Chapter 6
DALTON
“So, do you girls feel comfortable working a shift tomorrow?” Lucia asks Sage and Rosie as we sit at one of the tables on the back patio, with cold beverages in glasses.
“I will be there to help, and Izzy is working tomorrow, so she can also answer any questions.” Sage looks at all the paperwork I’d printed out for her on the table and smiles ruefully as she looks over at me.
“I guess there is one thing I forgot to prepare.”
“Okay, I get it.” Lucia makes a face. “I’m not HR. I’m just the manager.”
“You’re not the manager, Lucia,” I remind my sister. “You just help out.”
“I run the place, essentially.” She giggles as she points at me. “But aren’t you glad I hired these two?”
I look over at Rosie and then let my eyes linger on Sage as she sips her Coke with lemon and nods. She looks up, her eyes wide and innocent as she stares right back at me, and then she leans back.
“You can plead the Fifth, Dalton. I won’t be offended if you say no. I can’t say I was super ecstatic when I found out you were going to be my new boss.”
“I don’t need to plead the Fifth. I am a very honest man.”
“I see.” She nods slowly, and then she leans forward. “I think that—”
“Mom’s calling.” Rosie holds up her loudly ringing phone. “Do you mind if I take this, Dalton?”
“Not a problem.” I shake my head, and she grins in response before answering it.
It strikes me that Rosie is so much less guarded than Sage is, and I’m sure that’s because she is the younger sibling. I recognize the same lack of worry in her that I see in Lucia. And I sense the same protective spirit in Sage that I have in myself.
“Hey, Mom. Yes, we’re here in beautiful California. Guess what? We got jobs already. Yes, Sage is right here. Sure.” She pauses, and her eyes seek Sage. “Hey, Sage. Mom wants to—”
“Did you say you needed to have me learn something at the bar?” Sage speaks over her sister, and the glint in her eyes practically begs me to help her.
“I don’t—oh, yes, I think I remember. Can you come with me, please, Sage?”
“Yes, I suppose so.” She lets out a long, deep sigh, like she didn’t just practically beg me to give her an excuse to not talk to her mom.
“If you’re—”
“I can come. I do want to keep my job.” She looks over at Rosie and shrugs. “Tell Mom I’ll have to speak to her later.” She jumps up out of her seat. “Okay, show me, boss. What do I need to learn at the bar?”
I hide my smile. If I didn’t know the truth, I’d think I had something to show her at the bar and that I just forgot. She’s that good of an actress that she has me doubting my own mind.
As I walk by one of the potted plants, I notice the soil is dry and stop to grab the hose hidden behind some stones.
“Do you mind if I just water these first? These plants cost me a lot of money, and I’ll be damned if I let them die from thirst in this hot sun.”
“Sure, go ahead. I don’t mind. Do you want me to water them for you?” She reaches over and delicately strokes one of the monstera leaves. “This is beautiful. I’ve never seen these leaves with white in them before.”
“This is a Thai Constellation monstera,” I explain with a smile. “It has a lot of variegation in the leaves. Though my personal favorite is the Albo. But you have to be careful if they have too many white leaves.”
“Oh, wow.” She looks at me in surprise and watches me water the monsteras. “You’re into plants?”
“It may shock you, but yes. You should see my house. I actually have a greenhouse.”
“That’s cool. I love plants, though I don’t have a green thumb.”
“I’d say it’s expensive, even more than cool.”
I turn off the water, and we head inside to the restaurant, then to the bar.
Jimmy “The Fish” is standing there, wiping down glasses with a white rag. He looks up, then past me to Sage, and raises an eyebrow. He knows I normally don’t like anyone hired without my vetting, but I’ve decided to give Sage and Rosie a chance.
“Sage, that there is Jimmy. He’s the bartender here. He works three to four nights a week. On the days and nights he’s off, you guys will cover the bar.”
“Oh, okay.” Sage looks surprised but still waves to Jimmy. “Nice to meet you, Jimmy.”
“It’s Jimmy the Fish.” He grunts and goes back to cleaning the glasses.
“Did he say Jimmy the Fish?” Sage looks at me with an astounded expression. “That’s his nickname?”
“Something like that.” The smell of something delicious wafts out from the kitchen, and I rub my stomach. “Gracie’s cooking up something good.”
“Why is his name Jimmy the Fish? Does he have a lot of fish?” Sage asks me as we walk to the front of the restaurant to the large bay window. “He doesn’t look like the sort of guy who would have a goldfish or anything.” She grins.
“What? Are you saying an older man in his sixties, with a buzz cut and a bunch of tattoos and rippling muscles, can’t have a goldfish?” I peer at her with a bland expression. “Really?”
“I mean …” She shrugs. “He doesn’t seem the most personable, so maybe his best friend is a goldfish.”
“Ha-ha.” I laugh. “Jimmy’s all right. He’s just not one for communication or small talk.”
“Then the job of bartender suits him perfectly,” she says with a straight face.
Once again, I smile. I love her quick wit and sarcasm. It’s effortless, and yet she’s always spot-on.
“He looks like he was in the Mafia or something,” she says, shrugging. “I guess I’m stereotyping, but I’ve seen The Godfather and Goodfellas.” She giggles. “He’d fit right in with the made men in those families.”
“What do you know about made men?” I eye her suspiciously, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “Yeah, maybe his name is Jimmy the Fish because people who went against him wound up swimming with the fishes.”
“Ha-ha.” It’s her turn to laugh. “That’s funny. Is that what he tells people to scare them?” She grins at me. “What, does he have a big aquarium at home or something?”
“Yeah, something like that.” I nod, and we step outside.
It’s a beautiful day today; it almost always is in Santa Capinari, which is one reason I love it here. The bakery a few doors down is buzzing with people lined up for fresh, warm sourdough bread and lemon cupcakes.
“That’s Gigi’s Bakery. They have the best bread and pastries in town. You’ll have to try them out someday, especially if you like sweet treats.”
“I do like sweet treats, very much.”
“So do I.” I wink at her. “The sweeter, the better, in fact. And all of them don’t have to be edible.” I’m not sure why I tease her, but I can’t help myself. There’s something about Sage that makes me forget all the tasks at hand, and I want to banter and flirt with her.
“I’m sure you do, but do the sweet treats like you?”
“Oh, I think the sweet treats love me.” I bite down on my lower lip. “I make them ooze with—”
“I think it’s a good thing that I’m a little sour and a lot tart then.” She gives me a once-over. “I’m not interested in oozing with anything.”
“You don’t like to ooze?”
“Do you like to ooze?”
“Very much so.” I grin. “It’s one of my favorite things to do.”
“You’re gross.” She shakes her head. “Thank you for helping me avoid my mother’s call, but I’m ready to get back to work, not whatever this is.” She gestures between us.
I notice that her eyes keep looking down toward my crotch. So, she’s not completely oblivious to me as a sexual being then. The thought makes me happy, and yet I know it doesn’t mean much.
“Why didn’t you want to talk to your mom?” I ask her, changing the subject.
She fiddles with her hands, and her face becomes impassive, like I said the wrong thing. The look seems more dejected than annoyed though, and I know I hit a nerve.
“Since when did you become my therapist?”
“Since never.” I raise an eyebrow. “Is that you telling me to mind my own business?”
“He does have a brain.”
“Ouch … I might start to take your hot-and-cold behavior personally. However, since we don’t even know each other that well, I will give you a pass.”
“Sorry.” She presses her lips together. “It’s nothing personal to you.
It’s just that I’m still mad that my mom never told me my dad wasn’t my dad for so many years.
” She rubs her fingertips together and licks her teeth before finally looking back up at me.
“I’m really not this moody, nor am I rude normally.
It’s just been a long couple of months, and I’ve had to put on a happy face because I don’t want Rosie to know, but I’m so frustrated and hurt and …
well, I feel like my entire life is a lie. ”
“Number one, I don’t think you’re rude. Number two, you’re entitled to give me as much sass as you want.
I’ve got a thicker skin than most. And number three, I don’t have to be a therapist to tell you that finding out your dad is not your dad would fuck anyone up.
Shoot, I’m not sure I’d talk to my mom either if she did that to me. ”
“Does your mom live in town? Does she mind that Gracie works here?” She looks at me curiously.
I wonder what she would say if she knew the truth. She’d likely run for the mountains, in Canada or even Switzerland, to get as far away from me as possible. Not that I’d blame her.
“She lives in town part of the year; the other part of the year, she’s elsewhere.”
That’s simple enough, but the way she narrows her eyes lets me know she wants to know more.
I should have explained my answer better.
Should have said my mom didn’t like to stay in one place too long.
That she’d had close to twenty different homes since she had divorced my dad.
That she left Lucia and me with Dad when they divorced, which meant that most of our lives were spent with Gracie.
She’s like a second mom to us, more maternal than our real mom.
She tried to shield us, and she put up with so much so that she could take care of us.
But I don’t say any of that, and she doesn’t prod.
“I see.”