Page 15 of The Guest Cottage
Leaning over the bar top, Herman confided, “The weekenders are sometimes loud and a little rowdy.”
That didn’t scare Marlow. She’d dealt with cutthroat executives who would cheat their own mothers if they could. She’d have no problem handling a rambunctious weekend crowd. “What is the job? Waiting tables? For how many hours?”
The men shared another look, prompting her to say, “Gentlemen, your sexism is showing.”
“Guilty,” Cort said. “Plus, I’m not sure you realize what it’s like to wait tables.”
“Oh? And you know?” She crossed her arms. “Haveyouwaited tables?”
“Yes, I have.”
Hmm. She tried to envision that, but somehow Cort looked more like the guy who would not only own the restaurant but also the town it was in. Not like a slick wealthy guy; he wasn’t what she’d call debonair. No, with his size and quiet air of authority, Cort was more like the man who gave orders and expected them to be followed. “I see. So tell me. What’s so difficult about it?”
“Eight hours on your feet, heavy trays, irascible customers, whiny demands, drunks, guys who get grabby—”
“Here now,” Herman protested. “I don’t let anything like that go on.”
“You,” Cort countered, “can’t be everywhere at once. Plus, that’s why Cindy quit, right?”
“She was going back to school or something anyway.”
Marlow’s gaze ping-ponged back and forth between them. “Do you have the specifics? Pay, exact hours, that sort of thing?”
Resigned, Herman dug around behind the counter and produced a wrinkled sheet of paper. He slapped it down on the bar top, almost like a challenge.
Putting the paper in her purse without looking at it, Marlow asked, “My burger?”
Herman scowled, then left to check on the food.
Cort said nothing. Maybe she’d be crowding him by taking a job here, at a place where he obviously met with customers, but he’d get it over it.
The ringing of her phone seemed to change everything. Cort glanced at her purse, then at her face, before saying, “Enjoy your burger.”
“I’m sure I will. Thank you for the recommendation.”
With the briefest of nods, he headed back to the siblings. That’s when Marlow realized every single person in the bar was watching her, or rather they’d been watchingthem, she and Cort together. Now that he’d walked off, their eyes mostly followed him but also kept checking back on her, maybe waiting for a reaction.
Smiling while resisting the urge to look at the paper in her purse, she pulled out her phone, already guessing who it would be.
Sandra again.
She may as well take it, otherwise her mother-in-law would just keep calling back. Once she got her food, Marlow wanted a quiet evening to herself, not another debate with her mother-in-law.
Stepping toward the door and turning her back to the room gave her a modicum of privacy. She swiped the screen and put the phone to her ear. “Sandra, hello.”
“I can’t believe you’re doing this. Disappearing without a word. It’s unconscionable.”
No, it was a necessity, not that she’d try to explain—again. Used to her mother-in-law’s abrasive way, Marlow asked evenly, “Was there something you wanted?”
A moment of silence conveyed Sandra’s frustration. “Tell me where you are. I have a few things I want to send you.”
Though Sandra couldn’t see her, Marlow shook her head. “I took everything I wanted with me.” Including some memories, some feelings, that shedidn’twant. “Everything else, I left behind on purpose.”
“There are papers from Dylan . . .” Sandra went quiet a moment before starting again, more crisply this time. “They were locked in his desk. I need to mail them to you.”
Suspicion accelerated her heartbeat. “What are they?”
“Given your attitude, I think it’d be better if I just sent them.”
