Page 8 of All the Ugly Things
Except I didn’t. Which made it all the worse.
“You’re a good worker. Take pride in your job.”
“I’m a waitress on the late shift at a diner that serves questionable people, present company excluded, of course, but I’m not exactly going places.”
“What do you do during the day?”
Why was he so damn curious all of a sudden? My ire spiked and I cleaned off my hands, stepping back and leaving the coolant uncapped.
“Community college.”
“So you are motivated to go places?”
That was enough questions for the night.
“Coolant,” I said. “You’re low on it. That’s probably the grinding noise, but it’s definitely the smell. Might have a leak in the lines somewhere I can’t see. Think we might actually have some in the storage room if you want me to check. Enough to get you home safe, anyway.”
“You keep coolant in a diner?”
“Not all of us have the luxury of triple-A or glamorous vehicles.” I pointed to the emblem at the front of his SUV. He flinched and I almost felt bad for being rude to him. He’d always been kind, at the very least, polite.
He didn’t deserve the sharp edge of my tongue because I had issues.
I wiped my hands on the towel again. “I’ll go get that coolant for you,” I muttered.
It wasn’t until I got inside I realized how bad my heart was racing. This guy, he was acting different. Pushy, almost in a way I didn’t expect from him. And yet, his voice said he cared.
I didn’t like that either. He didn’t know me enough to care about me or my motivations.
My hands shook and it took a moment while I dug through our back closet to find the coolant. I saw Chaz use it once for the dishwasher’s car, that was how I knew we had it.
When I came back out, shakes and heart rate under control, Mr. Valentine was pacing in front of his SUV.
“I didn’t mean to offend. Or judge. That isn’t my place.”
“No worries.” I was getting used to it. Months of living in a halfway house when I first got out meant whenever I stepped foot onto the bus near it, I got lots of looks.
I poured the bottle into the uncapped tube and when it was done, closed everything up.
The hood slammed closed before he spoke again and this time, his voice was almost fatherly.
Which made me want to cry again. And that pissed me off.
“My company could use hard workers like you. Motivated. Smart. Dedicated. I see you working here, wondering why you’re the only one putting in so much effort. It’s a good quality. Admirable.”
It’d been so long since I’d had a compliment given, I forgot how to express myself.Thank youwere probably the appropriate words, but they stuck in my throat.
“If you want, I can get you a job.”
“No thanks.” Odd, how I had no trouble using the words to brush him off. “I can take care of myself.”
More than being capable, it was my driving force. Somewhere inside me, I still had that burning desire to make my parents proud. It didn’t matter they wanted nothing to do with me. Someday, if I ever got to see them again, I wanted to show them what I did without their help or money or support. I wanted them to know I’d made something of myself, by myself.
Besides, I didn’t know what Mr. Valentine did, but I wouldn’t take an offer from a stranger. They rarely came without strings.
“I should get back to work. You’ll be good, but get your car in as soon as you can.”
“Will do.” His hand slid out of his pocket. A white card was in between his fingers. Something green beneath. “Take this. You ever need anything, want that job, or at least a chance at it, call me. My company isn’t the largest, but we’re successful. Pays well. Best benefits I can manage.”
