Page 88 of Apex of the Curve

“Hi, how’s it goin’?” he said distractedly and looked to Fen, wiping his damp hands on the seat of his jeans. “What’s up, Fen?”

“Bring me and IPA and a Cider for my lady,” he said. “Then go on out back and check with Blackjack on our steaks. If they’re done, bring ‘em to us.”

“You got it.” The prospect, who seemed harried, bobbed his head and took off like a shot.

“Momma Kat! I need an IPA and a Hard Cider!”

“You got it, honey!” the woman behind the bar yelled out.

I smiled and shook my head in amazement as several men on the other side of the front door burst out laughing and one passed a joint to another.

“Doin’ okay?” Fenris asked me.

I nodded, silent, just looking around and taking it all in.

“Seems to me she thinks we’re some kind of a freakshow,” a voice behind my man declared. My head shot up, and I looked wide-eyed at the speaker as Fen turned, scowling.

It was Tic-Tac. I’d met him on Sunday. Dahlia had been with him at the Harley store, but he’d mostly stayed with Fen and Dump Truck. We’d barely exchanged pleasantries when we’d left and parted ways.

I didn’t understand… I hadn’t thought I’d done anything offensive.

“I’m sorry,” I called. “It’s just—”

“You ain’t gotta apologize to him, babe. Tic’s just an asshole,” Fen said and turned back around to face me with a wink.

The prospect came back out with our drinks and said, “Steaks are coming right up!”

“Thank you,” I said to him while Fen just grunted.

I was mollified. I felt as though Tic’s glaring daggers at me behind Fen’s back wasn’t warranted. I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I was just existing, spending time with Fen and here at Fen’s behest to meet his people. I didn’t know what I’d done wrong – and then Vyking’s words came back to me.

Don’t take anything personal and don’t take anyone’s shit.

Okay, I would try. I took a deep breath and a drink of my cider and just ignored Tic and ate my meal.

“So, what did you do today?” Fen asked, returning the subject to me and my day.

“Mm, made several raw serving platters to teach an underglaze decal class the middle of next week. They’re fast and easy to make, but kind of a pain in the ass to fire. They have to be done in batches, but with the decals, you have to do them before the first firing otherwise they don’t quite work. So, I try to make an excess since with greenware breakage is bound to happen.”

“I don’t know how you keep track and do it all, babe.”

“You have a lot more to keep track of on your farm than I do in my little shop,” I said with a laugh.

“I don’t know about that,” he said. “Greenware, earthenware, bisqueware, slurry, scoring, glaze, underglaze, decals, you got all these things and I can’t keep up on which shit is which.”

I smiled. “I kind of miss the days where it was just making things, start to finish. Doing farmer’s markets and the like on the weekends. I don’t miss working what was essentially two and three jobs to get where I am but there was a certain simplicity to it all.” I shook my head and speared a bite of salad. “With everything going on, keeping the shop going is becoming exhausting and I’m not really wholly turning a profit now.”

“Ever consider just doing what makes you happy?” someone behind me asked. I startled slightly and looked up into a handsome face shadowed with afternoon growth, deep indigo eyes sparkling over a million-dollar smile.

“Rare,” he said, setting a plate in front of Fenris. “And medium-rare.” He set a plate down beside the one I was working on.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Mav, you didn’t have to do that,” Fenris declared.

“Of course, I did,” Mav declared and took a seat next to me.

“Aspen, this is my president, Maverick. Mav, I’d like you to meet my girlfriend, Aspen.”

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