The jukebox still skipped during one particular song because nobody bothered replacing it.
Samantha stood behind the bar wearing a black T-shirt and jeans.
No fading bruises.
No denim jacket clutched shut against the cold.
Her hair was longer.
Her shoulders no longer tightened every time the front door opened.
Not every time.
Some instincts remained.
She had learned not to hate them.
The door opened.
A young woman stepped inside.
Maybe twenty-five.
Thin jacket.
Small backpack.
Exhausted eyes.
The room turned automatically.
The woman froze.
Grizzly sat at his usual place.
He looked at her.
“You lost?”
The woman swallowed.
“There’s a sign outside.”
Samantha looked toward the door.
Months earlier, Grizzly had finally replaced the cardboard help-wanted sign with a small metal one.
KITCHEN HELP WANTED.
The young woman nodded toward it.
“I need work.”
Grizzly started to answer.
Samantha spoke first.
“You ever worked a grill?”
The woman shook her head.
“You learn fast?”