Page 10 of The Patron Saint of Timber Hollow

"Well, then, it's a good thing I'm good at shedding layers," Sam smirks, rolling up her sleeves.

I snort at the dad-level joke. "Yes, yes, it is."

Ivy is probably in the back somewhere since I don't see her behind the bar, so that is where I lead Sam. A peek through the kitchen window tells me that Cook isabsolutelythrowing down in there, but no Ivy. When I open the door enough to fit my head through, I ask Cook if he knows where she is.

"Downstairs, Darlin'," He answers with a wave of his knife, immediately returning to prepping ingredients.

"Can you prep us a couple plates? I brought a new Coyote," I ask.

"You got it!" He answers without pausing his frying, chopping, and plating.

"Thanks, Pookie!" I say, blowing him a kiss as I close the kitchen door behind me. Then, I take off my long sleeve and stow it in the small office.

"I guess you get a tour, too, Sammy," I say, waving my arms around like a flight attendant. "Over here, you see the shitters, and here, oh,hereis a nice wall. And thenthis,you'll see, is the dungeon where we keep people who don't pay their tabs!" I chortle while Sam follows me down the stairs. I can already hear Ivy laughing at my joke, kegs clanging as she rearranges them.

"Telling all my secrets to the newbie already, are you Arty?" Ivy jeers, wiping her hands off on a rag.

"Nah, just looping her in on our scheme, so she's an accomplice now," I reply, and Sam snorts behind me. "Ivy, this is Sam, Sam, this is Ivy, otherwise known as Boss Lady." I introduce them, and they politely shake hands.

"Have you ever worked in a bar?" Ivy asks, leaning against one of the support beams.

"Yeah, but it's been a few years. It's the mixed drinks I don't remember much of. Other than a marg. I can make ameanmargarita," Sam replies, doing a little shoulder shimmy.

"That I can attest to," I agree, nodding my head. Sam has made me more than a few pitchers of margs throughout our friendship.

"I'm sure Arty here has given you a run down on the Slap Shot booth?" Ivy asks, crossing her arms.

"Yeah. I'm always down to slap people!" Sam replies with a bright smile, rubbing her palms together.

"Well, alright then. Youwillget heat stroke in that sweater, though, so let me find you a Coyote tee," With a wave of her hand, Ivy leads us back upstairs.

"Did you get more of the oversized ones?" I ask, wanting to grab another. And maybe a normal-sized one to crop.

"Yeah. You guys can sell them at the bar, too. I hung one up the other night and sold an absolutetruckloadof them."

"Mostly girls buying them?" I ask, a wry smile stretching my lips as I follow her into the office.

"Yes," Ivy replies with a huff.

"Beautiful. I told you people would buy them."

"Yeah, yeah.What size do you want, Sam?" Ivy asks, opening a box.

"Um, 3XL, I guess," Sam shrugs.

"Can I get another?" I blurt.

"What happened to yours?" Ivy sasses back.

"Nothing. I am just a rat girl and need to have multiples." That makes us all laugh while Ivy hands Sam and me new shirts.

"Fair enough. Are you going to set up the booth together?"

"Sure am," I reply, grinning.

"Beautiful. Welcome aboard, Sam."

"Thanks, happy to be here."