Not only had she lost her job, her boyfriend, her designs, and (more than likely) her career, but now she had to figure out how to avoid her brother's best friend while also attempting to support Luke's dreams.
In her pocket, she felt her phone buzzing, but she pulled it out and tossed it onto the rocker. It made a stomach-turning sound, but she'd check to see if she'd ruined it later. For now, she just had to relax. Accept her situation.
She reached into her satchel and pulled out the pack of Lucky Strikes.
For a few moments, she twirled the little box between her fingers, staring at the logo.
Screw it.
She pulled a cigarette from the package, stuck it between her lips and then began searching for the matches.
"Where the hell have you been?" Chase Westmore asked the question as soon as the chime on the door sounded.
He didn't have to look up to know that his no-good partner was walking toward him, already an hour late for his shift.
"Sorry, something came up."
"Well, something came up here, too. The nozzle on the damn nitrogen canister is busted. W
e're fucked if we don't get another in here." He leaned on the tap, then looked up to find Luke staring at him, looking even worse for wear than usual.
"What happened?" he asked.
"Amy didn't show. I'm not sure if she's going to at all. If she doesn't..." He shook his head. "Anyway, I'm sorry. We don't need to call anyone. I had the installation guy leave a spare pressure valve. It’s in the back."
"Oh. Well, good." Chase let out a deep breath, then leaned on the back of the bar. "I'm sure Amy will show. She's not a flake."
"No, she's just been weird lately."
"Well, you're one to talk," Chase said, and his friend didn't bother arguing. Ever since they'd finished renovating, Luke had been a ghost of himself. Drifting through the tasks, mumbling to the customers, and serving as a general killjoy.
He might have thought it was the stress of managing his grandmother's old place with just his mother and himself to do all the heavy lifting, but now that Amy was coming home to help, Chase would have thought things would be getting better instead of worse.
"So..." Chase glanced at the bar top. He'd already polished it this morning, but something told him Luke might speak a little easier if he didn't feel all of Chase's attention on him.
He reached for a rag and moved toward the wood, waxing on and off in true Karate Kid style.
"I hesitate to ask since it seems like you've been hiding a body, but if Amy didn't show, then what made you late?"
"Julie."
Chase paused, and when Luke spoke again, it sounded farther away somehow.
"Amy was supposed to pick her up, but--"
He couldn't help it. He turned to face Luke. "I didn't think Julie was coming. You never mentioned--"
"Probably because Julie needs less wrangling than Amy. She's always late, but at least she doesn't call every five minutes with changes and updates."
Chase swallowed, then forced himself to focus on the bar top again. This time, though, it was as much to benefit himself as Luke. Any chance to hide his expression when talking about his best friend's sister was generally a good thing. "What could Julie possibly help with? Last I checked, she was hardly the handy type."
"She's not a kid any more. She can clean and do yard work like the rest of us. I think Mom would take just about any help she can get. The house is starting to get to her."
"I get that." Chase frowned, thinking of the way it had been when he'd cleaned out his mother's house. Running across all the tiny things that brought memories back like a sucker punch. Luke had helped him, of course.
And so had Julie.
But that had been a very long time ago.