But when she’d told Hattie she’d be back on Tuesday, Hattie hadn’t told her off, so…it went well, maybe?
Now she was heading to work. She checked the parking lot real quick to see if Samson’s truck was there. It wasn’t, but as she kicked aside the disappointment, she saw a flash of light in the swamp that disappeared the second she blinked.
She shook her head to clear herself of her fanciful thoughts as she dragged open the side door.
Not much business tonight. That was fine. Well, not fine. She needed the tips. But her nervous system could use the break.
Louis waved goodbye as she slipped behind the bar, and waited for her first customer, but everyone seemed content with the drinks they had and were shooting pool in the back. She leaned on the bar and pulled out her phone.
Okay, maybe she was a glutton for punishment looking up her ex’s social media posts, especially after she’d spent the day making meatloaf in a diner kitchen, but, well. She wanted to know what the no-good thief was up to.
She’d barely caught a glimpse of the snake with some cute blonde in exercise gear when the shouting started. She set down her phone and looked up to see Charlie and Bobby Lee facing off against each other on the far side of the pool table, both of them holding the cues like they were ready to joust.
Louis had emphasized that she would be responsible for any broken cues on her watch, so she reached down, grabbed a bat and rounded the bar. She took a breath, and in her deepest kitchen voice, she shouted, “Cut it out, right now!”
They didn’t hear her—or at least didn’t acknowledge her, so she squared her shoulders and marched toward them, bat gripped at an angle in one hand. She didn’t want to use it, but she didn’t want them to think she wouldn’t, either.
“Hey! I said quit it! Take it outside!” She marched around the corner of the pool table and gripped Bobby Lee’s cue, trying to wrest it out of his hand, but he didn’t let go. She felt it twist beneath her palm as he rounded on her.
She’d never broken up a fight before, never been so close to a man with anger burning in his eyes and his nostrils flaring. She released the cue automatically, but didn’t let herself step back, even though every instinct in her body was telling her to retreat, pool cues be damned. She didn’t even know what they cost.
But she also didn’t want men to think they could get away with fighting just because she was on duty. So she bared her teeth and treated him as she would have treated a recalcitrant cook in her kitchen.
“I said. Take it outside.”
He was pretty drunk. She could smell the hops oozing from his pores. She hadn’t over-served him, she was certain, but maybe she’d underestimated how drunk he was. His eyes were wild, and she had no doubt he would use violence against her, so she raised the bat, just a bit, in warning.
And then he stepped back, dropping the cue onto the table.
“I’m sorry, Erielle. You got it. We’ll take it easy.”
She watched him, suspicious at his sudden change in attitude. Behind him, Charlie also tossed down his cue and moved away from Bobby Lee.
Then she saw his gaze dart over her shoulder. She stepped back, putting her own back against the wall, and saw Samson behind her, arms folded over his chest as he glowered at the two men.
“Are you paid up?” he demanded of them.
Both of them scrambled for cash.
“Be sure to tip your bartender. Well,” Samson added.
“Aw, Sam?—”
“Well,” he repeated.
Both men, along with Dave, who hadn’t been in on the fight but hadn’t tried to stop it, either, tossed money on the pool table and headed for the door.
Erielle stepped forward to collect the money once they were gone, and she and Samson were the only people in the bar.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said, though her pounding pulse and churning adrenaline said otherwise.
“You’re welcome,” he said.
She scowled. “This is my job. You don’t have to do my job for me.” She didn’t look at him as she walked past to close out their tabs and add to her tip jar.
“What did you think you were going to do? Hit them with the bat?” He sat across the bar and nodded toward the bat she’d set down.
Before it could fall out of her trembling hand. She kept her hands below the bar so he couldn’t see how badly she was shaking. “I was going to at least make them think I was going to hit them with the bat.” She hated the doubt that flickered across his face. She hated even worse that he was probably right, that she probably could not have handled it on her own.
