Folk Around and Find Out (Good Folk: Modern Folktales #2)(31)
I grimaced at his taking of the Lord’s name in vain, studying the top of his head and curtailing the instinct to sift my hands though his hair to soothe him, and not because I was worried about messing up his hair. He always had messy hair, always. Even in my earliest memories of Hank Weller, his hair had been an adorable disgrace, sticking out all over the place. He probably showered at night and never brushed it during the day.
But you know what? It looked like sex hair and it suited him. Hank seemed so distant and emotionless, controlled and exacting all the time, the messiness of his hair was a reminder that Hank was indeed human, a handsome, sexy, alluring human who was also prone to being a surly butthead.
“Doesn’t matter. I’ll figure out how to pay for it. It’s not their fault Fred fucked up their pay. Ultimately, it’s my responsibility.” He sat up abruptly, turning a stark expression my way. “Please do it. And go back as far as you can.”
A small, admiring smile pulled at my mouth. Hank might’ve been a surly butthead around me, but he was a decent person. At least he was decent to his employees and staff, and that counted for a lot in my book.
“I can only go as far back as the restaurant system will allow, which is ten years.”
“That’s fine. I took this place over nine years ago, so use that as your starting point.” Hank’s stark eyes moved over me.
I allowed my smile to linger, trying to infuse my features with a dose of sympathy, hoping he’d see I was on his side as I asked, “Can you please send me the right percentages? I can’t refer back to historical records for the information, so it’s not self-explanatory. If you want me to fix this, then I need the real numbers.”
The side of his mouth ticked up, a slight spark brightening the hazel of his eyes and turning them gold. “Yes, Ms. Mitchell,” he said, his tone somewhere between amused and conciliatory. “And I apologize. I should have sent you the house cuts right from the start.”
“Yes, you should have.” I lifted my chin and spoke my thoughts before I could catch myself. “You know, I’m not your enemy, even though you seem to think I am.”
Hank surprised me by asking, “Aren’t you?” and the question sounded real.
Straightening in my seat, I peered at him. “Of course I’m not.” I had no idea whether he was being silly or serious. The question had been silly, but he looked entirely serious. So I asked, “What have I ever done to you?”
His pointed stare felt apprehensive. “Are you messing with me?”
“No. Why? What did I do?” Now I was on the edge of my seat and wracking my brain and beyond frustrated. Could this supposed slight explain his rudeness when I’d tried to audition? Why he always made a bracing face when he saw me around town? What could I have possibly done? Prior to last week, I hadn’t spoken to him in years.
“You honestly have no idea.” His forehead cleared of wrinkles and he tapped his fingers on his knee.
I crossed my arms. “No idea about what? Please, enlighten me.”
“Your ex-husband ran off with one of my dancers.”
My expression immediately narrowed into a glare. “And that’s my fault how?”
“No, Charlotte. That’s not your fault. But”—he leaned closer—“people in town blame me for Buckley leaving. They blame my club, and I’d assumed you did—and do—as well.”
He was speaking nonsense and I allowed my expression to tell him so. “I'm sorry, I think I need more coffee, but I don't . . . Wait.” I blinked. “Are you saying—hold on.” I leaned back to get the full measure of him. “Are you saying folks around here”—I spun a finger in the air—“are trying to punish you and The Pony for Kevin leaving town? And you think I’ve been holding a grudge about it all this time? Are you serious?”
“As spit in soup.”
“That’s hooky.”
The corner of Hank’s lips tugged upward. “Hooky?”
“Yes. Hooky. Kevin didn’t abandon me.” I pressed the fingertips of both hands against my chest. “I’d asked for a divorce the month before he left town. I didn’t know he’d run off with that Bambi woman until a week after it happened.” I’d felt so much guilt about asking him to leave at first, wondering if I was being selfish and putting my needs above the possibility that he would eventually be a good dad one day. Was I depriving my children of a relationship with their father? Assuming he ever decided to wake up and be one?
I got over that fear real quick once he was gone.
Hank’s eyebrows arched high on his forehead. “You left him? Before Carli?”
“Was her name Carli? If so, correct. Kev wasn’t living with us. He didn’t visit the kids that month after moving out, never asked to.” The kids hadn’t asked for him either, but I wouldn’t share that detail. “He got an apartment in Knoxville, and at that point we only spoke through our lawyers. If folks are blaming you, that’s like shaving a hairless cat.” At his persistent confusion, I added, “It makes no sense.”
Hank studied me, his features frozen, then eventually sucked in a deep breath. “That information isn’t widely known, Charlotte. I certainly had no idea you’d asked Kevin for a divorce or kicked him out months prior.”