Page 60 of Second Time Around
“It looks like a fun job,” Petra said, a little disingenuously.
“You get to meet a lot of nice people,” Kyra said, putting the drink in front of Petra. Another pat answer.
“And a lot of jerks, too.” Farr’s tone was tart. “Especially after a few drinks.”
Kyra laughed. “A few, but management has diplomatic yet firm ways to deal with them.”
“Have you worked here long?” Petra continued her quiz.
“Eight years.” For some reason, that suddenly sounded like a long time, as though bartending had become her career choice.
“And the same at the after-care center?”
“Not quite as long there. It took me a couple of years to find them.” Or rather to find the ad offering a free apartment in South Harlem in return for cooking for kids on a tiny budget. “I consider myself lucky to have that job. The kids bring me such joy.” And occasionally broke her heart with their life stories. But at least she felt like she was helping them in a very concrete way. “Now I’m even getting to love their dogs.”
“The K-9 Angelz,” Farr said, popping a beignet into his mouth and making appreciative noises.
“You were paying attention at the party,” Kyra said, pleased. She explained the program to Petra, who was instantly enthusiastic.
“Now I’m even cooking for the dogs,” Kyra joked. “This giant pit bull who looks like he could eat an entire cow has a sensitive stomach. Go figure!”
Farr and Petra laughed, and then Kyra got busy with a surge of customers, so she didn’t have a chance to do more than briefly check in with them for half an hour.
But she had been watching the two of them as she worked, something she did as a bartender anyway to see whether her customersneeded another drink, as well as to gauge their satisfaction and how inebriated they were. Her body language skills had been honed to a fine edge behind the bar at Stratus.
Farr felt more than friendship for Petra. It showed in the tiny, solicitous touches he gave her, in the way he bent his head close to listen to her, and in the protective way he draped his arm over the back of her bar chair. Kyra’s heart twisted. She didn’t know Farr well, but she respected Will’s judgment when it came to friends, so she hated to see him suffer unrequited devotion. Why did Petra continue to chase after a man who didn’t want her when there was one who clearly did?
Will had given Kyra the answer. Farr was only of average height, had medium-brown hair that had begun to recede, and tended toward pudginess. His career in investment banking was impressive by most standards but couldn’t compete with Will’s stratospheric wealth and position. For Petra, Farr’s honeyed southern accent and utter devotion wouldn’t make up for his perceived shortcomings.
Petra was an idiot.
When she finally got back to them, Petra had finished her second Cosmo, so she ordered another.
Farr tried to talk her out of it, but his date insisted. “They taste so-o-o-o good.”
Kyra met Farr’s gaze with a rueful shrug. She couldn’t stop adult customers from drinking more than they should unless they became a nuisance. But this indicated that Petra’s excessive drinking at the Spring Fling couldn’t be laid entirely at Will’s door, which should relieve him.
As Kyra muddled more ginger, Petra leaned forward, her chin propped on one graceful hand, her eyes slightly clouded with alcohol. “I have a question for you.”
Kyra looked up with a smile. Petra had been peppering her with questions all evening, but it was kind of flattering. “Shoot.”
“Are you in love with Will?”
The muddler hit the cocktail shaker with a loud clank as it slipped from Kyra’s fingers. “Um, I’ve only seen him twice since college, so I’d say not.”
“You can fall in love instantly,” Petra said, nodding vigorously so that her hand moved with her chin. “And Will is so easy to love.”
Without meaning to, Kyra glanced at Farr and saw the pain in his eyes before he looked down into his drink. “Will’s a great guy. Always has been,” Kyra said, finding her poise again and pouring vodka into the shaker with a flourish.
“He brought you to the party,” Petra said. “The last time he brought a date to the party, it was me.” A tear slid over her perfect cheekbone.
Petra got emotional when she drank. Or maybe she drank when she was emotional.
“Petra, sugar, I think it’s time to go home,” Farr said. “You’re leaving for San Francisco early in the morning, remember?”
“Oh, Farr, you’re so sweet to worry about me,” Petra said, patting his hand. “But I came to talk to Kyra and she’s been so busy.”
“She’s working,” Farr said, rebuke in his voice. “We should not be taking up her time.”
