Jesse didn’t pay Charlie to idly talk to customers, but the relationships with clientele were what built a place’s reputation. Chitchat and banter were part of the bartender’s trade. And—her brain sputtered like an engine out of fuel as the thought dissipated, giving way to blankness. She was forced to reevaluate the thought all of a sudden, taken aback. This woman’s ties, whatever they were, to Jesse, and by extension this business, had facilitated the conversation, but the faux familiarity that had ensued was now burst like a bubble. The realisation that she didn’t know this person’s name perplexed her. It wasn’t just that, but the answer given too. A fellow compatriot of sorts (as compatriotic as the English and Scottish could be, anyway).
“England?” she asked rhetorically, brows inching towards her hairline. To avoid stifling the moment with her momentary awkwardness, Charlie turned her attention to the dishwasher. She gingerly pushed the door down the rest of the way, allowing for the remaining steam to clear. This time she would use a cloth to protect her fingers from the heated glasses.
Multitasking had never been a problem, though people engaged in conversation with her when she divided her attention reacted a range of different ways. The stranger’s concern interrupted the process of formulating an answer, but Charlie waved it off with practiced ease.
“Not at all—” she cut herself off before admitting she was on autopilot, not wanting to dismiss their interaction. “I’m on a working holiday visa. I was in Australia before, doing the same thing. Found a job here and, well, I guess I’ll be sticking around for a while…”
Jesse knew she was a backpacker and would eventually leave, but they’d come to the unspoken agreement that they’d cross that bridge when the time came. Charlie had stayed in Darwin for a whole year too, and was wise enough now to know better than turn her nose up at a good thing for the sake of covering more ground. There was no telling she’d find another job wherever she went to next. It had taken long enough to find one here, and she’d been lucky. Sure, she wanted to travel, but perhaps she could use Harper Rock as her base and snag a few more days off here and there once the snow gave way to green lawns.
“What do you do?”
“England?” she asked rhetorically, brows inching towards her hairline. To avoid stifling the moment with her momentary awkwardness, Charlie turned her attention to the dishwasher. She gingerly pushed the door down the rest of the way, allowing for the remaining steam to clear. This time she would use a cloth to protect her fingers from the heated glasses.
Multitasking had never been a problem, though people engaged in conversation with her when she divided her attention reacted a range of different ways. The stranger’s concern interrupted the process of formulating an answer, but Charlie waved it off with practiced ease.
“Not at all—” she cut herself off before admitting she was on autopilot, not wanting to dismiss their interaction. “I’m on a working holiday visa. I was in Australia before, doing the same thing. Found a job here and, well, I guess I’ll be sticking around for a while…”
Jesse knew she was a backpacker and would eventually leave, but they’d come to the unspoken agreement that they’d cross that bridge when the time came. Charlie had stayed in Darwin for a whole year too, and was wise enough now to know better than turn her nose up at a good thing for the sake of covering more ground. There was no telling she’d find another job wherever she went to next. It had taken long enough to find one here, and she’d been lucky. Sure, she wanted to travel, but perhaps she could use Harper Rock as her base and snag a few more days off here and there once the snow gave way to green lawns.
“What do you do?”
