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“You’d do that?” she asks incredulously.
“Sure, why not?”
“You don’t even know me.”
I can’t stop my chuckle. “And you didn’t know me when you gave me your number,” I remind her. “Besides, wasn’t it you who said we all need friends?”
“Touché.” There’s a smile in a tone, and I like knowing that I caused it. “If you’re serious, then I accept. I’ll even throw in a pizza for lunch if you’re good with that.”
My mouth waters. “Works for me.”
“You’re the best, Kennedy,” she praises, her relief clear.
“I’ll see you soon.”
We end the call, and I decide to change. I have no clue what inventory at a bar entails, but I doubt I need to be in dress slacks, a silk button-down blouse, and heels. After pulling on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt and hoodie, I slip into the sneakers I purchased at the outlets I stopped at on I-70.
Within minutes, I’m out the door and on my way back toward downtown Denver. Traffic has eased a bit and before I know it, I’m parking in front of Barlow’s Bar. I lock the car and head to the entrance.
The door is locked, so I knock and wait for Jenny to answer. Minutes later, the door swings open, and Jenny reaches across the threshold to drag me inside.
“Thank God you’re here,” she says after slamming the door and locking it. “I’ve counted the fucking straws three times and gotten a different number each time. I’m losing my mind.”
I trill out a laugh. “Point me in the right direction, and I’ll dive in.”
Jenny looks frazzled as she glances at the bar, and I follow her gaze. Piles and piles of straws litter the worn wood, and there are some scattered on the floor below. There are cases of beer and liquor sitting haphazardly throughout the space, post-it notes attached to the top box of each stack.
“I don’t even know wh—”
A knock on the door has her throwing up her hands and stomping to peer through the peephole. She disengages the lock and opens the door.
“Delivery for Jenny,” the man on the other side says.
“That’s me.” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out some cash. “Keep the change,” she says as she swaps the money for the pizza.
“Thanks,” he says as she kicks the door shut.
When she turns around, my eyes widen. “How many people are coming to help?” I ask, nerves settling in the pit of my stomach at the thought of being around people I don’t know.
“What do you mean?”
“Jenny, you’re holding six boxes of pizza.”
“Oh, this.” She carries the food behind the bar. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I ordered a bit of everything.”
“I… You…” I rub the side of my nose. “That was… thoughtful.”
“It was crazy,” she says with a laugh. “I shoulda just called you back and asked, but that didn’t occur to me until after I placed the order.” Jenny shrugs. “It’s all good. Leftover pizza is the best, and there’ll be enough for both of us to take home. Why don't we eat and make a game plan, and then we can attack this mess?”
Slipping onto a stool, I nod as I drop my purse on the floor. “Works for me.”
Jenny uses her arm to push the straws down to the end of the bar so she can spread out the pizza, and then she opens each box. The scent of marinara and cheese wafts into the air, and my stomach rumbles.
“Pick your poison. There’s extra cheese, pepperoni, sausage, pineapple, meat lovers, and a supreme,” she says as she points to each box.
All of them look delicious, but it’s been so long since I’ve had pizza, I don’t really remember what I like.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” she asks before lifting a piece of the supreme and biting off the end.
