My heart skips a beat when he pauses.
“I’m not sure exactly how your training is going to work,” he continues. “You’ll probably spend your first few shifts shadowing one of our bartenders. You’ll learn the POS system and all that at the same time too.”
“That sounds good,” I offer. “Although if it’s the girl with the pink hair who trains me, you may find yourself running low on tequila. She did seem serious about those shots.”
Dylan groans. “It probably will be DeeDee, and she probably will try to get you to do shots. She’s a very...enthusiastic person.”
“Really?” I joke. “I couldn’t tell.”
“Again with the sarcasm, Renee. You’re brutal.” I’m certain he’s shaking his head. “Seriously, though, she may be a little unorthodox, but DeeDee’s got a heart of gold. When it comes down to it, she’s one of the best employees I’ve ever worked with. Everyone at Taverne Toulouse is. It’s a really special place. It sounds cheesy, but I mean it when I say we’re like family. I don’t know what it is about that place, but every time I walk in those doors, I just feel...”
He trails off, but I understand what he’s trying to say. I’ve only been there once, but I knew walking through the doors of Taverne Toulouse meant I was stepping into something I didn’t even know I needed.
I want to tell him I feel it, that I can’t wait to be a part of it, that it’s the first time I’ve felt my heart race in a good way after months of going cold with fear every time my pulse started to pick up.
But I can’t share that. Not with him.
So I opt for more sarcasm.
“You feel...good?” I finish his sentence for him. “Or wait, what was it you said earlier? Really good? That was a truly innovative use of the English language.”
“You know what, Renee? I think I’m going to have to put a quota on your sassy remarks. One per day. Max.”
The slyness of his tone makes my cheeks flush with a fresh rush of heat, but I can still give as good as I get.
“Why do I get the feeling that’s not gonna happen?”
“You know, I wasn’t allowed to say it to you at the time since you were an actual kid,” he informs me, “but you always were a bit of a little shit. I see nothing’s changed.”
I laugh along with him, but that last sentence rings true. Too true.
Nothing has changed.
I’m still a kid to him. He’s seven years older than me. He’s my boss.
I make myself repeat that thought over and over again as we continue the conversation.
“Hey, question for you before I let you go,” Dylan adds after we agree that I’ll start on Monday evening.
“Yes?”
And then he asks the one question that’s guaranteed to rattle me like a fucking earthquake.
“Are you still writing?”
The words hurtle me back more than three years, to a stifling summer night just a few days before the start of September. I can practically feel the fabric of my dress clinging to my thighs.
A white dress. I couldn’t have been more of the cliché ingénue if I’d tried.
I can still remember the last words he said to me. I can remember every moment of that night like it’s a strip of negatives, the seconds captured click by click, permanently imprinted on the film of my memory. After all these years, I can still hear his voice in my ear. I can feel his hand on my cheek, his touch so light I was never really sure I hadn’t imagined it.
“Keep writing, okay?” He’d sounded like he was begging, like the thought that I wouldn’t listen hurt him so bad he was almost scared to say the words. “Just promise me you’ll keep writing. The world needs your words.”
I don’t know if he can still feel that summer night on his skin, but I can and I do, and it’s far too much to handle.
“I, um—” I start to stammer.
“Sorry,” Dylan interrupts. “That was personal. You don’t have to answer that.”
As crazy as it is, I can’t help thinking he’d understand far more than anyone else if I tried to explain why those words he thought the world needed have gone somewhere I can’t seem to follow.
But it is crazy, and the last thing I want to keep being is the crazy girl.
“So, uh, Monday at four, right?” I choke out.
“Yep.” The silence stretches for just a moment too long, his breath loud enough for me to imagine it brushing my cheek, caressing me with its heat. “I’ll see you then.”
“See you then,” I echo.