my best to hide my quick irritation. As a mixed Black and White woman, my hair was a big deal. As a child, my mom spent hours putting chemicals on my head and using a hot ceramic straightener to make my hair “presentable.” I have memories of that instrument of torture burning my neck and the tips of my ears. I let my hair go natural now in its state of long corkscrew curls. Easier to maintain, and frankly, I just didn’t want to take the time to mess with it. I held the mass back either with a giant clip or a headband, as I did now.

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