Reaching Hearts (Hearts Series) Read Online Free PDF Page B

the towel from hand to hand. “Got any
classic rock?”
    “Do
I have classic rock ?! ” I push a couple buttons and
Janis Joplin begins the slow crooning of her masterpiece, Piece of My Heart. My
hips sway and I close my eyes, dancing in place, caught up in it. I love to
dance. I spin around and as soon as I realize what I’m doing, I crack my eyes
to see if he’s looking at me like I’m nuts. But he’s dancing, too. Humming
along as he works his way from booth to booth. He looks happy. It’s something
to see. Boogying my way to the register, I pick up the twenties and start
counting; twenty, forty, sixty, eighty…
    He
calls out over the music, walking to gather dirty napkins off a table in the
center of the room. “How was tonight? Get busy after I left?”
    One
hundred, One hundred twenty… “Nah. We stayed slow all night. The busiest was
when you were here. And stupid me – I loaded up the register hoping we’d
need the change, but alas!”
    He
brings the trash to a trashcan behind the bar. I look over , watch him toss it in . He winks at me and goes back to
wipe. I can’t get over this. I lost my count. Okay. Twenty, forty, sixty,
eighty…
    “What are you doing to get the word out?”
    “Umm…
that’s a great question.” That’s all I want to say. Not a fun topic. Where was
I? Twenty, forty, sixty…
    “So
how about a great answer?”
    Eighty…
I glance to him and see that he’s serious. He really wants to know. “You’re not
just making conversation are you?”

12
Brendan
    Nerves: calm now. Hesitancy: still
there. Mind: filling quickly up with marketing ideas.
    ________
     
    “I’m
not just making conversation, no.” I toss the towel and walk over to watch her
count, waiting for an answer. She’s in over her head. I know that. She looks
younger than me and running her own business without having a game plan is a
common error in small business owners. When you start something, you can’t just
go in half-cocked with fairy dust in your brain. It doesn’t work like
that.
    With
twenties in both her hands, she looks at me helplessly. “Well, the truth is, I
don’t know how I’m going to get the word out. I’m not great at that stuff. I
can run a bar, but this is my first solo show, so…”
    “You’ve
never done the promoting,” I finish.
    She
sighs and gives a short nod, putting the money back in the register while she
thinks. I give the room a once over again and decide it’s got a great vibe in
here. It’s not like the other places up the street so this will appeal to it’s
own crowd. There’s kind of a Goth feel to it and people like a dark bar,
especially for dates. I can see this hitting it big if she just pushed it
right.
    She
walks toward me, pulling back her hair from her forehead by running her fingers
through it while she looks at me. The thought that she’s addictive to look at,
settles in me again. I just stare at her, thinking I could help her make this
place great. But I don’t even know her. That’s a hell of an assumption, on many
counts.
    “I
never needed to promote. The place I worked at, then managed, had been there
for years before I got there.” She follows my eyes around the place, seeing her
baby. There’s pride on her face, but it doesn’t hide the fear. “I guess I expected because this is a
busy area, it would just sell it itself, you know?”
    The
towel stops. “It’s a busy neighborhood, but these people are loyal to their own
and you’re an outsider.”
    She
winces. Mutters, “Story of my life. Listen, let’s not talk about it, okay?” She
turns around abruptly, her hands on the open register drawer, her shoulders
sunken. What did I say?
    “I’m
sorry. I was just saying it like it is, but I could have been a little more…”
    “Dishonest?”
She throws me a rueful smile over her shoulder.
    I
can’t help but smile. “Yeah. I guess.”
    She
walks over and changes the song from Riders On The Storm that just started, to
Otis Redding’s