Midnight Roots (Silver Creek Ranch)

Chapter Three

Dillon

I’ve been waiting at the front counter for the past ten minutes. I’m hopeful that the girl who took my order will be back soon so I can ask about a possible job. I’ve never done this kind of work before, but I’m willing to learn. Make sure you say that to her; being honest is what’s always worked in the past, I tell myself as I begin to drum my fingers along the countertop.

I glance toward the table where my dirty dishes are still sitting and chew the inside of my mouth thoughtfully. I’m feeling a little brave right now, maybe even a little forward, but I guess the best way to ask for a job is to show that I can handle the basics.

I lean over the countertop and reach for a large tray sitting just off to the side, then head back to my table to gather up my mess as best as I can. Once I’m satisfied that I haven’t left a scrap behind, I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, glance at the swinging kitchen door, and wonder if I should.

Where the confidence I just managed to muster wandered off to, I have no clue, but I also don’t want to make anyone mad by trying to do an on-the-job interview no one asked for.

I walk slowly toward the front counter and set the tray down before easing myself onto one of the stools and slouching forward as my shoulders drop.

One of the doors to the “grill” area of the establishment swings open, promptly followed by friendly chatter and a booming chuckle.

The first thing I notice is him.

Again, I think as a quick shiver shoots down my spine. Only this time, I have a moment to take him in before he disappears again .

The wavy, dark brown hair that’s partially hidden beneath his baseball cap. His tired, raw, cacao-colored eyes. The strong jaw that clenches tighter and tighter each time he fakes that chuckle for the sake of whoever is walking with him.

“You done, honey?”

“Huh?”

I tear my eyes away from his as soon as they meet mine and blush when the lady who’s helping now smiles knowingly. I don’t know where the one from earlier has gone to.

“I was just asking if you’re done,” she repeats kindly. “Were you all set?” she asks, mercifully letting the subject of him seemingly pass.

“Yes, but um … I had a question too,” I reply as I gently shove the full tray toward her .

“What’s that, honey?” she presses in a friendly tone as she slides the tray under the counter. I arch an eyebrow, and she wrinkles her nose, smiling and making a face. “Don’t worry, it’s not going to stay where I put it.”

I nod, feeling my mouth become dry as cotton. I take a deep breath and try to muster up the bravery I felt, which almost led me straight through the kitchen doors with my own mess.

“Well, I was wondering …”

Her smile doesn’t falter as she waits patiently for me to spit out what I have to say.

“I need a job,” I finally manage to say. She looks slightly taken aback for a second, and it disheartens me enough to want to turn and walk out the door and never come back. I’m used to being rejected for a lot of things, such as jobs, dates, apartments, hell, and even life, sometimes, but I’ve never learned how to handle it well. I usually just run away from the latest rejection straight into the next one—a vicious cycle of self-worth depreciation.

“Have you ever worked in hospitality before?” she asks me curiously.

I shake my head but refuse to break eye contact. I think I’m finally starting to realize that the only way to keep from falling into rejection after rejection is to hold my ground for once.

“I’m a fast learner, though. I’m very proud of any work that I do and put my best foot forward even if I manage to stumble over it a few times at first,” I reply, hoping that my voice sounds more confident than I feel right now.

She purses her lips thoughtfully for a moment and looks down at the tray on the counter. I watch as she uses the tip of her finger to trace my mug before she chuckles and looks back up at me .

“Tessa just quit, so we definitely have an opening now. How about tomorrow morning? I’ll be here so we can do some on-the-job training and see how it goes. And if it doesn’t work out, you’ll still get paid for your time,” she finishes with a shrug.

I grin and give her an enthusiastic nod in return, finally feeling hope for the first time in a while. After she shakes my hand and reminds me to bring some form of identification tomorrow, what time to be here, and to wear comfortable shoes, I leave the Catch + Candle just knowing that finding myself in Ironhaven may possibly be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.