Page 11 of The Fixer

Missy?She was Joy or Ms. Holiday, not Miss or Missy. What was wrong with these people? Oh, right. They were small-town.

The tap of a palm on the bar top yanked her attention back to her contractor-slash-server. “Ready to order some food?”

“I haven’t seen a menu,” she sniffed. He held her gaze for a beat with devastating intensity, as if trying to read her innermost thoughts and challenge each and every one. Inconvenient tingles cascaded down her spine. She wasn’t sure if they were the good kind or the bad.

Hailey darted in and handed her a laminated menu covered in colorful illustrations. When Charlie tended to a different customer, Hailey dropped her voice conspiratorially. “See the illustrations on the menu? Charlie did those. His own designs.”

“He doesn’t seem very happy about it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry if he acted a little grumpy. He’s usually the friendliest member of our waitstaff.”

“Well, he seems friendly enough with everyone else,” Joy huffed and cast her gaze to the offerings without really seeing them. “What do you recommend?”

“Our burgers are to die for, and I love the sweet potato fries. Or onion rings if you’re not worried about breathing on someone later.” Hailey flashed her an impish grin.

“I definitely don’t have that worry. I’ll take a Swiss burger with the sweet potato fries.” Joy never ate huge, meat-heavy meals, and she was sure most of hers would wind up in the trash, but when in Rome …

Germaine slid her a sidelong glance. It wasn’t friendly. “Why was Charlie looking at you like that?”

“No idea. Do I have something stuck on my face?”

Germaine shook her head.

Someone who gave a rat’s ass might laugh off the question and inform Germaine that Charlie was Joy’s contractor, but Joydidn’tgive a rat’s ass. It was none of the redhead’s business.

Germaine glanced down at Joy’s shoes. “Cute sneakers. Did you get them at Famous Footwear?”

“What? No! These are from The Row.”

Germaine’s brows flexed. “Row of what?”

“It’s a store.” Germaine stared at her. Joy didn’t hide her exasperation and got her snoot on. “A veryexclusivestore. They cost over eight hundred dollars.”

Germaine jerked backward as though she’d been slapped. “Oh my God. Foronepair of shoes? What are they made of?”

“Leather.”

“Really? Can you throw them in the washing machine when someone accidentally spills beer on them?” Before Joy could untangle the bewildering question, Germaine tipped her glass and poured half its contents on Joy’s shoe. “Oh, whoops.”

Joy froze with shock as the cold liquid seeped inside the sneaker. “Why did you do that?”

“Germaine,” Charlie boomed with authority. Germaine and Joy both whipped their heads toward him. His expression was one big thunder cloud, and Germaine’s face fell. He dropped his voice into its usual casual cadence. “I think it’s time to close out your tab for the night.”

Germaine thrust out her bottom lip. “I’m not done yet, Charlie Hunnicutt.”

Noah Hunnicutt placed both palms against the bar. “I think you are, sweetheart.” His eyes were a different shade of green, but they were just asintense as his brother’s, belying his smooth tone and relaxed posture. The guy had obviously thrown people out of bars before.

A flicker of motion made Joy realize that Dixie had reappeared with rags and was mopping up the mess. She popped up from her crouch and handed Joy a clean rag. “For your shoe.” To Germaine, she said, “I’m sure you didn’t mean to do that, did you now?”

Germaine pointed a defiant chin at Dixie and slid a glare Joy’s way. Joy was new in town, but even she knew better than to mess with the formidable hostess.

“You go on home now, hon,” Dixie drawled, “and thank the god of mud pies His Nibs is only banning you for one night. Think how heartbroken you’d be if you couldn’t set foot in here again. I hate to think of your little nose pressed against the glass, looking in from the outside.” Dixie rolled out her lower lip, then gave her a nod as if punctuating the statement.

Strangely enough, the diners seemed oblivious to the drama playing out, saving Joy the mortification of the entire restaurant witnessing her center-stage moment.

Apparently, Germaine was smarter than she looked because she didn’t take long to cave. Charlie handed her a credit card receipt, which she snatched from him and signed. “No tip for you,” she grumbled. “Next time, I’m going to Dell’s.”

Dixie flashed her a wide smile. “That might not be a bad idea.”

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