What You Leave Behind by Jessica Katoff Read Free Book Online

since…”
    “Oh, right.” Hilary’s eyes fill with understanding as she catches on. “Well, let’s ease you into things then. You go on and man the desk today—catering and call-ahead orders, inventory, all that fun, people-free stuff—and I’ll take the counter.”
    “Thanks, Mom.”
    “Of course.” Hilary’s smile is warm and as she moves toward the door, she hands off her grease pencil and kisses Harper’s cheek in passing. “If you need me, just yell.”
     
    Harper is bent over a stack of inventory sheets at the stainless steel work table when Hilary pops in through the swinging door. She’s frantic and her cheeks are mottled, the same way Austin described her appearance on that September night. Because of this, Harper knows something serious is about to come out of her mother’s mouth, and Harper holds her breath, braces herself for whatever is coming.
    “Can you go grab us some burgers?” Hilary asks, instead, and Harper’s breath floods out of her in relief. “It’s a madhouse out here and I’m starving.”
    “Burgers?”
    “Yes, burgers. Moo. Cow. That sort.”
    “You realize burgers are made of meat, right? Which is what we sell here. Meat,” she deadpans in reply.
    “Yes, but we sell raw meat.”
    “And cold cuts.”
    “You don’t make burgers out of cold cuts.”
    “Fair point.” Harper puts down her pencil and pulls on her sweater. “Do you want anything else?”
    “Fries and a shake, a strawberry one.”
    “I like the way you think.” Harper grabs her purse from where it sits buried beneath a scatter of catering orders and kisses one of Hilary’s blotchy cheeks as she says, “Back in a few.”
    “It’s good to have you back,” Hilary grins. “And not just for lunch runs.”
    “Though, those help.”
    “Yes, those help.”
    Instead of following Hilary out through the swinging door and navigating through the lunch crowd, Harper turns on her heel and heads through the back to the delivery entrance, heaving the door open against the wind. It’s picked up since the morning, and as it wraps around her, she regrets not having driven her truck or brought her coat to work. Pulling her sweater down over her hands, she starts down the alley and toward Rhodes.
    “Well, well, look what we have here,” Austin notes as Harper walks right by him, lost in thought. He’s sitting on the low wall just outside of the pub that houses flower boxes in the summertime, smoke pouring from his nostrils as he flicks cigarette ashes at the ground. She stops and spins, alarmed, and grabs the wall beside him to steady herself. “Sorry,” he tells her, shrugging sheepishly at the obvious surprise he’s caused her. His gaze falls to the placement of her hand beside him, only mere inches from his thigh, before trailing back up to look her in the eye. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
    “I don’t know how I missed you,” she admits, gesturing vaguely toward him with her free hand. Head to toe, he’s vividly contrasted against the dull, grey stone of the building—red plaid, blue jeans, blonde hair, green eyes. She tries to remember if his eyes have always been so bright—the gleam of emeralds layered over the warmth of pine. “On break?”
    “Off today. Playing hooky, technically. Truck wouldn’t start. And you’re what, taking up day drinking?” he jokes, shaking his head in mock disapproval as her eyes narrow and she shifts to lean against the wall beside him. She’s near enough that he can smell the lingering scent of her shampoo, peaches, and he thinks it’s a striking complement to the clean winter air, wishes she would lean closer. “It’s five o’clock in, like, Greenland right about now, I think.”
    “No, no,” she laughs, shaking her head at his absurdity and sliding over just enough to give his shoulder a bump with her own. He turns his head and he’s one small forward bend away from nestling his face in her hair. He leans back, instead. He always leans back.