Page 12 of The Last Drive Home

"So, when is the interview, Brooke?" I ask calmly.

"Today," she answers sheepishly. "Ten minutes."

"Ten minutes," I repeat, laughing to myself. "Great. What a first impression—showing up late with batter-coated fingers, smelling like a monkey's ass."

"I really hope you're talking about the bananas."

My lips part to respond, but as if to mock me, the oven timer really does go off.

"Fuck," I grumble, reaching for the mitt. "B, I have to go. Send me the address again, will ya?"

"Of course," she says, her voice much more chipper than mine. I slide the bread pan from the oven. "Sorry about this, Tess. But don't worry. Like I said, Liam's like the nicest guy on the planet… usually." She blinks away her blip of hesitation. "He's so chill. He'll totally understand."

"Let's hope so. I'll call you after." I pull my phone away from my face, but right before I hit end, I hear Brooke's voice from a distance.

"Wait!" she calls.

"Yeah?" I ask, bringing it back to my ear.

"Good luck, Tess."

"Thanks, B."

"And maybe save me some of those—"

"Goodbye, Brooke."

I end the call and toss my phone onto the counter. Taking the two seconds I have to gather myself, I make a plan.

"I've got this," I mumble.

I have to.

Running into the bedroom, I quickly exchange my flour-dusted t-shirt for a cleaner and dressier top. In my search, I'm reminded that I did Trevor's laundry last night instead of mine. He had a big meeting this morning, and his lucky money socks and favorite navy polo were dirty. Considering I planned on spending my day stress-baking and waiting for the phone to ring with callbacks from the families I emailed all day yesterday, I thought my last pair of blue jeans would suffice until tonight.

I was wrong.

I decide that paired with the white, lace-trimmed, flutter-sleeve top I chose, my faded flare jeans may actually be somewhat of a vibe. "It's the whole I'm a fun professional, but here to work sort of thing," I say aloud, hoping to convince myself as I do.

With that in mind, I toss on some shoes, grab my purse and run for the door. Doubling back only to turn the oven off—a fire's the last thing I need—I skip the stairs two at a time to the main entrance of the apartment complex.

But I pause the second my feet hit the pavement, the panic in my veins increasing.

I know I parked my car right out front after I got fired—it was the silver-lining of my otherwise completely shitty night. And I didn't leave yesterday.

The only reason I stopped my new family search was to call The Gilded Pub. Surprise—for the first time in years, they didn't need me. I've worked doubles or helped out after my full-time job when someone called off of the dinner shift. I've worked sixteen-hour days being there for them for years, but a new manager comes in and hires a load of students from the community college, and suddenly there's no spot for me.

An end to another era.

"Come on!" I take a quick glance down the street, then dig into my back pocket to verify what I already know—my car wasn't stolen.

Sliding my phone out, I find Trevor's number as I speedwalk down the block.

"Hey, what's up?" he answers casually.

"Trev, did you take my car?"

"Oh, uh, yeah. Mine needs gas, and you weren't doing anything important today, right?"