Chapter Fifty-Three Zig
Zig must have slept for a good ten hours and woke up the next morning to Si kissing him goodbye before heading off to work.
He only vaguely remembered Si getting him to bed sometime during the night, and his head was thick from last night’s alcohol.
A stiff cup of coffee helped put that right, though.
He got dressed and started wondering what to do with the day.
Hit the library, maybe. He still needed to read up on those gay gods.
It felt weird knowing he didn’t have to worry about Dad and Trent anymore.
A huge weight off his mind, but somehow almost scary too.
Like, he could live his life the way he wanted to now.
If only he could figure out what that was.
With Si, of course, that was a given, but did he really want to do bar work for the rest of his life?
He didn’t mind the job, but having most of his time off while Si was at work sucked.
Course, the less Si sees of you, the longer it’ll take him to get fed up with you . . . Zig shut down that line of thought sharpish. That was Dad’s voice telling him he was worthless. Zig didn’t have to listen to that anymore. Si loved him.
A steady warmth settled in Zig’s chest as he jogged down the stairs.
As he got to the bottom, he heard Esme calling him. “Zigmund? A word, please?”
Zig stuck his head into the shop and grinned. “You know it’s just Zig.”
“Are you sure? Because I can have the name badge made up with either.”
“Uh . . . What would I want one of those for?”
She shrugged. “It’s not compulsory, but some of the customers seem to appreciate having a name for the person who’s serving them.
I’ll leave it up to you. Now, I can be flexible on the hours, but I assume you’d prefer to work weekdays?
To give you more time with Si, now you two have finally sorted things out. ”
Zig stared at her, not quite sure he was hearing right. “You were serious about offering me a job?”
“Why not? You did very well minding the shop for me while I was out. And while I enjoy meeting customers, I need more time to focus on my creativity.”
Zig swallowed. “I’ve been in prison. Thieving. Still want me to work here?”
Esme shrugged, like she genuinely didn’t care. And wasn’t surprised, for that matter. “Nobody’s perfect. My late husband didn’t always manage to stay on the right side of the law, I’m afraid, but he always dealt honestly with me.”
“You hardly know me,” Zig said in confusion. “Why would you wanna trust me?”
“I know your Mr. Greczik. And I trust his judgement. If he thinks you’re worthy of a second chance, then so do I.”
“Okay, then.” Zig wasn’t gonna give this particular gift horse any more dental examinations. It might bolt, and then he’d feel a right tit.
“I’ll need to know your legal name, of course. For the payroll. I’m assuming your last name isn’t Freud.”
“You’re gonna be disappointed. It’s Jones. David Jones.”
“No!” Her eyes widened. She didn’t look disappointed in the least. “Like . . .” She sketched a lightning bolt in the air. “And with the eyes as well!”
He smiled wryly. “Yep. Getting nicknamed Ziggy was a total no-brainer.”
“Who gave you that moniker, or is that lost in the mists of time?”
“It was me gran. Big Bowie fan, she was.”
“Aren’t we all?” Esme smiled. “Now, I was thinking you could start in the New Year.”
Zig nodded. “That’d be great.” He meant it.
New year; new job.
New life, with Si.
Yeah, things were definitely looking up.