Page 44 of One Chance to Stay
“I have the answer.”
My eyebrow nearly met my hairline. “Do you?”
Slight nod. “I do.”
Evelyn didn’t say another word as she got up and fetched her mug from the counter. She filled a second cup and returned to the table. I’ve been told in other parts of the world that people had idle chit-chat over coffee. In Maine, when somebody offered a cup of coffee, it served as an invitation to put it all on the table. I cracked a smile as I thought of the empty mug sitting on Seamus’s kitchen table. Did it carry the same symbolic weight?
“Why haven’t you quit bartending?”
“The people.” I never hesitated with this answer. “I love working with people. There’s something cathartic about making a connection over drinks.”
She held out her hand, urging me forward.
“Some come to escape. Others need answers. On a good night, I have the answers; other times, all I can do is nod along. When they sit down at the bar, they’re simply a person needing to be heard. I think that’s all any of us really need.”
Evelyn touched her nose. I scowled. She set the trap without me noticing. Consider me impressed. I let out a long sigh, trying to parse the information. It was?—
“Patrick! You’re killing me! If you typed your speech into your phone, evenitwould know your future. How are you struggling?” She reached across the table, clasping my wrists with the scones in between us. “What job lets you listen to people and help them figure out their problems?”
No.
It couldn’t be.
Really?
Huh?
“You can do it, champ.” If her eyes grew any wider, they’d pop out of her head.
“Therapist? Counselor? Social worker?”
“Finally!”
This whole time, I made a simple question complicated, as if the easy answer couldn’t be the right one. My favorite part of working at the bar had to be the people and helping make their nights memorable. It’d be harder to do without cocktails, but the idea clicked into place.
“Wait, is that what you were going to say?”
“In the immortal words of Mabel Syrup—” she cleared her throat. “—that girl is the therapist I refuse to pay for.”
Evelyn nailed the voice.
She didn’t let go of my wrists, her fingers digging in tighter. “Is this maybe date—” My wrists thanked her insistence on air quotes. “—helping you find the answer?”
I grinned. “They are.”
“Pronoun game, huh? I remember those days before my brother came out.”
My eyes widened, and I leaned forward. “Evelyn…”
She laughed, shooing me back. “That’s your secret, only you’re allowed to reveal it. But…” She glared over the rim of her coffee cup as she took a sip. “You could ensure my silence by playing bartender at Valhalla’s bonfire.”
“Blackmail? Consider me impressed, Ms. Olsen.”
“It’s next week. I’ll comp you the room until then.” She got up, cradling her cup between both hands. “Maybe it’ll give you enough time to figure out thismay beromance you have going on.”
Dammit. She had me. “Sold.”
“Speaking of… isn’t his daughter a social worker?”
