Page 5 of Brittle Heart

A look of understanding crosses her face as she gives me a sad smile. “Aren’t we all? So, what brings you here?”

“Howie. He’s too proud to ask for help himself, but winter is coming, and he isn’t getting any younger,” I say. “Do you have a bed available for him again?”

Gloria’s brow furrows, her fingers absentmindedly stroking her lower lip. “Let’s go see.”

She leads me into her office and sits down behind a well-worn desk. She is a stunning woman, probably in her late fifties, yet she has a youthful glow. The only wrinkles adorning her face are laugh lines around her vibrant green eyes. Her blonde hair is coiled up in a bun, a few strands hanging over her face.

After shuffling through some paperwork, she finally looks up and says, “It seems like we could make room for him, but it wouldn’t be until next week. Would that be okay?”

“That would be fantastic, Gloria. Thank you so much! And he could stay all winter?” I ask.

She grins. “You know I have a soft spot for that cantankerous old man. If it were up to me, he’d be welcome to stay here long-term. But you know Howie, as soon as the weather warms up, he’ll be back on the streets, claiming he doesn’t want to take a spot from someone who needs it more.”

I nod, a slight smile on my face.That’s just Howie.

“Well, at least he’ll be safe and warm for a couple months. It’ll give me some peace of mind,” I add gratefully.

Gloria rises from her seat and walks around the desk, resting her hand gently on my shoulder. “And how about you, dear? How are you holding up?” she asks.

I manage to return a small smile. “Still standing,” I reply, echoing the motto of the shelter.

She pulls me in for a brief hug before releasing me, then opens the door for me. “Sometimes, that’s all we can do,” she remarks, a tinge of sadness in her smile.

* * *

Despite rushing to get to the bar, I manage to send Chiara a text, asking about her day and checking if she’s doing her homework. Usually, I would call her, but today, I just don’t have the time.

After school, she stays with her best friend Monica and has dinner before returning home. I never want her alone with Roberto for too long, but he’s usually out in the evenings.

Thankfully, Monica’s mother is a kind woman in her mid-forties, and—while she always looks at me with pity—she’s more than willing to care for Chiara when I can’t. I give her money to cover Chiara’s food whenever I can.

I have to take what I can get.

I duck in through the employee’s entrance, hang my things in my locker, and tie on my black apron. Then I head to the bar by way of the kitchen. On the way, I nod to our chef, Lennard, and the dishwasher, Matteo, and quickly tie my hair into a ponytail to keep it out of my face while I work.

When I enter the bar area, using my shoulder to open the door, Cindy is sitting on the counter, and Donny is standing between her legs, kissing her neck. I sigh and roll my eyes in annoyance.

Cindy is a tall, beautiful, blonde woman with a body she could model with. I don’t understand why she works here instead of being an influencer or something. But to be honest, what she does can’t be called work. She mainly flirts with our boss, Donny, and talks my ear off while I do both our jobs.

“Hey,” I say, getting a cloth to wipe down all the tables and seats before we open.

“Stop it, Donny, not here.” Cindy giggles.

He grunts. “Donny is gonna take you home tonight, and then he’s gonna show you just how good his anaconda is.”

I nearly gag. I have no sexual experience whatsoever, but if this is what awaits me, I’m more than happy not to get any anytime soon.

Finishing up with the tables, I return to the bar just as Donny walks into the kitchen.

“He’s so adorable, don’t you think?” Cindy asks with heart-filled eyes.

I have to take a deep breath to suppress the urge to roll my eyes again. “Dreamy,” I say simply, grabbing a beer glass and carefully polishing away the water stains left from the dishwasher.

“When are you going to get a boyfriend, Carolina?” she asks me, her elbows on the counter.

Sure, why would you lift a finger and help me here anyway? It’s not like you get paid for it.

Trying to divert the conversation, I say, “Oh, it’s ‘boyfriend’ now? Are you guys official?”

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