“Gimme your tips. You can tell ’em you were counting.”
Melody reached into her apron. She grabbed handfuls of small bills and slapped them on the counter. When she’d retrieved all the bills, she fished for the coins, setting them blindly on top of the cash to keep them in place, but she heard a few strays try to roll away as they clattered on the tabletop.
“Where’s the rest of it?”
“That’s it.” Melody tucked her hand under her cheek and pulled her sneakered feet closer to her body so they weren’t hanging out of the booth. “Pretty busy tonight. Can’t be half bad, but I’ll probably be mopping.”
“Christ.” Clay sighed over the sound of him sorting through the bills. “No wonder you’re always working. This ain’t nothing.”
“You smell nice,” Melody mumbled in response, still high on the smell of him clouding her senses and the soft feel of wool against her cheek. “Just gonna close my eyes. Wake me up before someone comes.”
Clay grunted in the affirmative, and that was enough for her. She let her eyes drift closed, thinking she hadn’t been this comfortable in her entire life. Melody fell into a deep, fathomless sleep almost instantly.
Clay counted Melody’s tips while he ate. When he was done, he stared at the pile of cash that totaled eighty-eight dollars and seventy cents, realizing she’d worked since breakfast for it.
Life seemed really fucking unfair when he considered his own bank accounts, which had a truly obnoxious amount of money in them. What the hell kind of world did they live in that he made so much for fighting a few cocky bastards a year and she made so little for running around, taking care of people fifteen hours a day?
He wanted to add a few grand to that pile, but he knew from experience it wouldn’t fly. That first breakfast when he’d requested Melody wait on them, he’d left her a hundred-dollar tip. He wasn’t three feet into the parking lot before she was running out after him, arms bare in the cold as she thrust the big bill back at him, flat-out refusing to accept it. He’d argued and refused to take it, pointing out her truck had no heat and her jacket was near bare in spots. She’d just boldly stuffed the money into the pocket of his jeans and walked back inside, claiming it wasn’t fair.
Then Clay started to get creative. He’d bribed everyone who worked at Cuthouse Cellar to eat at Hal’s on her shifts and leave big tips. Three days in, Melody smelled a rat and refused to wait on anyone from the Cellar, including Wyatt and Jules. That’s when he gave up, because more than half the town either worked for or attended classes at the Cuthouse Cellar Training Center. Swearing off the Cellar patrons and employees was the equivalent to committing waitress suicide.
Once Clay promised to lay off the tips conspiracy, Melody went back to waiting on anyone who sat in her section. Clay supposed near ninety dollars on a Wednesday was decent, but he knew she was still trying to save for her truck and furniture and rent. She owed Terry the deposit for the utilities that he’d fronted her. She owed Hal two hundred dollars he’d loaned her to get groceries and other supplies. She needed a new coat. Her sneakers had holes in the bottoms of them. She never wore gloves, and there wasn’t a damn thing Clay could do about any of it because it seemed she was willing to accept at least some help from anyone but him.
“Hey, Melody, darling, Powerhouse’s the last of—”
Clay leaned out of the booth, giving Judy a pleading look, and whispered, “I’ll pay you a thousand dollars to let her sleep.”
Clay was dead serious. He’d pay twice that to give her the few minutes of sleep she desperately needed. He was starting to worry about her driving, because she always looked two blinks away from passing out.
“No, no, I’m up.” Melody shot up in the booth before Judy could respond, stray strands of blonde hair escaping her bun and framing her face. She blinked as if still trying to get her bearings. “I was just resting my eyes.”
“Don’t that mean sleeping?” Judy asked, giving Melody an indulgent smile. “You wanna take off? I’ll do the prep work for tonight.”
“No,” Melody said quickly as she worked at pushing the stray wisps of hair back into place. “You ain’t doing my job for me. If I’m gonna take double shifts for the extra money, then I’m gonna do all the work.”
“You look like a strong wind would blow you over,” Judy scolded.
“I got it.” Melody scooted out of the booth, reaching over to grab Clay’s jacket before she turned to him. “How much did I make?”