Rose
“That was amazing,” I tell Willow when she finishes her set on Saturday night at the Lock Bar. It’s not a fancy place to work, but then again, neither was stone-picking in the mud. So, technically, this is a dream job.
“Thank you.” My redheaded friend does a little bow for me and takes an empty seat at my bar. “I’ll take that margarita now.”
“You gonna tip me?” I tease.
She slaps a pack of cigarettes on the bar. “Some joker put that in my jar. You believe that?”
“The nerve,” I agree. Then shrug and swipe it from the counter.
“Hey,” she shrieks.
“What? I’m entitled to breaks.”
“You don’t smoke.”
I pop the lid, inspecting it. “Look at that, it’s a fresh pack, too.”
“Throw it out this instant.”
“All right, all right.” I toss it behind the counter and start mixing her drink. “You know you don’t have to wait for me. Myshift isn’t over for another two hours.”
“I know. But I’ve missed you. And what am I going to do at home? Pack more boxes so I can move into our new placealone?”
I wince. “I’m sorry. But hey, you’re not married to the city either. Come to South Carolina with me. You’d love Charleston.” I set the watermelon margarita in front of her.
She takes a sip. “So, did you keep the photos? You only showed me the one. I want to see all of them.”
I swat my rag at her with a coy smile. “No, pervert.”
She takes a few more sips, watching me. Her expression saddens. “You OK?”
I spread my arms wide like it’s obvious how well I am doing. “Hey, Billy kept his word and put me back on the closing shift so there’s that. My school records are in the mail, and based on what I looked up at the school in Charleston, I can start my Masters by next spring and begin supervised practice hours within a year.”
She holds up her glass. “You lost me at school records.”
I laugh, then scan her outfit. Willow’s got a typical city-girl style about her, but with comfort. So, jeans—not the skinny kind—an off-shoulder lightweight sweater, and low heels.
But when she’s playing, she dresses the part. Today, it’s a low-cut sleeveless top that hugs her body, and a pair of embroidered leggings. I can tell she’s uncomfortable. “Put something on before I turn into your jealous ex-boyfriend and throw my jacket over you.”
“Actually, I wouldn’t mind it. Someone knocked into me when I got here and spilled beer over my sweater.”
“Jerks. Here.” I pull out the hoodie Dallas gave me the other day and hand it to her across the bar.
“Someone leave this behind?”
“No. It belongs to a friend.”
She buries her nose in it. “Mmm .?.?. smells nice. Woodsy.” She smiles as she slides the oversized black hoodie over her head. “Thanks.”
“Keep it. It looks good on you.” And it’s better that she does. Even though Dallas isn’t the one I’m hurting over, I don’t need any reminders of Blue River.
She passes her empty glass to me. “Take an Uber tonight, OK?”
“Will do,” I lie. “Love you.”
I wave goodbye and get back to the few customers I’ve got at the bar. It’s slow tonight—or became slow after Willow finished her set.
