“I’m Jake,” he says, extending his hand to shake mine. His grip is firm, but gentle and his hands are warm.
“Logan. But you just said that, so you already know. Everyone calls me Lo.” I’m gonna shut up now.
He laughs, still holding on to my hand, shaking it up and down. I snatch my hand back when I realize I’m still hanging on like a creep. Way to make a good first impression.
“What brings you to River’s Edge?”
I hesitate, thrown off by the question. How does he know I’m not from here?
“It’s just that usually the only people to come here either have family here or are tourists,” Jake clarifies upon sensing my confusion.
“Is it that obvious that I’m an outsider? Do I have a sign on my forehead?” I laugh.
“Nah. But you’re not a tourist if you’re looking for a job, and if I had seen you around before, I’d definitely have remembered.”
Is he hitting on me? Or am I reading into that?
Jake clears his throat. “I mean, I never forget a face.”
“Actually, my dad lives here,” I say, letting him off the hook.
“No shit?”
“Shit,” I say, nodding. “And my little brother goes to school here now, so I’ll be here for the foreseeable future.”
“That’s what’s up,” he says, reaching over to grab a pile of papers off the bar top. I think this might be the most casual interview-slash-orientation I’ve ever had. I don’t feel nervous or like I have to put on an act. Jake is warm and inviting and easy to talk to.
“Have a seat,” he says, pulling out a stool for me. “I just need you to fill these out, and I’ll grab your uniform.”
I fill out the application, and Jake brings me two white T-shirts with the Blackbear logo on them—one with long sleeves, one with short—and an apron. I change in the bathroom, then Jake takes a photo copy of my ID and shows me around a little. Before long, Sutton shows up, cheesing from ear to ear once she sees me.
The rest of the day goes off without a hitch. There’s a steady flow of customers, but not too busy, so we have a lot of time to bullshit and get to know each other. I learn that Sutton is hilarious and kind of a badass. Sometimes you can just tell right when you meet someone that they’re just good and genuine. That’s Sutton. I learn that Jake is probably a solid eighty percent of the reason this place is in business, because his admirers come in all day long, taking up tables, hanging around far after their meal is finished only to stare and take the occasional stealthy picture when he’s not looking. I guess he’s a big deal around here, but I haven’t figured out why that is yet.
It’s six p.m. by the time my shift is over, but the sun has already set, making it feel much later. I offer to pick up another shift, because the night shift is always where the money is, but Jake laughs at me and tells me to go home. I think he thinks I’m joking. I’m not.
I count my tips in the break room, pleasantly surprised by the amount I made for a Thursday afternoon. Ninety bucks isn’t bad at all.
“What’s up with Jake?” I ask Sutton, who’s sitting in a chair with her feet kicked up onto the small table in front of us. “He some kind of celebrity around here?”
“He used to be a pro snowboarder.”
“Huh,” I say, perplexed. This place is so not Oakland.
“Oh, by the way, you’re coming to our annual company Halloween party next week. It’s mandatory,” Sutton informs me.
“Can I throw on some cat ears and call it my costume?” I don’t have the money or the desire to figure out a legitimate costume.
Sutton gasps, looking deeply offended. “Absolutely not! Come to my house after work next Friday. I think my sister still has her Sally from The Nightmare Before Christmas costume. Either that or a giant hotdog. Your choice. I can grab it for you.”
“Sally it is,” I say, laughing. “I love that movie.” It’s one of the only good memories I have with both of my parents. Henry rented it around Christmastime, which sparked a heated debate on whether it was a Christmas movie or a Halloween movie—my vote is both, by the way—and we made a pallet on the floor, all four of us cuddled up, eating popcorn and candy, while we watched. Jess was still a toddler. I was probably seven or eight. Looking back, our mom was most likely coming down because she slept most of the time. Regardless, for some reason, I’ve never forgotten that night.
“So, it’s settled then. We’ll have some drinks and get ready together,” Sutton says, clapping her hands excitedly.
“Can my brother come, or is it employees only? To the party, I mean. Not your house,” I clarify.
“Your brother is in high school, right?”
I nod.