Her hands stop moving. For exactly two seconds, Ellie is very still.
Then she picks up the next glass and places it on the shelf.
"She quit." I say it so Ellie knows the ending before I ask her.
"Good for her." Ellie lifts another glass, inspects it for spots. "She have experience?"
"Yeah, a while at Pint House."
"She reliable?"
"She's the most reliable person in any room she walks into."
The words come out before I've vetted them, and I hear how they sound.
Too certain. Too familiar for a woman I've talked to for a total of maybe forty minutes across six weeks of shared classes.
Ellie hears it too. One eyebrow lifts a fraction. She doesn't comment.
"Tell her to come by in a couple of days." She pulls another glass from the box. "I'll put her on a trial shift for reopening week. If she works out, she stays."
I nod. "Thanks, Ellie."
"Don't thank me." She points a pint glass at my chest. "If she's no good, you're covering her shifts until I find a replacement."
"Deal."
"And Prospect?" She waits until I'm at the door. "This friend of yours. She got a name?"
"Saylor."
Ellie nods once, filing it away in whatever mental cabinet she uses to keep track of every person who's ever walked through her door.
"Tell her to be here in two days. Two o'clock sharp."
* * *
Two days later, she shows up at 1:47.
I know because I'm in the parking lot pretending to check my phone when her car pulls in.
Silver Honda with a dent in the rear fender and a WVU license plate holder.
She gets out and stands there for a second, looking at the building.
Her face does something I haven't seen from her before. Not a smile, but the precursor to one. Interest without guard.
Backroads looks good. Ellie's taste, rebuilt on insurance money and pure will.
The sign is new, hand-painted, the same font as the original. The porch has rocking chairs because Ellie believes a bar should feel like a front porch.
Saylor smooths her flannel, squares her shoulders, and walks inside.
I don't follow. Following would make this into something, and right now it's a favor. A friend helping a friend.
From my bike in the parking lot, I can see through the front window. Ellie greeting her at the bar. Saylor standing straight, hands at her sides, answering questions with the same directness she uses in statistics class.
After ten minutes, Ellie hands her an apron.