Page 98 of Best Served Cold

Smiling to myself, I type back:

I had second thoughts. We don’t need to be social media official for the caseworker to buy our relationship, and I don’t want to cause more trouble for you. Maybe it’s better not to rub Jonah’s and Patricia’s faces in it.

Ah, but I’d like to. And we both look really, really good in that photo. Isn’t that what social media is for? Bragging to strangers and getting them to gossip about you?

Has anyone asked about the corsage?

No. But there have been plenty of curious glances. They probably think I’m making a fashion statement.

I’m about to perform at One World Brewery with my boutonniere on. Wish me luck.

I pour some more drinks and practice making one of my NA recipes in a delicious pocket of downtime, nestled into the afternoon like a chocolate chip in a cookie. When I check my phone again, there’s an alert on my phone.

Rob Price wants to be in an “It’s complicated” relationship with you. Accept?

My heart thumps as I press accept. Then I click through to Rob’s page and read the comments beneath the photo. There’s one from Travis—moony heart eyes—and another from someone I don’t know.

Whoa. Isn’t that your brother’s fiancée, Sonya?

Rob’s already responded—That’s Sophie to you. And she WAS my brother’s fiancée. She’s my girlfriend. I’m one lucky man.

My heart is racing now. Obviously, he’s just doing it to get a rise out of people. Robwantsto upset his brother and Patricia. He’s said so. And I can’t deny I take satisfaction from the thought too. But it still makes me anxious. It feels like he’s taking a stand forme, and it might cause trouble for him.

I promise myself we’ll talk about it later. I’ll convince him to back down if necessary.

I tuck away my phone again, promising myself I won’t keep checking it for my whole shift. It’s just…

I feel myself slipping into deeper waters than I expected with Rob. He’s so thoughtful and funny and deep, and every moment we’ve spent together has embedded itself in my memory. I know he’s been having fun, too, but it’s possible our new friendship-with-benefits means less to him. Maybe even very little.

I don’t want to believe that, but the anxious thought keeps pestering me, like a mosquito with a taste for my blood.

About an hour before my shift ends, Dottie Hendrickson sweeps in, dressed in an adorable summer dress covered in smiling cups of tea. I know why she’s here—or at least I think I do—but I’m still happy to see her. Dottie always lifts my mood simply by being herself. By beingkind.

She greets half a dozen people by name before reaching the bar. She sets a zippered case down in front of her. “My dear girl,” she says with a broad smile. “What a beautiful corsage. Did you make it yourself?”

“How could you tell?” I ask wryly.

“Those flowers are such a wonderful choice.” She studies my corsage with much more attention than it deserves. “Honeysuckle for devoted affection and a red camellia…very sensual. I couldn’t be happier for you, my girl.”

I smile, because of course she’s the only person to actually address the silly corsage. But she didn’t stop there. She made it feel like something beautiful.

I adore her. Blindly. Truly. I would follow her into a lion’s den. “Why are you happy for me, exactly?”

A dumb question, but I’d rather hear what she already knows before giving her more information.

“My dear man saw you and our mutual friend together yesterday evening, of course. And then I saw that lovely photo you posted. I can’t tell you how pleased I am for you young people. Why, the very first time I saw you together, I could tell there was something special brewing between you.”

I give her a disbelieving look. “Dottie, the first time you saw us together was the day I found out Jonah was cheating on me.”

“And the sparks were already there,” she says in a knowing tone. “Two more beautiful auras, I never saw. And your star signs are in gorgeous alignment.”

“You know when my birthday is?” I ask, surprised. I’ve never told her.

She looks almost offended. “Of course, my dear. I marked it down in my calendar last year. I mark down all of my young people’s birthdays.”

Emotion clogs my throat. “I don’t know when your birthday is.”

“And you needn’t,” she says. “I stopped counting at eighty. But let’s not get off topic.” She clasps her hands against her chest. “Pisces and Cancer are a lovely match. Very compatible.”

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