“Have at it. More power to ’em. Gossip away … just do it with a drink in your hand and ordering off my menu.” Jo gathered up the receipts and stuffed them in a vinyl zippered pouch. “I don’t care what people think, as long as they’re paying their tab at the end of the night.”
“Is that how it is in Chicago?”
Jo smiled. “Chicago, New York City, L.A., San Fran … you name it. Big cities are about as likely to change as small towns.”
“Which is to say, not at all.” Amanda grinned.
“Exactly.” Jo swatted at her shoulder with the bag and hopped down from the bar stool. “Now get to work. I’m not paying you to sit around and talk.”
Amanda gave her a cheeky salute and hurried off to prep her station for the afternoon lunch crowd.
Jo headed into her office to drop off the bag and pick up the night’s cash from the safe. Then, after a quick debate, she left her car keys behind and headed out the front door. The walk would do her some good. Being in the same building day after day—upstairs or downstairs—started to get stuffy and boring.
It still amazed her how quiet things were in Marshall. She passed the tack shop and peered in. The owner, Mr. Hollins, saw her and held up a hand in a tentative wave. She did the same, adding a smile for effect.
She made people nervous still, despite having been there for almost a year. Change was hard for people in Marshall. The town embraced the changes to the bar much faster than accepting her. But then again, the bar served a purpose to folks. So naturally, it was in their best interest to be grateful.
Her, on the other hand … Well. She’d just wait and see. Eventually, they’d come around.
She’d just make them.
“Name the last time you went out.”
Trace shoveled another bite of breakfast in and chewed longer than necessary to give himself a moment to think.
Peyton wasn’t fooled. That was the problem with working with your sister. She saw straight through your bullshit before you had a chance to even use it. “Put down the fork and answer, Muldoon.”
“But how could I possibly ignore this culinary masterpiece Emma slaved for hours to create?” He gave the woman in question a sly smile as she walked by the table and refilled Peyton’s coffee mug.
Emma snorted, completely unamused and immune to the sibling squabble. She should be; she’d been hearing it for over twenty years. “What a crock. It’s scrambled eggs. Don’t drag my breakfast into your little talk, or you’ll be eating toaster waffles for a week.”
The horror of missing out on a week of Emma’s homemade breakfasts had him putting down the fork and staring at his sister. “It’s none of your business. I don’t ask about you and Red.” He cringed at the thought.
“That’s self-serving. You don’t want to know about my relationship with Red.” Peyton took a moment to look toward a babbling Seth and nudge a Cheerio closer to him on his high chair tray.
“No, no, I really don’t. And it’s still none of your business what I do with my life, just because you do want to know.”
Emma set a pitcher of OJ down on the table with a heavy thump. “Well, it’s my business, and I wanna know why you’re holed up in here like a hermit.” Before he could reply with a joke, she narrowed her eyes. “And don’t even try turning that into some sort of perverse joke.”
Damn. Emma had all but raised the three Muldoon kids from diapers. And when she did that narrowed-eye thing, none of them was safe. “Come on, Emma. It’s not exactly like there’s much to do around here. Besides, I’ve got Seth.” He rubbed one knuckle over his son’s soft cheek.
“You know I’ll babysit anytime.” Peyton grabbed a banana out of the bowl on the table and began to peel. “So that’s not a good excuse at all.”
“It’s good enough for me. I hate asking you to watch him if I’m not out at a gig for M-Star. It’s not fair. You’re not his nanny.”
“I’m his aunt, which is even better. Isn’t it, little man? Yes, it is.” She tickled him under his chin and grinned when he squirmed and giggled in delight. “And on that note, I’ve got some work to do.” She passed by Emma and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for the eggs. I’m out!”
“That girl works too hard,” Emma said with a sigh and set a platter of bacon in front of him.
Score. One of Trace’s favorite things about Emma—besides her unconditional love and unwavering support of the Muldoon siblings—happened to be her old-fashioned view of men and food. If there was a man in front of her, she was positive he was half starved, and it was her job to fix it.