He was enough, though. Her non-secret didn’t need to spread any further. Carlos was not taking her home tonight. Sierra smiled at him, hoping it looked more like gratitude and not the you’re freaking me out grimace that she felt at the thought of him discovering her little hideaway.
“Really, you don’t need to bother yourself.”
Standing, Carlos slapped a palm on the cutting board next to the tub of limes waiting to be sliced into garnish. “I’m puttingyou at the bar tonight.”
“To do what?” Because Sierra didn’t know drinks. She’d spent six years straight with cash-strapped college students. Beer—or box wine—had been the sum total of her alcoholicknowledge until starting at the Gorse. She had no clue what most of the drinks were that she served.
“Pour drinks.” He started unloading a dishwasher tray of beer mugs onto the shelf behind the bar.
That wouldn’t go well. And then what if her screwups made Carlos fire her? Where would she go? Panic clogged her throat, soSierra just shook her head back and forth for a few seconds. “I’m a waitress, not a bartender,” she finally spit out.
“Tonight, you and Flynn are swapping jobs. That way you can sit on a stool most of the night and get the weight off of thatankle.”
“That’s ridiculous. I mean, overkill. Overly generous of you.” Wow. Saying no to your boss was complicated. Sierra clearedthe browser history before closing the window.
“You’re not even doing that much until you’re cleared by a doctor.”
Her mouth dropped open. Carlos had to know that money was a problem for her. He paid her under the table, after all. Sierrahad discovered in her flight across the country that plenty of restaurants did the same. That asking to be paid in cash didn’traise even a teensy red flag with most managers.
Carlos had been slightly different. He’d stared at her, hard, for more than a minute. Then asked if she was in trouble.
Funny, that’s what Sierra wanted to know. It was why she trawled the internet daily looking for her name to pop up in a policeblotter. Not knowing who would come after her—the police or her ex—made it especially difficult to fall asleep most nights.
“Carlos, I can’t afford to see a doctor.”
“This visit will only cost me a bison burger with sweet potato fries.” He curved his hand to beckon over a regular who Sierrarecognized. Tall, with long, dark hair, Mollie grabbed lunch on the weekends with her nephew, and came in for girls’ nightevery first Saturday. Sierra liked waiting on her table. Liked listening to the laughter and silly reminiscences of four lifelonggirlfriends. Something else Sierra never had, thanks to moving so often in the foster system, but craved almost as much asshe craved Flynn.
Flynn?
She craved Flynn?!? Where did that thought come from?
Not that it wasn’t true.
Because . . . well, look at him. Sierra angled her neck to peek around Mollie. Flynn stood on a chair, arms overhead, changing out a light bulb. Fadedjeans hung low on his hips. Muscular thighs strained the seams below a butt that Sierra was torn between wanting to both sketchand bite. Biceps bulged below the short sleeves of his burgundy Gorse tee. You could stack five of her art school friendstogether, and they still wouldn’t pack half the testosterone as Flynn Maguire.
Oh, she’d wanted Flynn the first time she’d laid eyes on him. But craving? That was a whole different level. One that inferred her life couldn’tbe full until the craving was fulfilled. That she wanted him more than anything else.
Aha. Turned out that she did crave Flynn. That status change in her heart must’ve kicked in after last night, when their conversation finally stopped beingstilted as he’d tucked her in blankets on her sofa. Or maybe it was during their text-a-thon at lunch today that had put agiggle not just in her face, but in her heart.
“Sierra? You’re all flushed. Do you feel okay?” Mollie advanced with one hand out, as if to check her forehead temperature.
Sierra reared back so hard that she almost slid off the stool. “I’m fine, thanks.” How many degrees did lust add? Becauseshe was burning up just staring at Flynn. If they ever touched again, she might just go up in flames. That would be greatto paint. Just the outline of a female body, covered in red-orange flames that licked all the way up to a crown, the onlyother color her blue eyes locked on a male profile. All sinewy muscles, from the back.
“If you say so.” Mollie turned in the direction of Sierra’s gaze. Since that portion of the restaurant was empty aside froma frazzled-looking mother and her toddler in this post-lunch lull, it was easy for her to see Flynn was the target. An amusedsmirk lifted her lips as she swung back around. “I get it. Those Maguire brothers pack a visual punch, don’t they?”
“Yes,” was all Sierra could get out of her suddenly dry mouth.
“Carlos told me that you’ve got an injured ankle.”
“I twisted it, is all.” Sierra was almost positive of that. After icing it twice last night and twice more today, the swellinghad mostly disappeared.
But a tiny corner of her brain went straight to panic mode. What if it was a hairline fracture? What if Mollie discoveredit and told Carlos that Sierra couldn’t be allowed to work for several weeks? Then what would she do?
Her hands fisted. Her pulse ratcheted up to the speed of a hummingbird’s wings.
Yikes. These random near-panic attacks were happening more often, not less, with every month and mile she put between herselfand Rick.
Sierra wanted them to stop. Wanted to stop jumping straight to the worst possible scenario. Wanted to stop living in fear.But she worried that there was no way to surface from the depths of all this panic. That one day she’d simply not find the strength to claw herself out of it one more time.
Her phone buzzed on the bar. “Sorry,” she
