“I don’t think the boss would be too happy if I passed out from sleep deficiency during my shift tomorrow night.”
“The boss isn’t happy that you go home rather than going out with her when she asks you to dinner.” Nikka winked, and her bright smile contrasted beautifully against her Mediterranean skin.
Nikka’s father had bequeathed Stefanakis Spirits and Suds to her before his death several years before. As far as I could tell, she kept the bar alive and thriving with a little know-how and twice as much hard work.
“The boss should get used to disappointment.”
Nikka’s smile drooped. “C’mon, Sabrina. Today makes a month since you came to work for me. We should celebrate. I mean, what’s the big deal?”
The big deal was the hundreds of pounds of psychotic baggage I lugged around. If Nikka knew about the hot mess that was my life, she’d run away screaming. I was doing her a favor. I was an anathema to friendships. Skyla would have testified to that if I could find her.
“Bacon and waffles at that all-night diner down the street, my treat,” Nikka said. “We don’t have to do any friendship bonding rituals or anything.”
“Nikka—” I started.
She raised a hand to stop me. “Don’t say it. I’ve heard it already. See you tomorrow, Sabrina.” Nikka started for the door.
I almost let her go, but regret and loneliness welled up from the empty places in my heart. The emotions were so overwhelming that I responded before my common sense could kick in and counteract them. “Wait,” I said.
Nikka froze but didn’t look back.
“Just breakfast, right?”
“And a coffee or two.”
“They do chocolate-chip waffles?”
Nikka pivoted on her heel and let loose a brilliant smile. “They will if I have anything to say about it.”
At the diner, Nikka sat across from me and guzzled her coffee. She set down her mug, burped, and patted her stomach. Then she smiled in a self-satisfied way.
“Okay,” I said, laughing, “I totally apologize for not agreeing to this sooner. I think I needed a good sugar high.”
Nikka leaned forward and grinned. “You should trust my wisdom more often.”
“Oh, I trust your wisdom.”
“You do?”
“Of course. Anyone who gives a homeless girl a job without any references or proof of experience must be a really wise woman.”
“You proved yourself,” Nikka said. “What you lacked in experience, you made up for in effort.”
“But you didn’t know that I wouldn’t just rob you blind and head for the hills.”
“This isn’t my first rodeo, and I also have great intuition.”
If that were true, she wouldn’t have wasted her time trying to befriend me. But for whatever reason she wanted to attribute, Nikka had provided a much-needed job and a place to lie low while I recovered my powers. Nikka didn’t ask for a driver’s license or social-security card. She set me up in the apartment over her bar for next to nothing. I told her my name was Sabrina Moody—close to the real thing so I would remember to answer to it—and Nikka never asked for proof. She paid me in cash and respect. I hated lying to her, but what other choice did I have?
Nikka probably suspected I was running from a bad relationship. She was right if one could call the thing between Skoll and Helen Locke and me a relationship—an apocalyptic hate triangle, more like.
“It’s only been a few weeks, Nikka. I could still make my getaway.”
“Nah,” she said. “You got Pacific Ocean in your veins, I can tell. Just look at you—blond hair, that bronze skin. You look like an advertisement for the ideal California Girl.”
“Maybe. I do like it here. A lot.”
Nikka nodded in a knowing way. “So, you’re hooked, and you’re not going anywhere, which brings us to the next question: What are you doing for the holidays? You worked through Thanksgiving, and I thank you for that, but I always shut down the bar for Christmas. So, you’ll have no excuse. You cannot spend Christmas alone.”
“Don’t tell that to this crowd.” I motioned to the ragtag group of late-night diners around us. “Besides, I was looking forward to a grand-slam breakfast with Joe.”
“Who is Joe?”
“I don’t know for sure, but if you wander around Chicano Park long enough, you’ll probably find a guy named Joe camped out under the Coronado Bridge. And I bet he likes chocolate-chip waffles at least as much as I do.”
Nikka rolled her eyes upward and talked to the ceiling. “She’s been in San Diego four weeks, and she’s already as cynical as me.”
I laughed and sipped coffee from my cup. Outside the restaurant, San Diego was waking up. The rising sun had turned the sky from black into an enchanted lilac. The gloaming hour suggested weakening barriers and the surge of possibility—as though anything could happen. I closed my eyes and imagined that when I opened them again, I would see my brother standing on the sidewalk outside the diner. He’d be laughing about something with a buddy or tapping his foot, impatiently waiting for me.
When I opened my eyes, my gaze fell not on Mani, but on a tall, dark-haired stranger standing under a streetlight near the front window. He stepped out of sight before I got a good look at him, but something about the way he suddenly turned away—or the way the hairs on the back of my neck stood up—made me think he had been watching me.
“He was checking you out the whole time you had your eyes closed,” Nikka said.
“Who?” I drained the rest of my coffee.
“That guy out there.” She flung a hand in the direction of the stranger, who had disappeared. “Don’t act like you didn’t notice.”
