Page 13 of Just A Little Joy
“Ha.” Myla laughed. “I might not teach high school English anymore, but I can still love me some Shakespeare.”
“Are we the rotten apples in this scenario?” I asked.
“You definitely are, but my boo baby might be an exception,” Myla cackled. Casey shook his head, but it was clear he took the teasing as intended.
“You know, there’s a lot to be said for dating men,” I suggested. “We can open things and reach the top shelf. That’s gotta be worth something.”
“I can invest in a footstool and bang a lid on the counter with the best of them. I’m good.”
“Casey, I tried.”
“For who? I like being gay.”
“Look at us all queer-y and stuff.”
“At a gay bar? What are the odds?” I asked drily. “All right, call me up front if you need me, but I’m going to be back here until you do. And when we run out, we run out.”
Myla gave me a salute and patted Casey on the cheek again before waltzing back out the kitchen door. Her humming was suspiciously in the direction of cherry ChapStick and kissing adventures.
FOUR
CASEY
If I thought I was tired after my last double shift, it was nothing compared to the way I felt now. Every part of me ached, every muscle was sore, and I thought I might fall asleep standing up. But there was still a kitchen to clean, and no way was I leaving it less than perfect.
Nights like this reminded me how easy it was for me to burn myself out, trying to prove I belonged anywhere.
“Hey, Travis, I’m gonna tell Myla the kitchen’s officially closed since we’ve gone through every single serving we had available,” I said with a tired grin.
“I can’t believe everything’s gone. I’m sorry we couldn’t prep more for tonight. If we’d had a little more of a head start, we might’ve made it through,” Casey said, shaking his head like he had something to feel bad about.
I hated how fast I went to apologizing, like messing up was something people expected from me.
“What are you talking about? We did amazing. And by we, I mean you. You jumped in here and saved my ass. We’re not going out there to tell Myla. You want me to grab a beer for you?”
“Should I be drinking on the job?”
“I think it’s allowed when your boss offers it to you.”
“I’ll wait till I’m off the clock.”
“No problem. Can I get you something else? Water? A soda?”
“If you could grab me a bottle of water, that’d be great.”
As good as the beer sounded, I knew myself too well. I had zero tolerance, and the last thing I needed was to get a little tipsy and start flirting with my boss. Or worse, admit I had the tiniest crush on him. I doubted he’d let me stick around the bar much longer after that.
“One bottle of water coming up. Then I’ll be back to help clean this mess. I’ll grab one of the bussers too. We’ll get this place wrapped up.”
While Travis was gone, I took a quick moment of quiet to steady my breathing. It had been torture all night, trying to focus on the food while knowing he was only two steps away. He let me be the boss tonight, but it still felt strange giving him orders. He never argued though. He just did what I said and did it fast.
Being this close to him all night made every nerve in me spark, no matter how hard I tried to play it cool.
The quiet gave me space to indulge in my favorite fantasy, other than the ones I’d been having about Travis: putting a food truck somewhere. The beer-garden setup at his place was perfect for it. Sure, there was the main bar, but out back was a classic Pacific Northwest setup with covered benches, fairy lights, and a big pine tree in the corner.
The dream always sat just under my ribs, too fragile to name out loud but too stubborn to die.
Since most of it was covered, people used it year-round as long as the heaters were running. They’d redone the flooring, too, so it never got muddy or messy. I didn’t know what it had looked like before, but I could tell they’d put in a ton of work to make the place better than it had been. There was even a little side spot with a water spigot and an electrical panel, ready for someone to hook right in. But that person wouldn’t be me.