Sixteen months, Grace tended bar at The Breaks.
The name wasn’t just a clever play on being right on the docks of the port town where she lived. No, at least once a week, she or one of the bar backs would end up slinging some drunk jackass out on to the curb hard enough to bust a jaw or dislocate a nose.
Dr. Benson wasn’t one of those dumb assess. Sure, he stared at her all the time which was creepy but not unexpected considering the line of work. But he actually had conversations with her. Asked her about her DIY crust punk aesthetic, her choice to grow natty dreads and repurpose military surplus gear into something vaguely resembling a wardrobe. Asked her for her opinions. To tell him the filthiest jokes she’d heard that week. Asked for her thoughts.
And that was all fine.
In fact, it was more than fine.
Because after not too long … why … Grace missed when Dr. Benson wasn’t there. And wasn’t talking to her. And wasn’t giving her suggestions and ideas that seemed ridiculous at the bar but when she’d get home … why … they weren’t such bad ideas after all . . no … not at all …
And tonight … six weeks after the first time he came into the bar . . why tonight Dr. Benson even convinced Gary to give her the entire night off … even tomorrow if she wanted … so that Dr. Benson could treat her to a proper night on the town.
Because she is ever so full of Grace now and like . . not much else. <Giggle>
(thx bimbosminder for the pic of inspiration)