Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
D ella walked into the first minimum-wage job she’d ever had wondering what the hell she’d been thinking.
She deeply regretted the life choices that had led her here. All of them. She should never have agreed to this. What did she know about waiting tables? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
She smoothed the white Sevens T-shirt Ward had produced from a closet somewhere and glanced around, nervous butterflies winging away in her belly. “Where’s your dad?”
“Not sure.” Ward pointed at the bar. “Check in with Cherry. She’s his right hand.”
He started to walk away, but she grabbed his hand. “Where are you going?”
“The corner booth.” He flashed a lopsided smirk. “Let me know when you’ve had enough. We can fake an illness or something.”
He turned her loose and sauntered away. Between his jeans, black polo shirt, and the laptop bag slung casually over his shoulder he looked like a professor.
Nobody would ever know he was secretly an agent of torture who was taking a ridiculous amount of delight in what was sure to be her humiliation.
“I’m not quitting, honey bear ,” she told his retreating back.
She was sticking this out for the week she’d promised Ralph, or until he asked her to leave. Whichever came first.
His fingers twitched, almost like he was flipping her off.
“Jerk,” She muttered. Fine. She was a professional performer, dammit. How hard could it be to pretend to be a waitress? All she had to do was bring people food and drinks and smile.
Without a crowd, Sevens seemed larger than it had during the party. Mirrors behind the bar helped. So did the wall of windows along the back that revealed the courtyard beyond. It was a charming, welcoming space all of her sisters would love.
Maybe some day she could bring them here.
The place was empty except for a tall, dark, fantastically muscled guy pouring ice into a bin behind the bar, and a short, curvy, motherly looking woman frowning at the register.
That had to be Cherry.
“Okay, Lucy, get your ass in gear and figure this out,” she whispered to herself. She crossed the dining room to the bar with her head held high and a light bounce in her step.
She could do this. She could.
“Hey, new girl.” The ice man’s smile could have sold sand to a camel. “How you doing?”
Della grinned back. She couldn’t help it. The guy had a serious twinkle in his eyes. “Good so far. You?”
“I’m excellent and exceptional.” He flipped a towel over his shoulder. “You’re Lucy, right?”
“Yes!” She leaned against the bar. “How’d you guess?”
“I was here Sunday. That guitar was totally extra. Mason hasn’t shut up about it.” He held out a hand. “I’m Ken. Bartender, actor and influencer. You may have heard of me. I have a YouTube channel, and I’m in the holiday production at the Parry Opera House. It’s a big part. Plenty of stage time.”
“He’s supporting chorus,” Cherry said, her attention still on the register. “And he has five hundred followers.”
“Well, that’s a start,” Della said as she shook Ken's hand.
“Right?” Ken whipped a towel across the bar. "I keep telling her it’s one step closer to my name in lights. Now on Broadway…Ken Cassidy.”
“You have to make it Off-Broadway first,” Cherry said, but her friendly smile took the sting out of her words. She held out her hand. “Hi, Lucy. I’m Cherry. Ralph asked me to show you around. You’ve waited tables before, right?”
Della winced as she shook Cherry’s hand. “No.”
“Oh.” Cherry pulled a black half-apron out from under the register and handed it to her. “I just figured you had. We get a lot of actors here. Waiting tables seems to come with the territory.”
“Oh. Yeah. That’s true.” Della scrambled for an explanation that made sense and didn’t give away anything important. “I’ve actually been working at a bed-and-breakfast, but not as a server. I clean the rooms and scrub the toilets. They don’t let me near the dining room or kitchen. The cook there is…um…territorial.”
She tied the apron around her waist and avoided eye contact.
It was kind of true. Not that she’d actually been paid to do the job, but she’d spent several days at Lizzie’s inn doing exactly that. She’d gained new respect for cleaners in general, and people who scrubbed toilets in particular.
“Bathrooms,” Ken said with a shudder.
“Gross,” Della agreed.
“We all take turns with that duty here,” Cherry said. “It’s just like at home, but twice the mess and none of the ability to ground people.”
“You said duty.” Ken grinned and wiggled his eyebrows.
“Child,” Cherry said, but again she flashed him an indulgent, fond smile.
“You love me.” Ken beamed back at her.
“Sadly, yes. Now finish setting up while I show Lucy the layout.” Cherry handed Della a small pad of tickets and a pen. “We’re a little old fashioned here. We have a fancy new POS machine but damned if I can get it to work right. So we're sticking to paper right now. Guard that pen with your life. Everyone tries to steal them. Now over here…”
Della followed Cherry, taking surreptitious notes on the back of her pad. Her new boss showed her how to place an order in the kitchen and how the tables were numbered and where to find the cleaning supplies.
Della did her best to take it all in. She couldn’t help but notice the skeptical glances Ward kept flashing her direction. It made her want to throw the order pad at him. She might not have ever worked in retail, but she knew how to work hard. He’d know that if he’d ever had to perform a ten-minute dance routine while singing to a sold-out crowd under lights hot enough to bake bread.
The door opened, and the first customers of the afternoon came in. Three women dressed in slacks and tops that reminded her of schoolteachers took a table near the courtyard.
““I think you’ve got the basics,” Cherry said. "Why don’t you take that section on the right. There’s two less tables over there, so it’ll give you a chance to get your feet wet. It should be pretty slow today. Just give a shout if you get overwhelmed.”
“Can I shout now?” Della eyed the new arrivals. They might as well be lions waiting to pounce.
Cherry gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, sweetie. You’ll get the hang of it.”
The door opened and two men sauntered in. Cherry greeted them like old friends, and just like that Della was on her own.
She shoved the butterflies in her stomach aside, put on her best stage smile and strolled up to her first table. “Welcome to Sevens. I’m Lucy. What can I get you today?”
“You’re Storm’s girl,” one of the women said.
“I told you she was pretty,” another said.
“Please, she’s more than that. I love your hair,” the third chimed in.
Della’s stomach settled down at the friendly greeting. The teachers pelted her with curiosity. It felt a lot like a fan meet and greet, but without the squeals and demands for autographs. By the time she’d brought them their soup and sandwiches, her jitters had eased.
This wasn’t so hard. Chitchat, carry plates, and smile smile smile. It wasn’t that different from singing on stage.
Her second table was five flirty teenage boys looking for an after-school snack. They made her giggle and tipped her ten dollars.
She didn’t need the money. For a wild second, she thought about chasing after them to give it back, but then she realized that would be completely out of character for Lucy.
She tucked the ten-dollar bill into her apron pocket and patted it.
They liked her enough to part with cash they had to have earned doing lawns or working in fast food or something. She was touched and a little bit smug about a job well done.
Two tables came in at the same time and suddenly it felt crowded and a little more chaotic. Mason sauntered in wearing a black Sevens T-shirt and old jeans, and a backpack slung over one shoulder. He looked like a rougher, edgier echo of her warden.
“Hey, Lucy. How’s it going?” Mason glanced around, noticed his brother sitting in the corner, and gave him a nod.
Her warden nodded back and gave a little half wave of brotherly greeting.
Maybe the ice really was thawing between those two.
“Mason!” Della picked up menus for the new tables. “It’s a little confusing, but overall it’s going okay so far. You?”
He shrugged with one shoulder. “Hey, thanks again for the guitar. I know that was all you.”
His shy smile made her wish she could confess everything to him. She’d love to have a jam session with him and see how good he was on that guitar. “You’re welcome. But it was your brother’s idea. He told me about how you used to take your grandfather’s old guitar out into the garage and play whenever you got the chance, and that the last time he’d seen it, there was a crack along the base and the strings were twangy.”
“He saw that?” Mason sounded skeptical, but his face brightened. “I didn’t think he noticed. He’s not around much.”
“I know.” It tugged at her heart to think these two weren’t as close as they should be. “That doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. You know that. Right?”
He gave another half shrug, which she supposed was teenage boy for yes .
Enough awkward chitchat, she decided. She eyed his shirt. “You’re working tonight?”
“I buss tables after practice for a couple of hours. If it’s slow, I get paid to do my homework.” He glanced around. “That’s not happening today, I guess.”
“It’s been pretty hectic since about four. People must really like the meatloaf.”
He snorted. “Pretty sure they came for the celebrity couple sighting.”
Nervous heat traveled up her spine. “Celebrity?”
He flicked his gaze to the corner where Ward was currently ignoring them both.“Yeah. You and Storm. He hits the local paper every time he bothers to show his face in this town. You’re an added bonus, being his girlfriend. People around here love that stuff.”
He stowed his backpack behind the bar and picked up an apron.
“Oh.” Della forced her shoulders to relax. She hadn’t been recognized. It was just small-town gossip. “So this is just curiosity. Maybe it’ll slow down in a little bit then.”
He gave her a look that said she was hopelessly naive. “You’re not from a small town, are you.”
“Not really.” Dangerous territory, though her backstory was supposed to include Los Angeles.
“Lucy, order up,” Cherry called out.
“Coming.” Della gave Mason a rueful grin. “I’m glad you’re here. This is all new to me.”
“You get used to it. You run the food out and take the orders, and don’t worry about bussing. I got you.”
They fell into a routine for the next hour, with a steady stream of tables flowing in and out. She took the order, turned it in, carried drinks, and delivered food. Mason refilled glasses and picked up dirty dishes, all of it with an easy rhythm that helped her relax.
Just when she thought she was getting the hang of things, a horde descended on Sevens and it was all she could do to keep from dropping things or tripping over her own feet.
Della carried two heavy plates through the crowd to table three, reaching it just as her arms started to give out. She set them down, relieved. “Can I get you anything else?”
“That’s not ours,” the harassed-looking woman with a messy bun and haughty nose said without looking up from her phone.
“You didn’t order the meatloaf?” She blinked at the food, then at them.
The woman’s friend or coworker, Della couldn’t tell which, waved her away. “We ordered salads.”
“Oh. Okay.” She didn’t remember anyone ordering a salad. Not in the last hour anyway.
She picked up the unwanted plates and turned slowly, looking for anyone who displayed a hint of recognition.
Nobody even looked in her direction except Ward, who watched her with a solemn expression she couldn’t quite interpret.
She could go back to the kitchen and sort through her tickets, but she didn’t think she’d make it. The plates were getting heavier every second.
“Screw that,” Della muttered, then raised her voice so that she could be heard over the hum of conversations. “Can I interest anybody in some truly tasty meatloaf?”
“If you sit and have lunch with me, sure,” a man at the next table over said with a wink and a grin.
“Wish I could,” she told him.
“Over here!” someone two tables over called out.
Right, the couple with the baby. She deposited the plates, but then they wanted ketchup, water, and extra napkins, and of course she had to coo over the baby and tell Mama how great she looked in that blazer.
Della found the ticket for two salads in her pocket and turned it in, then approached two ladies who’d been trying to catch her eye.
“So, Lucy, right? How did you meet our Donovan? Was it in California?” a middle-aged woman with short blonde hair and a crisp red shirt asked.
“Yes, it was.” Della kept her face happy, but her insides clenched.
“I win the bet! I told Elyse he’d meet an actress there. I heard you met at a bar. Was it that one all the celebrities go to?” her friend, a slightly younger version in stilettos, asked. “I’ve always wanted to go there.”
“Uh, no. I’ve never been there either,” Della said, glad that she didn’t have to actually lie about that. She hadn’t been in LA long enough to visit all the hot spots, and Piper hated those places anyway. “What can I bring you ladies to drink?”
“I’ll take a Coke,” Blondie said. “I bet he swept you off your feet. Right? He’s such a catch. I always said that Rachel was a damn fool to let him get away.”
It seemed a little rude to bring up an ex-girlfriend to the current girlfriend. Della turned to Stilettos, her voice a little frostier than she intended. “And you?”
“Diet Coke.” Stilettos tilted her head. “So are there wedding bells in our future?”
“I’m sure someone in this town is bound to make them ring sooner or later.” Della winked and strode away before they could dig any deeper.
These ladies were amateurs. She’d dealt with paparazzi who practiced invading personal space like it was an Olympic sport, but this seemed different. For the first time in her life, she wanted to keep her private life private, and not just because it was a cover story.
She actually cared what Ward thought about her. She hadn’t really thought about it, and she had no idea when it had happened, but she did. She cared. She wanted to prove to him that she could do a good job. That she wasn’t just a spoiled celebrity.
It was all delicate and new and confusing, and she had no intention of letting local gossips screw with it, and not just because she was supposed to be in hiding.
She moved on to tables more interested in food than her fake love life, but she was so distracted that she got the next three orders all wrong.
By the time she got those sorted out, there was a backlog of other orders. Cherry tried to help her, but by then some of the plates were cold and had to be sent back to the kitchen, which made her feel horrible.
She needed to tell Ralph to keep her paycheck for all the chaos.
Della picked up her next tray filled with mugs of beer. She struggled for a second to get a good grip on it, then turned toward the group she thought had ordered it.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Ward still watching her. She thought he looked concerned.
Her heart fluttered. He was actually rooting for her. That realization was a heady, room-spinning thing, and for a second, she lost track of what she was doing.
“Hey, Lucy! That coming our way?” Brick’s call snapped her out of it, and she turned a little too fast in his direction.
The mugs shifted and the overbalanced tray slipped out of her hands. She squealed as the heavy plastic mugs hit the floor, showering her and the nearby tables with beer as they rattled to a stop.
The noise died.
“Oh shit,” she blurted into the silence.
Della stared at the mess with her mouth hanging open while her dignity slithered out the door. The last time she’d fumbled something this badly, she’d been onstage in front of thirty thousand fans, but it hadn’t felt this humiliating.
Somewhere out there, Piper had just started laughing her ass off and didn’t know why.
“Oh. God.” She hid her face in her hands, mortified.
Around her, laughter bubbled up into the stunned silence, followed by cheers and applause.
“Nice!” someone shouted.
“Don’t quit your day job!” someone else chimed in.
Della looked up and stuck her tongue out. “This is my day job.”
“Great,” an irritated woman next to her snapped. Her left calf glittered with beer droplets, along with a very nice ankle boot. “I hope you got paid in advance because I doubt you last long. Can I get a towel?”
“I’m so sorry! Oh my God, here…” Della snatched napkins from a nearby table and thrust them at her. “It’s my first day and I’m learning. I’m sorry.”
“Hey,” one of the nearby high school guys called out. He had a wet spot on his jacket. “Give me a free beer and we’ll call it even.”
She grimaced. “You’re not twenty-one, tiger. How about free cider?”
“Damn,” he said, sounded defeated. “Cider works.”
Wet Boot snapped her fingers. “Hello. Two napkins isn’t enough for this mess. Bring a towel.”
“Of course. I’ll be right back.” Della hurried away, eyes fixed on the back of the room where Cherry waited. “I can’t believe I did that,” Della told her. “I’m so fired. Am I fired? I should be fired.”
“If that’s all it took, we’d all be unemployed.” Cherry patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, sweetie. Happens to all of us from time to time. And ignore Jeanine. She’s just in a bad mood because her date stood her up.”
Della glanced down at her beer-sodden shirt. “I smell like a brewery.”
“We can fix that.” Cherry held out a bucket with towels, wipes, and spray cleaner. “You get a towel to Jeanine and wipe down the tables. Mason will get the floor. Ken will have new drinks poured by the time you’re done with that. Everybody’ll be happy.”
Della flashed her a tired, but grateful smile. “Thanks, Cherry.”
She delivered the towels to Jeanine the Recently Dumped, who didn’t even bother to say thanks, then turned and smacked into Ward’s chest. “Ugh. Sorry.”
He put his hands out to steady her.
She’d never felt so klutzy. She was much better equipped to navigate a stage. Maybe because the people there got out of her way.
Funny, she’d never noticed that until now.
“Here.” He held out a new Sevens shirt, this one black instead of her beer-saturated white one that was now see-through. “Thought you might want to change your shirt.”
“Thanks,” she mumbled.
“Ready to get out of here?” It sounded like a genuine question, not the smug triumph of a man who’d predicted her screwup, but it made her straighten and dredge up what was left of her dignity.
“No. I have a shift to finish.” She spun on her heels and headed for the bathroom.
Was she imagining it, or did he say, “Attagirl” as she walked away?
Surprised, and pleased, she glanced over her shoulder to give him a saucy wink, but Ward had turned to greet someone.
Della craned her neck to see who it was.
Rachel the Brownie Bitch and her sidekick, Cookie Girl, had come in at some point while Della was throwing beer on the floor. Ward’s ex-girlfriend had her hand on his arm and an earnest expression on her face as she offered him a kiss on the cheek.
Rachel looked amazing, Della had to admit. She wore a tailored, curve-hugging black coat, a mock turtleneck, and a pencil skirt that illustrated just how long her legs were.
Della glanced down at her beer-soaked T-shirt, dirty jeans, and stained apron. She might not actually be a waitress, but she looked like one.
It didn’t matter. It wasn’t like she was in competition with anyone. She wasn’t his real girlfriend. What difference did it make if her warden wanted to hook up with an old flame?
Della made her way slowly back to the bar, keeping an eye on this not-so-charming new development.
All eyes were on Rachel and Ward’s meet and greet.
It was…unsettling.
Cherry handed Della another fresh towel. “Never thought I’d see the day Rachel Parry darkened our door twice in one week.”
Della frowned at everything that implied. “Why?”
“We’re too low on the totem pole for a Parry. That one, in particular, likes the country club on the other side of the river. That’s where the McMansions are. The bigger the house, the higher the commission.”
“Commission?”
“Oh, I take it you haven’t seen the billboard? My offers don’t get rejected.” Cherry put air quotes around the phrase and rolled her eyes. “She’s the top agent in the region. Real estate’s how her family made their money, and Rachel Parry Nelson loves money. That’s why she always looks like she’s dressed for a Bond movie.”
“She does look…professional.” Della glanced down at her dirty, smelly shirt. “I look like I’ve been living under the bar.”
Cherry chuckled. “You don’t have anything to worry about, sweetie. He never looked at her the way he looks at you.”
“Really?” The idea sent a little thrill through her—or Lucy. Yes, definitely Lucy.
“Go on, get changed. I’ll watch your tables.”
Della gave herself a sponge bath in the bathroom sink and changed clothes like she was in between sets, fast and furious. She tried to rinse the beer stink out of her hair under the faucet, but she didn’t think it did much. The stench was still in her nose. Or maybe it was the wet shirt she’d wadded up and wrapped with paper towels.
She didn’t think it took her more than five minutes, but by the time she’d made it back into the bar, Rachel had cozied up with Ward in the corner booth and Gretchen had conveniently wandered off somewhere.
What were they talking about?
She couldn’t just stalk over there and demand Rachel stop talking to her “boyfriend.”
Could she?
No. That would be rude.
Della saw four tables eyeing her expectantly. They were waiting for food, drinks, and her attention.
Della picked up a pitcher of water and the burger and fries for table two, and acted like she hadn’t just upended an entire tray of beer all over the dining room.
After she dropped off the food, she casually poured water for someone at a table near Ward’s.
It was too noisy. She could only hear bits and pieces.
“…honey, all I’m saying…,” Rachel said in between loud cheers as someone on the TV scored something.
Della missed the next bit to laughter from somewhere near the door.
Frustrated, she moved to the elderly couple sitting one table away from Ward. The man had a full, white beard and fluffy white hair. The woman’s white and silver hair was up in a librarian bun. They looked like Santa and Mrs. Clause. “Welcome to Sevens. What can I get you two?”
“Oh, I think we’ll just split a cheeseburger.” Mrs. Clause handed the menu to Della.
“And fries. A big pile of ’em.” Santa leaned back and crossed his arms. “It’s cold in here.”
“I think we have a jacket in the back I can lend you if you’d like.” Della wrote down the order, straining to hear the conversation behind her.
“No,” Ward said. A glass thunked on the table.
No…what? Dammit.
“But don’t you think…,” Rachel said.
Her voice was lost in a shout from guys near the TV.
“Just bring him some hot coffee,” Mrs. Clause said. “And I’d love one of those apple ice teas.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Della waited a beat, pretending to write something down while she tried again to eavesdrop.
“Unless you two are planning to stay? I mean, is this…,” Rachel said.
Cherry tapped her on the shoulder as she rushed past. “Order up, sweetie.”
Della startled and turned away from the drama. “On it."
After rushing several orders out to the mostly right tables, she found a determined-looking Rachel waiting for her by the cash register.
Della put the drinks for table six on a tray. “Do you need something?”
“I need to talk to you. Do you have a minute?”
“It’s pretty busy.” Della picked up the tray. “Maybe drop by tomorrow when it’s not packed.”
“This won’t take long.” Rachel put a manicured hand up to stop her from leaving.
Della glanced around. Nobody was shouting at her, and things were starting to calm down a little. Plus, she was really curious. “One second. Let me drop this off.”
When she got back, she noticed Rachel had placed herself strategically to the side of the register, where Ward’s line of sight would be blocked by the football watchers at the bar.
Rachel leaned in like she was sharing a secret. “I was hoping you could help me out with something. You must have noticed that house you’re staying in has basically been abandoned. Donovan hardly ever visits anymore. Ralph moved out a long time ago. The place is just sitting there, empty, because Donovan can’t let go of the past. It isn’t healthy for him or his dad, and I can’t imagine how it must make Elyse feel. Poor Mason is trapped there every Saturday keeping up with the lawn. I’m sure he’d rather be anywhere else. It’s never even been his house.”
“All I've noticed is a beautiful home that’s been loved and cared for.” Della refused to admit how empty the place had felt when they first arrived.
“Well, yes, it was…once.” Rachel let out a pretty little sigh that Piper would have instantly nailed for overacting. “I have a lot of my own personal history tied up in that house. I practically grew up there. When his mother was alive, all the neighborhood kids went there after school. And in high school, the whole team would gather there after games and on weekends. But after she died, well…I’m sure you can imagine how painful it is for Donovan to be in that house.”
Rachel was tripping over ground Lucy would be expected to know. “Is there a point to this? I have tables waiting.”
There was something aggressive about the way Rachel’s gaze locked on hers that instantly put Della off. It was like a shark fixating on prey. Or like those agents who hung out at county fairs, back when she was little. “I’d like your help convincing Donovan to sell.”
Della blinked. “You want him to sell his childhood home?”
“Yes. I do.”
Della instinctively shook her head. She hadn’t been here long, but she already loved that house. It was basically a living scrapbook. That was something to cherish, not toss aside. “That’s not…I can’t…”
“I know it’s a tough subject.” Rachel huffed out an almost wry laugh. “Believe me, I know. But that house is worth a lot of money, and he could use the cash for his business. He’s just being stubborn.”
“This sounds like something you should ask him .”
“Oh, I have. Believe me I have. But as you can imagine, our history makes it…difficult.” Rachel clasped her hands together in front of her.
“I don’t think the house or the history is really the issue here. If Donovan said no, then that’s your answer. Let it go.”
Rachel started to turn away, then stopped. “He doesn’t appreciate how hard it’s going to be to build a life with you in that house when he keeps holding on to the past.”
“Don’t worry about us. We’ll be just fine in that house. Though I do appreciate your concern for our well-being.” Della put a double load of sarcasm in her tone.
Rachel made a little sound of protest. “It makes no sense to let it sit empty.”
“It’s not empty. Not anymore.” Della felt her temper rising. “Is that why you rushed over with brownies? You thought you’d, what, offer him a little sugar? Maybe a little something on the side to sweeten the deal? Must have really stabbed you in the ass to find me there.”
Rachel’s eyes flashed. “You don’t want to live in that house any more than Ward does. Let’s be honest, you might be enjoying your little side trip to the sticks, but you’re not a Wires Crossing girl, and Donovan obviously hates being here. You two will head back to the big city or wherever life takes you, and that house will sit vacant until it falls down from neglect. What a waste.”
It felt like she’d been punched.
Rachel was right, though not in the way she’d intended.
Della wouldn’t be in Wires Crossing forever, and Ward’s beautiful house wasn’t her home. Soon, they’d figure out who her stalker was, and this game of pretend would end.
Why did that thought twist her stomach into knots?
Rachel’s eyes gleamed as she sensed victory. “Just think about it. Talk it out with Donny . He’ll follow you back to the big city if you ask. You obviously belong there, and he’s nothing if not loyal. Think about what the money could do for both of you.”
Rachel sashayed away like she’d just scored the winning point.
Della stared after her. “Bitch.”
“She’s been asking him to sell for years,” Mason said in her ear.
Della almost jumped out of her skin. She spun to face him. “Oh. So it wasn’t just because of me, then.”
“Nah. From what Mom says, Rachel’s acted like that house is hers ever since they were kids.” Mason set down the tub of dishes he was carrying. “You going to do it? You going to push my brother to sell his house? To her?”
Della glared at the space where Rachel had been. “I’d burn it down first.”
Mason nodded approvingly. “Nice. You’re all right, Lucy.”
Della stewed in the juices of her talk with Rachel while she focused on the people who’d come in for company and a meal. She normally loved the energy that came with being in a crowd, but Rachel’s words had wrapped around her mood and squeezed.
This wasn’t her job. She wasn’t going to stay, and she wouldn’t really get to know any of the people in this town, and that house wasn’t hers to lose.
Longing pinged at her heart.
It was silly. She didn’t need Wires Crossing. She had a family who loved her. Maybe she didn’t have her own house yet, but she would, and in the meantime, she’d stay with Lizzie. They’d start on a new album after Mattie’s wedding or after Lizzie’s baby was born.
She had a life. A good one.
Do you, really? a voice that sounded suspiciously like Piper’s whispered in her ear. Or are you just part of other people ’ s lives?
She watched Ward and Mason work together to put all the chairs up on the tables so they could mop the floors. There was a lot of love there.
Ward fit here.
Lucy did, too. Lucy’s life was simple and happy.
She could get used to Lucy’s life.
Could you, really? Lizzie’s voice asked.
The voices in her head weren’t helping at all.
She shook them off. Despite her clumsy serving skills and her run-in with Rachel, today had been a good day.
She was tired and sore, and she still smelled like beer, but she’d never had an experience quite like this. Everyone had accepted her as, well, just another small town girl.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt like she was part of something that hadn’t involved her sisters or a stage.
But this wasn’t real.
How could she hold on to something that didn’t exist?
She wanted to, though. She really didn’t want to lose… What? The town?
Her warden?
She liked being here with him. A lot. But she’d learned the hard way that trying to leave her reality behind was a good way to lose everything.