Page 46 of On The Rocks

“And her boss didn’t mind you being there?”

“My mom was too good at her job. They didn’t want to lose her, even if I was part of the deal on the nights she couldn’t find someone to watch me.”

I preferred the bar over the boring grandmotherly types who would watch me. Or the less than desirable men who hung around the waitresses that invariably befriended my mom.

Puberty hit me early and I’d learned to get out of the way of wandering hands far earlier than I should have.

I cleared my throat. “Anyway, that’s why I do what I do.” I finally took my own bite and resisted the groan that wanted to break free. Damn, he definitely had listened in the breakfast lessons at the very least.

“So, she taught you everything you know?” He broke open a biscuit and offered me half.

Our fingers brushed as I took it from him. “Well, the drink part, anyway. She worked at what felt like a hundred bars in Tempe. When one didn’t work out, we just moved onto the next.”

And we moved from one rundown apartment to the next.

“That’s rough.”

I shrugged. “Most of the time, it was okay. Especially the last place we landed. George Burns was the owner.”

He snickered.

“He definitely didn’t look like that little guy. Who I didn’t know, by the way. Bit before my time.”

“You calling me old?”

I laughed. “Bit before your time too.”

He snorted. “Yeah, well when you’re a bored kid living in a hotel, you meet a lot of interesting people. We’d have impersonator conferences all the time.”

“Now that would be a fun thing to see.”

“Fun is one word for it.” He gestured to his hair. “Let’s just say the Elvis thing is just sad without the whole ensemble.”

I reached for another biscuit. “Not sharing this one.”

“I’m offended.”

I broke it open and slipped the last of my omelette between the fluffy pieces. “Got hot sauce?”

“That I do have. Frank’s or some of the fiery stuff Kain prefers?”

“Ohh. The good stuff.”

He came back with two bottles from the fridge, then copied me with the biscuit for the last bites of his breakfast as well. “Cheers,” he said as he held out his sandwich.

I tapped mine to his. “Cheers.”

When we finished, we cleaned up companionably with Taylor as our soundtrack. As I was wiping down the table, he wandered down to the record player and changed the finished Taylor album to Mumford & Sons.

The rumbly voice of their lead singer filled the room. Griffin stopped at the massive window and looked out over the spindly branches of apple trees still in winter hibernation. The sad tones of the bass guitar layered under melancholy lyrics filled with longing replaced the jittery nerves of before with the urge to escape.

I didn’t want this man to have other layers.

I knew he did.

Everyone did—it just depended on what parts of yourself you showed to the world. I preferred the easygoing Griffin.

I even understood the playful drunk half of him from the night before. And that was far easier to handle.

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