Page 13 of Crash and Burn

"Not in so many words," Grant said. "But I can tell he's not happy having to, and I quote,clean up like a waitress."

I twisted my mouth to the side, displeased.

"And just what is wrong with being a waitress?" I asked out loud. Maybe too loud. The guys at the table next to us looked over. "I like my job. I like what I do. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

"You're absolutely right," Grant said, taking my hand with a reassuring squeeze. "He's too full of himself. He'll probably quit soon."

I stared down at where Grant's hand had landed on mine. His fingers were so large, so steady. His hand engulfed mine, making my slim fingers look like a little kid's. He could have crushed my hand into pulp if he tried. Grant had the physique of a linebacker, but he'd never been anything less than gentle with me.

And those gentle fingers were currently stroking mine.

"Is this about your parents?" he asked. "Are they pressuring you again?"

I nodded, still staring at the point where the two of us were connected.

"They're saying I need to figure out what I want to do with my life," I told him.

"And I'm sure they have some ideas about what exactly that might be?" Grant guessed.

"Dad wants me to be an accountant." Just like him. "And my mom wants me to be a paralegal." Just like her.

Grant leaned back in his seat, removing his hand from mine as easily as he'd placed it. I mourned the loss.

"And what do you want to do?" Grant asked.

"I don't know," I said. "But neither of those."

"If you could do anything, what would it be?" Grant asked. "It doesn't have to be practical or rational."

"Does seamstress count as a career?" I asked, half-joking.

"People are always going to need someone to sew on their loose buttons," he said reasonably.

That didn't sound appealing, either.

"I think you have an artist's soul, too," Grant said. "You're always creating new things out of old. Maybe you should consider a job in the arts."

Art. It was entirely unpractical. It wasn't a stable job, or a corporate career.

I loved the idea.

I flashed Grant a sunny smile.

"You really are the best friend a girl could have, Grant," I told him.

And maybe…

That could be good enough.

4

When my alarm clock went off it was well into the afternoon. Working late shifts meant I kept an odd schedule, not getting home until just before sunrise and waking up past noon.

It felt luxurious to roll out of bed around one in the afternoon but I only got a few hours to myself before I had to be back at the bar. It made running errands difficult. Luckily I didn't have any so after showering and getting dressed I went straight to my sewing machine, ready to work on a new piece.

When I got to my worktable I found a ball of fluff sleeping on top of the fabric I had planned to use.

"Mittens…" I groaned. "You're getting hair everywhere."