“You shouldn’t have said that,” I whispered.

“Based on your reaction, I figured as much,” he countered, letting his own voice dip lower, not as soft as mine but still quiet. “Now share.”

I watched Jamie lean away, taking his hands off me and centering himself on his stool again. Only this time he kept his body facing me instead of the bar, propping one arm up on the wooden surface and keeping his other arm resting on his leg, where he went about cracking his knuckles, one finger at a time.

His eyes were unforgiving. Persistent bastard that he was, I knew Jamie wouldn’t let this go.

He never let anything go. Not even me.

Sighing, I shook my head. “What do you want to know?” I asked. “How I got my house? You think I didn’t pay for it? Because I did. And I’m still paying for it. Yes, my parents helped me with the down payment as part of my graduation gift, which is something a lot of parents do, not just well-off ones, but it’s my name on the mortgage and it’s my money keeping me living there. I do not take handouts from my family. All the money I have in my bank account is mine. I earned it. Waitressing and doing other things.”

“What other things?”

“Pageants.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Like, Miss America shit?” he asked.

“I didn’t enter that one. I quit when I was fourteen and you’re not eligible for that one until you’re seventeen,” I informed him.

“How many … what’d you call them?”

“Pageants.”

“Yeah. How many’d you do?”

“A lot.”

“How many’d you win?”

“All of them.”

A look of fascination passed over his face. “No shit,” he murmured, smiling softly and moving his eyes up and down the length of me. “Looks of a fuckin’ beauty queen and you actually got the rep to back it up. Nice.”

I glanced down at what I was wearing, thinking I wasn’t living up to that title much right about now. I wasn’t even wearing pants.

“Thanks,” I grumbled, tugging at the hem of his tee. I met his eyes. “So to answer your question, that’s how I can afford the sick setup I’m living in while working as a waitress. My parents opened an account when I was little and all the prize money I earned winning those pageants went into it. Then when I turned eighteen, I got that money.”

“What about your family?”

“What about them?”

“Said they were well off. What do they do?”

I gave him a look, not understanding why this question was being asked. “Uh, my last name is Rivera,” I reminded him.

He stared at me for several beats, then asked, “That supposed to mean somethin’ to me?”

“Well, yeah, it should be obvious.”

“It ain’t.”

“Really?” I blinked at him. “Have you never been inside a grocery store? My head is all over the frozen food section.”

He squinted in thought. “Say what?”

“Rivera Frozen Foods. Hello.”

Jamie kept staring. He had no idea what I was talking about.

“Do you not eat vegetables?” I asked. “Or fruit? We do frozen fruit, too. And rice. Do you eat rice?”

“What do you mean, your head is all over the frozen food section?” he asked, ignoring my questions.

“My face is on the bags,” I answered.

His eyebrows lifted.

“Well, my face when I was six. Pigtails. Freckles. I’m going like this.” I curled my hands into fists and stuck them under my chin, smiling big. “Ringing any bells yet?”

He stared at me, then his chest moved with a laugh. “Honestly? No. But I typically go for fresh stuff if I’m wantin’ it. Can’t say I’m in that aisle a lot.” He took a swig of his beer, never taking his eyes off me. “No shit, though? Your family owns a frozen food company?”

I nodded. “Yep.”

“And you’re a waitress?”

I knew what Jamie was getting at. And even though I could’ve let his question and the implication he was making by asking it anger me, I didn’t.

I still kinda felt like I owed him. He smoked because of me. Also, he seemed to just be asking out of curiosity.

“I worked at the corporate office for two months after I graduated,” I informed him, keeping my attitude out of it. “It wasn’t working out, so I quit and moved here.”

“It wasn’t working out.” He stated this in disbelief.

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

“Explain that.”

“Explain what?”

“Why you chose shitty tips over working with your family.”

I shook my head, then I looked behind the bar. He wasn’t getting that. I’d shared enough.

“Legs.”

I turned my head and met his eyes, and instead of telling him what he wanted to hear, I shared what he needed to hear.

“I’m a waitress because I want to be a waitress, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with wanting that,” I started. “I like my job. No. I love my job. I love every part of it. The people, both coming in to eat and the ones I work with. The location. The hours. The shitty tips, which are never shitty because I’m good at what I do, just so you know. I even love rolling silverware and filling salt shakers. I’m that crazy about it. Yes, I’m not gonna lie, it started out as something temporary and I wasn’t planning on falling in love with Whitecaps the way I did, but it happened. And when I fell in love with it, I stopped looking at that job as temporary and started looking at it as something I could see myself doing for years, as long as I stayed happy. And that’s what I am. I am happy, Jamie. Happier than I’ve ever been at any other job, including the one I had with my family, and I think being happy is more important than a lot of things. In fact, it might be the most important. I’m choosing to be happy. And I would appreciate it if you didn’t talk shit about something that means a great deal to me.”

“Wasn’t talkin’ shit,” he immediately shot back. “Just curious why you were doin’ what you were doin’, babe, when you got opportunities elsewhere. Relax. I get you wantin’ to be happy. And I get you wantin’ to stay somewhere that makes you happy. Who wouldn’t?”

I inhaled slowly through my nose, letting my nerves settle and tipping my chin up. “Good,” I said. “I’m glad you get that.”

The next breath I pulled in was sharp because Jamie leaned in and he did it quickly, letting his arm slide down the bar and crowding me on my stool. He looked deep into my eyes, lowered his voice, and continued on to say, “And whatever your reason for not stayin’ on with your family and movin’ to Dogwood, I’m gonna get that, too, just so you know, when you give it up.”

“I’m not giving it up,” I shared.

“You’ll give it up.”

“That’s never happening, Jamie.”

“It’s happening, babe.”

“No.” I moved in, putting us even closer. “It isn’t,” I snapped. “That’s mine. And you’re not getting it.”

“I’m gettin’ it.”