Bucking the Rules(3)

“Mornin’, Jo.”

Her day cook, and currently her only friend, stuck his head out the kitchen door.

“Hey, Stu. What are you in for so early?” She walked around the bar and opened the cash register, reaching for the receipts she knew would be there from the night before.

“Wanted to double-check my order before the produce guy got here. Something wasn’t adding up, but I found the problem.”

“Always good.” She hopped up onto a bar stool, rather than taking the paperwork into the back, to her rarely-used office. One of the main reasons she’d moved to such a small town after so many big cities was so she could become part of the fabric of the place. Become someone everyone knew, the community could point to and recognize. She couldn’t do that if she hid in the back all the time.

“What’d you do with your night off?” Stu walked in from the kitchen, wiping his hands with a towel. Though they didn’t open for the lunch crowd for another two hours, his apron was already on, the strings wrapped twice around his impressive girth and tied into a neat bow right under his belly. A belly that was considerably larger than the rest of him. Middle-age spread had hit Stu hard, but he didn’t seem to have a care in the world. His motto was “Diets are for quitters,” and he stuck to it with a tenacity that made Jo smile, even as she mentally winced at the potential side effects of that extra weight.

“Watched some TV, gave myself a pedicure, went to bed early.”

“Boring as hell.”

“It was amazing.”

He sneered. “If you think that’s amazing, you need more than one night off a year.”

Silently, she agreed. But when you owned a business, when your name was on the deed and it all fell to you, nights off were a precious commodity. “Maybe.”

“Maybe you should get a place elsewhere, instead of living above the damn bar. Then you’d at least have some sort of separation from work. How can you take a break if you’re living above the dang place?”

“The rent’s cheap.” She smiled and went back to the receipts, double-checking her night manager’s calculations. She liked the guy, and trusted him … mostly. But her name, her business, her final calculations.

“Rent schment. Like you aren’t making out like a bandit. You could afford better.”

“I don’t want better. I want what I have. Go stir something.”

Stu walked off, muttering not so quietly about stubborn women and the problems they bring on themselves. She grinned and went back to her figures. Nothing started her day off quite like a quick spar with Stu. Though he probably knew it, she liked to think of their verbal duels as a better, more healthy version of the morning cup of coffee.

Twenty minutes later, employees started filing in.

“Hey, Amanda.” She waved over one of the waitresses she’d inherited with the bar. Most hadn’t wanted to stay and work for someone they didn’t know, and that’d been fine with Jo. Can’t embrace change? Probably wasn’t meant to be. But Amanda had stayed, and proven herself worthy enough to start making decisions on whom to hire for wait staff. If she kept it up, Jo would be ready to move her into an assistant manager position … when Jo was ready to loosen the reins a little herself.

“Hey, Jo.” The perky brunette slid onto the stool next to her. “Good night last night. Had a reunion   in here, they closed the place down. Good tippers, when all was said and done.”

“Good for the till.” She shifted a pile of receipts to the left, and moved another stack in front of her.

Amanda leaned back against the bar, elbows bent, legs propped out. “A crowd like that never would have stepped foot in here five years ago. You’ve really taken this place and run with it in your own way, haven’t you?”

Jo raised a brow and punched in another number, writing down the calculation. “Did this place look like something I’d bother with five years ago?”

“Nope. But I have to say, you didn’t stray too far off the mark.” Amanda’s eyes wandered over the décor. Exposed beams, decent lighting, classic Western-style art mixed with simple contemporary photos. “Most people got one look at you and decided you’d turn the place into some sort of gallery style. All slick glass and steel. Cold. City.”

Jo had the distinct impression she’d just been gently insulted. She smiled, amused at the assessment, and fingered the fourth piercing in her right ear. “Well, you know me. I hate gossip and don’t bother with it.”

“Your city’s showing,” Amanda said with a smile. “Everyone here listens to gossip. It’s like a professional sport. Everyone wants to make the first round draft.”