Page 12 of The Overtime Persuasive

Lucy

It can’t be that bad. If it’s filling out forms, I can come over and help.

I look at the binder on the table.

It involves a $12,000 fine.

I send that before adding the part that somehow hurts almost as much.

And I’m not hiring anyone now.

My phone rings, startling Mitch who quickly resettles as Lucy’s name flashes across the screen.

“Twelve thousand dollars?”

There’s no greeting. No easing into the conversation. Just Lucy screeching at full volume.

“Yeah.”

“What do you mean, yeah? You didn’t mention that yesterday.”

“I mean, I was still swallowing the news myself, Lucy.”

“How does a coffee machine turn into a twelve-thousand-dollar fine?”

“It’s not the machine. It’s operating the café without the right permit. They’re assessing five days of violations, even though it’s been open much longer.”

“And the part about not hiring anyone?”

“I had ten thousand dollars set aside to cover part-time help while the café got established.” I stroke my hand down Mitch’s back. “Now it goes to the fine.”

“Okay.” Lucy goes quiet for a moment. “There has to be another way to look at this.”

“I’ve been staring at it for the past hour. It looks equally terrible from every angle.”

“Have you talked to your family?”

My hand stills. “No.”

“Eva.”

“I can’t do that, Lucy. You of all people should understand why.”

Lucy has spent most of her life proving she’s more than Liam Snyder’s twin sister. She grew up as the only girl on the ice, planting herself in front of shots from boys twice her size and refusing to let anyone suggest she hadn’t earned her place in that net. More than the lone female in her family who is amazing at being a goalie. She willingly plants herself in front of pucks traveling fast enough to break bones, then gets back up and asks for the next shot. She’s fought to make her own name mean something in a family already overflowing with hockey talent.

If anyone understands wanting to accomplish something without somebody else’s name opening the door, it should be her.

“I understand wanting this to be yours,” she says. “However, your dad is in a position to help you.”

“I don’t want his help.”

“Where is he right now?”

“On tour.” In fact, he’s finishing the Golden Hour Sessions, a tour built around smaller outdoor venues and stripped-back versions of his songs. Smaller being a relative term when it comes to him.

“Where on tour?” Lucy asks.

“I’m not sure. Somewhere on the East Coast. The last I heard, he was heading toward Georgia.” The fizzing through my bloodstream tells me I’m getting irritated. “Google it.”