Chapter 8
Alexis
Morning comes too early.
For a moment I lie still, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling, disoriented. Then it all comes rushing back, the bar, karaoke night, Dex… I live here now. Well, for the next three months. The thought settles somewhere uneasy in my chest, edged with disbelief, like it still doesn’t quite belong to me.
A knot tightens in my stomach.
Today I need to open a new bank account.
The thought alone exhausts me. Explaining things to a stranger behind a desk. Pretending my own mother didn’t drain every cent I had saved.
I push the blanket aside and sit up with a sigh.
Coffee first. Then I’ll deal with the rest of my life.
The house is quiet when I step into the kitchen. Early morning light spills through the windows, painting the wooden floor gold.
I walk over to the coffee machine and manage to make myself a cup. The first sip is hot and bitter, but it does the job.
Okay. I need a plan.
I’ll walk to the gas station, fill a small tank, bring it back, and put enough gas in my car to get to the bank, hoping it works despite the warning lights that were blinking red on my dashboard like a countdown I couldn’t afford to lose.
But first I need a shower, something clean to wear, and to look like someone who has her life together, even if it’s just on the surface.
Sounds simple enough.
After my shower, I stand in front of my small pile of clothes. Worn denim, soft from too many washes. A sweater that’s starting to lose its shape. My hoodie. And the same T-shirt I rinse out every night just to have something clean for work. It’s not much, but it’s what I have.
I would love to use the tips from yesterday to buy some clothes. Maybe some new shoes, seeing as my sneakers have holes and make my feet blister.
But first things first. Gas, food, and saving for a new home… then maybe clothes.
Worn-out backpack in hand, I step outside into the cold morning air and head toward the parking area.
I stop halfway down the steps.
My car is not where I left it.
I blink slowly.
It was parked on the side of the lot, slightly crooked because the engine had coughed and died before I could straighten it out.
Now it sits neatly in front of the bar.
For a moment I just stare at it.
Okay… maybe I’m hallucinating.
Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing that’s happened lately.
I walk over slowly and open the driver’s door.
“Let’s see,” I mutter under my breath.
I slide into the seat and turn the key.
The engine starts instantly.
No coughing. No shaking. No blinking warning lights on the dashboard.
Nothing.
The car just… runs .
My eyes flick to the gas gauge.
Full.
Completely full.
My chest tightens before I can stop it. I can’t remember the last time I didn’t have to calculate every mile, every stop, every risk of running out. A full tank feels wrong in a way I don’t know how to process, like something too easy, too generous, something I don’t quite trust yet.
I sit there in stunned silence for a moment before a single thought crashes into my mind.
Who…
Dex .
I shut the car off and climb out, my heart beating a little faster than it should. Then I turn and march straight back inside.
The smell of fresh coffee hits me as I step into the kitchen.
Dex is standing there.
He’s shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants that sit low on his hips.
His dark hair is messy, and his green eyes lack their usual hardness.
He looks… younger somehow. Less guarded.
My gaze drifts without permission, taking in the lines of his shoulders, the ink that moves over his skin, the strength in his arms, before dropping lower and…
That’s… distracting .
I snap my head back up to find him smirking.
“Like what you see, Tinker?” he asks casually, taking a sip from his coffee.
Heat floods my face.
“No.”
I cross my arms quickly, like that might hide the reaction I can’t quite control.
“Why is my car parked in front of the bar with a full tank?” I demand. “And why isn’t it lighting up with all the different little warning lights blinking at me?”
Dex sets his mug down on the counter.
“I filled the tank and fixed the radiator, changed the oil, and put in new brakes.”
He shrugs like it’s no big deal.
I just stand there for a second, my brain struggling to catch up, emotions tangling somewhere between confusion, suspicion, and something softer I don’t want to name.
“Why?” I ask, my voice quieter now, less sharp, like I’m not sure I actually want the answer.
“I don’t want my employees stuck somewhere in this weather and then having to miss work.”
Another shrug. Like that explains everything.
It doesn’t. Not really.
Dex pushes off the counter and walks closer, stopping a step in front of me. Up close he smells like coffee and soap and something warm that makes my thoughts slip just enough to feel dangerous.
He smiles slowly.
“You know,” he says, “a thank you would be nice.”
“I… you…” My throat tightens, words tripping over each other as something unfamiliar presses against my chest. “Thank you,” I manage finally.
Dex nods once, satisfied.
“But I’m paying you back.” I square my shoulders.
Dex huffs out a low, amused breath.
“Don’t be late for work,” he says as he picks up his mug again. “You start at noon.”
Then he turns and walks down the hall toward his room like he didn’t just completely mess with my head.
I stand there in the kitchen, staring after him, something unsettled and shifting deep inside me.
My car is fixed.
My tank is full.
And my grumpy, infuriating boss apparently fixes engines before breakfast.
I have absolutely no idea what to do with that.
? ? ?
Dexter
The bar is quiet for once.
Too quiet.
I’m behind the counter, going over invoices, when the front door swings open hard enough to make the bell above it jangle.
I don’t even need to look up.
“Dexter Hawthorne.”
Yep. It’s my mama.
I sigh and set the papers down before lifting my head.
She’s standing in the doorway like a five-foot tornado, floral dress, cardigan, and a large tote bag hanging from her arm. Her light brown hair is pulled into a loose bun, but the way she’s staring at me tells me that bun has seen some stress this morning.
“Mornin’, Mama.”
She shuts the door behind her and walks in slowly, her boots clicking against the wooden floor.
“You wanna tell me,” she says, voice calm in that terrifying way of hers, “why I had to hear from Summer that you’re living with a woman?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Of course Summer told her. “Mama…”
“Don’t you ‘Mama’ me.”
She plants the tote bag on the bar with a heavy thud.
“You got a woman living in your house and you didn’t think to mention that to your own mother?”
“She’s not living with me,” I say, already feeling the headache forming. “It’s temporary.”
Mama crosses her arms.
“Temporary.”
“Yes.”
Her eyebrow lifts. “How temporary?”
“Three months.”
She stares at me for a long moment. Then she snorts. “Lord have mercy.”
“Mama…”
“You mean to tell me,” she says slowly, leaning forward on the bar, “you found a young woman sleeping in her car in the middle of winter, and instead of bringing her to my B&B, where she could have a warm room and proper meals, you decided to move her into your apartment?”
I grimace. “When you put it like that…”
“Because that is exactly what you did, Dexter.”
A hand drags over the back of my neck. “She needed somewhere close to work.”
Mama studies me like she’s trying to peel the truth right out of my skull. “Mm-hmm.”
That little hum of hers never means anything good.
Then she pushes the tote bag toward me.
“I brought some things.”
A frown pulls at my brow as I open it.
Inside are folded clothes, a pair of slippers, toiletries, and several containers of food stacked neatly on top of each other.
“Mama…”
“Some of those are my chicken pot pies,” she says briskly. “And the lasagna your brother likes. Figured if that poor girl’s staying with you, somebody needs to make sure she eats something besides bar food.”
“I feed my employees,” I mutter.
“You feed them fries and burgers.”
There’s no arguing with that.
She dusts off her hands like the matter is settled. “Now,” she says, looking at me again, “what’s her work schedule?”
“Why?”
“Dexter.”
A slow breath leaves my lungs.
“She works afternoons and evenings mostly. Off Sunday mornings.”
Mama nods like she’s been waiting for that answer.
“Well, that’s perfect then.”
Perfect for what?
“Since I’m not working Sunday at lunch,” she continues, “you’ll bring her over.”
A stare settles on her.
“For what?”
“We’re having family lunch.”
“That’s not unusual.”
She smiles.
“We’re announcing something.”
Suspicion rises instantly.
“Announcing what?”
“You’ll find out Sunday.”
“Mama…”
“And don’t even think about making excuses,” she cuts in smoothly.
I lean against the bar. “She just started working for me.”
“Good.”
“She barely knows any of us.”
“All the more reason.”
“Mama.”
Her eyes narrow slightly.
“You’re already walking a thin line, Dexter Hawthorne,” she says firmly. “Do not test my patience.”
Yep. Full name.
No coming back from that.
A breath leaves slow. “Fine.”
Mama’s expression softens instantly, like a storm passing. “That’s my boy.”
She walks around the bar, cups my face for a second, and kisses my cheek like she used to when I was ten.
“Be nice to that girl,” she adds quietly. “Life’s hard enough without men making it harder.”
Then she grabs her purse and heads for the door like she didn’t just bulldoze through my entire day.
The bell jingles again as she leaves, and the bar falls silent.
My gaze drops to the tote bag sitting on the counter. Clothes, food, shoes…
Jesus Christ.
Five minutes later my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out.
A new group chat notification pops up.
Ethan created a group chat: “ Delulu Fam. ”
A breath huffs out.
As I scroll over the names, a slow shake of my head follows.
Yep. Every single Hawthorne sibling and their spouse is in here.
I roll my eyes.