Page 5 of Devil's Last Dance

Candice smiled. “Well, you already know what I do. I work in a bar. I’m making polite conversation. You know, rather than the silence. It helps to keep things … light.”

“By knowing what I do for a living?” he asked.

“You know, the whole getting to know one another, talking, that kind of thing. It’s what people do.” She glanced over at him as he stopped walking.

“I’m in business,” he said after a second’s pause.

“You’re in business.”

“Yes.”

“Okay, what kind of business?”

“Multiple. I’m a businessman. I own casinos, restaurants, and I also invest.”

“Ah, okay. Sounds like a hectic kind of life, and I bet it’s not easy.”

Antwone stared at her for several seconds.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Did you always want to work in a bar?”

“Nah, I imagined owning my own business. I was going to be a multimillion-dollar pancake maker, or something like that.” She laughed, recalling her own childhood innocence. “Trust me, my pancakes are the bomb, but not everyone is into pancakes. Some people love waffles, but I do great waffles as well.” She shrugged.

The truth was, she didn’t do well at school. She understood everything, but she didn’t test well, so there was no college education for her. After her parents passed away, she sold the house, moved to the city, and everything else was history.

At thirty years old, she’d seen a lot of the world, learned a lot about people, how hard and cruel some could be.

It had taken time, but she liked her job, and then she got to do what she wanted during the day. She made enough money to pay the bills, with a bit to spend on luxuries, and she didn’t have much care in the world. Her parents had left her enough money, which she had saved.

She never lived outside of her means. Her parents had always taught her the value of only spending what she could afford. There were no spending sprees in her future.

“You love to cook?” he asked.

“Yeah, I do. Everything tastes so much better homemade. I remember my mom used to spend hours in the kitchen, every Sunday morning. She’d bake bread, cookies, muffins, bars, and treats for the week ahead. One Friday every month, we’d go on a ginormous food shopping spree, and we’d spend that Saturday preparing it all. She’d marinate meat to stick in the freezer for the whole month, which was awesome. We’d make burgers, different kinds of meatballs, sometimes we’d even make the meals as well.” She sighed, recalling the fond memories.

“Sounds like fun,” he said.

“It was a lot of fun. There were times when if we had too much food, we’d cook what we had and then take it around to neighbors. My family loved the whole community spirit.” She sighed.

It was moments like this, when she thought about what her parents did, that she wished she hadn’t left the small town where she’d grown up.

But, that was the problem—the memories. She had tried living and getting by, but it had been too painful. Everyone was so nice, but she found herself constantly in tears, feeling so alone and missing them.

Coming to the city had been like a breath of fresh air, which was kind of odd, considering some of the congestion and the constant fumes. She’d been able to finally heal, but the grief was always there.

She had her mother’s cookbooks, all her notebooks, not just on food, but everything she did. Her mother was an amazing knitter, and Candice had learned from her. She had the patterns her mother had kept over the years, including some of her own designs as well. They were the memories she wanted to keep and savor.

“What about you? Any memories you care to share about your parents?” she asked.

“No.”

He sounded so cold, so hard. Candice regretted asking him.

“Oh, of course.”

Silence fell between them, and she kept walking.

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