Chapter 5: Don't Give Him Anything
Lia's POV
When she woke, Lia reached for her phone first.
Andy's "Let's talk in person" sat alone on the screen with nothing after it. She reread the "Okay" she'd sent back last night, locked the phone, and pushed herself out of the chair with one hand bracing her lower back.
Walter was already awake.
"What time?"
"Early enough for me to make your breakfast look presentable."
"I'm asking… what time you'll be back."
She'd just unfolded a napkin and her hand paused. So generous with his blessings last night, and now he was watching the clock harder than the clock itself.
"Before lunch. I'm going to ask about a job—the boss hasn't even decided he wants me yet."
"Talk less."
"That'll cost extra. I can't just let this mouth sit idle for free."
He shot her a look. She pressed her lips together, failed to hold it in, and laughed first. She waited until he'd finished eating before slinging her bag over her shoulder.
The bakery wasn't far from the hospital. She checked her jacket at the entrance, rubbed away a smudge of lipstick she'd missed the night before, and pushed through the door.
"Hello—I'm here about the front counter job," she called to the person behind the register. "Is the notice in the window still good?"
The owner was transferring bread onto a tray with tongs. He glanced up at Lia, expressionless, and pulled out a form.
"Fill it out and bring it back to me. Can you commit to a regular schedule?"
"As long as you want me, however long you want me on a fixed schedule, I can do it. Ideally until you decide I'm too old."
The owner didn't smile. He just looked at her like that, and the silence turned slightly strange.
After a long pause he tilted his chin toward the pen. She grabbed it quickly.
Clearly her charm offensive wasn't going to work here. She'd have to play this one straight.
The form was short. Everything was easy until the last line, where she found herself chewing on the pen cap.
Previous employment. Employer and contact number.
She wrote "hospitality" and the pen tip stopped. If Ray got a call like that, he'd turn her reference into a wanted poster.
"Fill in anything you left blank."
The owner took back his stack of papers, his gaze landing squarely on that line.
"I worked at a club before. Service, and I danced on stage too." She set the pen cap down. "Just left. Things didn't end well when the boss and I settled up on my pay."
"I need to know a new hire can stick around."
"You can watch me work and find out."
The owner looked up at her. Lia held his gaze, standing at the counter, waiting.
"Dancing won't be useful here."
"Making change will be. Remembering what customers want will be too. You don't have to like my last job—just see whether I get your change wrong."
The words were out before she realized how sharp they sounded. Of all the times for her temper to flare, it had to be during a job interview.
Luckily the bell above the door jingled. Two customers walked in. The first carried a briefcase and checked his watch; the second was holding a child who had both palms pressed against the glass, hunting for chocolate bread.
A customer already at the counter spoke up: "Where is the box I ordered? I've asked three times now."
The owner set down the form and turned to look for the box. Lia put the pen down.
"Can I help take some orders?"
"Don't touch the register."
That was enough.
She moved to the side of the counter. She asked the customer with the child which kind they wanted, relayed the quantities to the owner, then turned to the one waiting for the pickup and held out her hand.
"Mind if I take a look at your pickup info? I've got good eyes—especially sharp when it comes to prices."
The customer wasn't thrilled but turned the screen toward her. It showed two boxes ordered. On the counter there was only one, tied with the same color ribbon.
"You ordered two boxes? We've located one so far. How big is the other one—I'll look for it."
"That one has no nuts."
She immediately pulled her hand back from the box corner she'd been about to touch and called to the owner: "There's a second box, nut-free—can you check on that?"
The owner went to the back. She slid the box in front of her toward the customer without opening it and without making any promises about its contents.
The man with the briefcase checked his watch again.
"I just want two plain ones."
"Got it. Could you step this way a little and let the small customer behind you finish looking? He's about to leave his nose print on the glass."
The parent laughed and shifted aside. By the time the owner came back out, all three orders were clear. He no longer had to hunt for a missing box while repeatedly asking people what they wanted.
After the last customer left, the owner pushed the form back toward Lia.
"Tomorrow, one to seven PM. Paid trial shift. Same hours going forward."
She nearly blurted out Deal.
Seven o'clock.
"It's always until seven?"
"The evening rush is the busiest. That's exactly the gap I need covered at the front."
Her fingers were still pressed against the form. She'd been here less than twenty minutes and already had the job nailed down—only for it to collide head-on with the old man's dinner time.
"Around six, could I step out for a bit? I'll come back after dinner. I can handle closing, cleanup, all of it."
"I need someone selling. Cleanup has its own arrangement."
Lia understood, but still didn't want to let go.
"Not even half an hour?"
"You saw what it's like. Once the line starts, I need someone here. I'm offering you this shift—you need to work the whole thing."
The owner wasn't impatient. He simply showed her the day's schedule. She stared at the line stretching from afternoon all the way to evening and wanted to pinch it shorter, but the far end was attached to her paycheck.
"There's an elderly man waiting for me to come back and help him with dinner."
"That's yours to sort out. If you can make the schedule work, show up. Give me a definite answer by tomorrow morning."
She finished writing her phone number, thanked him, and the moment she was outside she dialed the home-care service she'd called before.
This time she was specific from the start: "Afternoon to evening, just a few hours. I only need someone to cover the dinner window."
They quoted a price and told her the minimum number of hours.
"Even for just that short a stretch, you charge for that many hours?"
"Temporary shifts still require staffing on our end."
"What if it's every day?"
"We can recalculate, but we'd need to do a care assessment first."
She held the phone against her ear and scribbled two lines of arithmetic on the back of the form. The final number came out higher than she'd expected—enough to eat up most of a day's wages.
"Thanks. Let me think about it."
The moment she hung up, Lia saved the bakery owner's number with a note: Trial shift tomorrow. She deliberately left off the question mark.
Her phone buzzed almost immediately.
Casey: "I'm not totally sure what's going on, but don't go asking Ray."
Lia stopped walking and sent back a question mark.
Half a minute later Casey wrote again: "Some guy came in with a video, asking where Mr. Reed is. Ray told him you found yourself an old man with a house."
Lia stared at the message. Anger surged up from somewhere deep and heat flooded her face.
Ray really had nothing better to do. He'd barely finished paying her what he owed and still had to run his mouth about who she was leaning on for a living.
"What's the guy's name?"
"No idea. I didn't dare listen too long."
Casey sent another message saying Ray had changed her upcoming shifts too. Lia had only read the first few words before the message was unsent.
Lia's thumb was already hovering over Ray's name, but she stopped.
Calling him up to yell—what would that accomplish, other than letting him know Casey was still talking to her?
She backed out and typed only: "Thanks. Stop digging around for me—take care of yourself first."
Lunchtime was approaching. She tucked away the paper covered in numbers and headed for the hospital, walking faster with every step.
The ward door was half open.
A man in a clean jacket stood at the head of the bed, one hand resting on Walter's bag of belongings.
"Uncle, where'd you put your keys?"
"Put the bag down first."
The man turned around, but his hand didn't let go.
Lia walked in and set the meal box on the bedside table, positioning it squarely between him and the bag.
"And you are?"
"Kelt. His nephew." He withdrew his hand and smiled at her. "You must be the young lady who's been helping out. Really, thank you."
She didn't acknowledge the pleasantry. She looked at Walter first.
"You know him?"
"Yes."
The old man's face was drawn tight. Lia was about to ask more when Kelt pulled up a chair and sat down.
"Finally tracked him down. This is family business—we can handle it ourselves now. If you've got somewhere to be, please, go right ahead."
How considerate—he'd even decided where she ought to go.
"Your uncle hasn't had lunch yet." She peeled back the lid of the meal box. "Let him eat first. Everything else can wait."
"Lia." Walter was looking at her.
