Part 15

Ira walked into the first minimum-wage job she'd ever had, wondering what the hell she'd been thinking. She deeply regretted the life choices that had led her here. All of them. She should never have agreed to this. What did she know about waiting tables?

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

She smoothed the white Seven's T-shirt that Tawan had produced from a closet somewhere and glanced around, nervous butterflies winging away in her belly.

"Where's your dad?" she asked.

"Not sure." Tawan pointed at the bar. "Check in with Cherry. She's his right hand."

She started to walk away, but Ira grabbed her hand.

"Where are you going?"

"The corner booth." Tawan flashed a lopsided smirk. "Let me know when you've had enough. We can fake an illness or something."

She turned Ira loose and sauntered away. Between her jeans, black polo shirt, and the laptop bag slung casually over her shoulder, she looked like a professor—not an undercover security agent enjoying Ira's humiliation way too much.

"I'm not quitting, honey bear," Ira called after her.

Tawan's fingers twitched, almost like she was flipping Ira off.

"Jerk." Ira muttered. Fine.

She was a professional performer, dammit. How hard could it be to pretend to be a waitress? All she had to do was bring people food, drinks, and smile. Without a crowd, Seven's seemed larger than it had during the party. The mirrors behind the bar helped. So did the wall of windows along the back that revealed the courtyard beyond. It was a charming, welcoming space—one all of her siblings would love. Maybe one day, she could bring them here.

The place was empty, except for a tall, dark, fantastically muscled guy pouring ice into a bin behind the bar, and a short, curvy, motherly-looking woman frowning at the register. That had to be Cherry.

"Okay, Earn, get your ass in gear and figure this out," Ira whispered to herself.

She crossed the dining room to the bar, her head held high and a light bounce in her step. She could do this. She could.

"Hey, new girl."

The ice man's smile could have sold sand to a camel.

"How you doing?"

Ira grinned back. She couldn't help it. The guy had a serious twinkle in his eyes.

"Good so far. You?"

"I'm excellent and exceptional." He flipped a towel over his shoulder. "You're Earn, right?"

"Yes!" She leaned against the bar. "How'd you guess?"

"I was here Sunday. That guitar was totally extra. Kai hasn't shut up about it." He held out a hand. "I'm Ken. Bartender, actor, and influencer. You may have heard of me. I have a YouTube channel, and I'm in the holiday production at the Kalasin Cultural Hall. It's a big part. Plenty of stage time."

"He's supporting chorus," Cherry said, her attention still on the register. "And he has five hundred followers."

"Well, that's a start," Ira said as she shook Ken's hand.

"Right?" Ken whipped a towel across the bar. "I keep telling her it's one step closer to my name in lights. Now on Showtime...Ken Sakda."

"You have to make it small plays first," Cherry said, but her friendly smile took the sting out of her words. She held out her hand. "Hi, Earn. I'm Cherry. Rong asked me to show you around. You've waited tables before, right?"

Ira winced as she shook Cherry's hand. "No."

"Oh." Cherry pulled a black half-apron out from under the register and handed it to her. "I just figured you had. We get a lot of actors here. Waiting tables seems to come with the territory."

"Oh. Yeah. That's true." Ira scrambled for an explanation that made sense and didn't give away anything important. "I've actually been working at a bed-and-breakfast, but not as a server. I clean the rooms and scrub the toilets. They don't let me near the dining room or kitchen. The cook there is... um... territorial."

She tied the apron around her waist and avoided eye contact.

It was kind of true. Not that she'd actually been paid to do the job, but she'd spent several days at Wisanu's inn doing exactly that. She'd gained new respect for cleaners in general, and people who scrubbed toilets in particular.

"Bathrooms," Ken said with a shudder.

"Gross," Ira agreed.

"We all take turns with that duty here," Cherry said. "It's just like at home, but twice the mess and none of the ability to ground people."

"You said duty." Ken grinned and wiggled his eyebrows.

"Child," Cherry said, but again she flashed him an indulgent, fond smile.

"You love me." Ken beamed back at her.

"Sadly, yes. Now finish setting up while I show Earn the layout." Cherry handed Ira a small pad of tickets and a pen. "We're a little old-fashioned here. We have a fancy new POS machine, but damned if I can get it to work right. So we're sticking to paper right now. Guard that pen with your life. Everyone tries to steal them. Now over here..."

Ira followed Cherry, taking surreptitious notes on the back of her pad. Her new boss showed her how to place an order in the kitchen, how the tables were numbered, and where to find the cleaning supplies.

Ira did her best to take it all in. She couldn't help but notice the skeptical glances Tawan kept flashing her direction. It made her want to throw the order pad at her. She might not have ever worked in retail, but she knew how to work hard. Tawan would know that if she'd ever had to perform a ten-minute dance routine while singing to a sold-out crowd under lights hot enough to bake bread.

The door opened, and the first customers of the afternoon came in. Three women dressed in slacks and blouses that reminded her of schoolteachers took a table near the courtyard.

"I think you've got the basics," Cherry said. "Why don't you take that section on the right? There's two fewer tables over there, so it'll give you a chance to get your feet wet. It should be pretty slow today. Just give a shout if you get overwhelmed."

"Can I shout now?" Ira eyed the new arrivals.

They might as well be lions waiting to pounce. Cherry gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder. "Don't worry, sweetie. You'll get the hang of it."

The door opened again, and two men sauntered in. Cherry greeted them like old friends, and just like that, Ira was on her own. She shoved the butterflies in her stomach aside, put on her best stage smile, and strolled up to her first table.

"Welcome to Sevens. I'm Earn. What can I get you today?"

"You're Tawan's girl," one of the women said.

"I told you she was pretty," another said.

"Please, she's more than that. I love your hair," the third woman chimed in, her smile warm and genuine.

Ira's stomach settled down at the friendly greeting. The women, clearly teachers or local professionals, pelted her with curiosity. It felt a lot like a fan meet-and-greet, but without the squeals and demands for autographs. By the time she'd brought them their bowl of Tom Yum soup and Pad Krapow Gai, her jitters had eased. This wasn't so hard. Chitchat, carry plates, and smile, smile, smile. It wasn't that different from singing on stage—just without the stage lights and the screaming fans.

Her second table was five flirty teenage boys looking for an after-school snack. They cracked terrible pick-up lines, tried to guess where she was from, and exaggerated their love of spicy food in hopes of impressing her. She giggled and played along, knowing exactly how to handle a harmless ego boost from teenage boys. When she came back with their plates of Moo Ping skewers and sticky rice, she noticed they'd left a 100-baht tip folded neatly under the ceramic bowl. She didn't need the money. For a wild second, she thought about chasing after them to give it back, but then she realized that would be completely out of character for Earn. She tucked the crisp blue bill into her apron pocket and patted it. They liked her enough to part with cash they had to have earned from helping their parents' farms, tutoring younger kids, or working in local cafés. She was touched—and just a little bit smug about a job well done.

Then, two more tables came in at the same time, and suddenly it felt crowded and a little more chaotic.

As she hurried to grab menus, Kai sauntered in wearing a black Sevens T-shirt and old jeans, his backpack slung over one shoulder. With his easy confidence and sharp features, he looked like a younger, edgier version of his sister.

"Hey, Earn. How's it going?" Kai glanced around, noticed his sister sitting in the corner, and gave her a quick nod of acknowledgment.

Tawan, from her usual vigilant post in the corner, nodded back and gave a little half-wave of sibling greeting. Maybe the ice really was thawing between those two.

"Kai!" Ira picked up menus for the new tables. "It's a little confusing, but overall, it's going okay so far. You?"

He shrugged with one shoulder, slinging his backpack onto a chair. "Hey, thanks again for the guitar. I know that was all you."

His shy smile made Ira wish she could confess everything to him. She'd love to have a jam session with him and see how good he was on that guitar.

"You're welcome." She winked. "But it was actually your sister's idea. She told me how you used to take your grandfather's old guitar out into the garage and play whenever you got the chance, and that the last time she'd seen it, there was a crack along the base and the strings were twangy."

Kai's face froze.

"...She saw that?" His voice was skeptical, but his face brightened just a little. "I didn't think she noticed. She's not around much."

"I know." It tugged at her heart to think these two weren't as close as they should be. "That doesn't mean she doesn't care. You know that, right?"

He gave another half-shrug, which Ira supposed was teenage boy for 'yes'.

Enough awkward chitchat, she decided. She eyed his Sevens T-shirt. "You're working tonight?"

"I bus tables after practice for a couple of hours. If it's slow, I get paid to do my homework." He glanced around. "That's not happening today, I guess."

"It's been pretty hectic since about four." Ira wiped her hands on her apron. "People must really like the khao man gai today."

He snorted. "Pretty sure they came for the celebrity couple sighting." A nervous heat traveled up Ira's spine. "Celebrity?" Kai flicked his gaze to the corner booth where Tawan was currently ignoring them both.

"Yeah. You and Storm." He leaned against the bar. "She hits the local paper every time she bothers to show her face in this town. You're an added bonus, being her girlfriend. People around here love that stuff."

He stowed his backpack behind the bar and picked up an apron.

"Oh." Ira forced her shoulders to relax. She hadn't been recognized. It was just small-town gossip.

"So this is just curiosity. Maybe it'll slow down in a little bit, then." Kai gave her a look that screamed hopelessly naive. "You're not from a small town, are you?"

"Not really." Dangerous territory, though her backstory was supposed to include Los Angeles.

"Earn, order up!" Cherry called out.

"Coming!" Ira gave Kai a rueful grin. "I'm glad you're here. This is all new to me."

"You'll get used to it." He waved a hand toward the tables. "Just run the food out and take the orders. Don't worry about bussing. I got you. They fell into a routine for the next hour, with a steady stream of tables flowing in and out. She took the order, turned it in, carried drinks, and delivered food. Kai refilled glasses and picked up dirty dishes, all of it with an easy rhythm that helped her relax.

Just when she thought she was getting the hang of things, a horde descended on Sevens, and suddenly it was all she could do to keep from dropping plates or tripping over her own feet.

Ira carried two heavy plates through the crowd to Table Three, reaching it just as her arms started to give out. She set them down, relieved. "Can I get you anything else?"

"That's not ours," the harassed-looking woman with a messy bun and a haughty nose said without looking up from her phone.

Ira blinked. "You didn't order the khao kaeng?" She stared at the steaming plates of spicy Thai curry in front of her, then back at them.

The woman's friend—or coworker, Ira couldn't tell which—waved her away. "We ordered som tam and grilled chicken."

"Oh. Okay." A sinking feeling settled in Ira's stomach.

She didn't remember anyone ordering papaya salad. Not in the last hour anyway. She picked up the unwanted plates and turned slowly, scanning the restaurant for any hint of recognition. Nobody even looked in her direction—except Tawan, who watched her with a solemn expression she couldn't quite interpret. She could go back to the kitchen and sort through her tickets, but the plates were getting heavier every second.

"Screw that," Ira muttered, then raised her voice so she could be heard over the hum of conversations. "Can I interest anybody in some truly delicious khao kaeng?"

"If you sit and have lunch with me, sure," a man at the next table over said with a wink and a grin.

"Wish I could," she told him, shifting the plates to keep them balanced.

"Over here!" someone two tables over called out.

Right—the couple with the baby. She hurried over and deposited the plates, but then they wanted extra prik nam pla, water refills, and more napkins, and of course, she had to coo over the baby and tell Mama how fantastic she looked in that blazer. Ira found the missing ticket for two salads in her apron pocket and turned it in, then approached two women who'd been trying to catch her eye.

"So, Earn, right? How did you meet our Tawan? Was it in Bangkok?" a middle-aged woman with short dark hair and a crisp red blouse asked.

"Yes, it was." Ira kept her face happy, but her insides clenched.

"I win the bet!" Red Blouse clapped her hands. "I told Wanthanee she'd meet an actress there. I heard you met at a bar. Was it one of those celebrity spots?"

Her friend, a slightly younger woman in stilettos, leaned in. "I've always wanted to go there."

"Uh, no. I've never been there either," Ira said, grateful that she didn't have to lie. She hadn't been in Bangkok long enough to visit all the hot spots, and her sisters hated those places anyway.

"What can I bring you ladies to drink?" she deflected.

"I'll take a Coke," Red Blouse said. "I bet she swept you off your feet, right? She's such a catch. I always said that Ratchanee was a fool to let her go."

It seemed a little rude to bring up an ex-girlfriend to the current girlfriend. Ira turned to Stilettos, her voice a little frostier than she intended. "And you?"

"Diet Coke." Stilettos tilted her head. "So are there wedding bells in our future?"

"I'm sure someone in this town is bound to make them ring sooner or later." Ira winked and strode away before they could dig any deeper.

These ladies were amateurs. She'd dealt with paparazzi who invaded personal space like it was an Olympic sport, but this felt different. For the first time in her life, she wanted to keep her private life private—and not just because it was a cover story. She actually cared what Tawan thought about her. She hadn't really thought about it before, and she had no idea when it had happened, but she did. She cared. She wanted to prove to Tawan that she could do a good job. That she wasn't just a spoiled celebrity.

It was all delicate and new and confusing, and she had no intention of letting local gossips screw with it—and not just because she was supposed to be in hiding. She moved on to tables more interested in food than her fake love life, but she was so distracted that she got the next three orders all wrong.

By the time she got those sorted out, there was a backlog of other orders. Cherry tried to help her, but by then some of the plates had gone cold and had to be sent back to the kitchen, which made Ira feel horrible. She needed to tell Rong to keep her paycheck for all the chaos she'd caused.

Ira picked up her next tray filled with mugs of cold beer. She struggled for a second to get a good grip on it, then turned toward the group she thought had ordered it. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Tawan still watching her. She thought she looked...concerned. Her heart fluttered. She was actually rooting for her. That realization was a heady, room-spinning thing, and for a second, she lost track of what she was doing.

"Hey, Earn! That coming our way?" Brick's loud call snapped her out of it, and she turned too fast in his direction.

The mugs shifted—the overbalanced tray slipped right out of her hands. She squealed as the heavy plastic mugs hit the floor, sending a cascade of beer flying in every direction. The entire restaurant went silent. All eyes turned toward her. Ira stared at the mess at her feet, mouth hanging open, as her dignity slithered right out the door. The last time she'd fumbled something this badly, she'd been on stage in front of thirty thousand fans, but somehow...

This felt worse. Somewhere out there, Kai had just started laughing her ass off and didn't even know why.

"Oh. God." Ira hid her face in her hands, mortified.

And then—

Laughter erupted. It bubbled up into the stunned silence, followed by cheers and applause.

"Nice!" someone shouted.

"Don't quit your day job!" someone else chimed in.

Ira peeked through her fingers, then stuck her tongue out. "This is my day job."

"Great," an irritated woman nearby snapped. Her left calf glittered with beer droplets, along with a very expensive-looking ankle boot.

"I hope you got paid in advance because I doubt you last long. Can I get a towel?"

Ira winced. "I'm so sorry! Oh my God, here—" She snatched napkins from a nearby table and thrust them at her. "It's my first day, and I'm learning. I'm sorry."

"Hey," one of the high school guys called out.

He had a wet spot on his jacket but looked more amused than mad. "Give me a free beer, and we'll call it even." She grimaced. "You're not twenty, tiger. How about free cider?"

"Damn," he said, sounding defeated. "Cider works."

The ankle boot woman—Jennie, according to Cherry—snapped her fingers. "Hello. Two napkins isn't enough for this mess. Bring a towel."

"Of course. I'll be right back." Ira hurried away, eyes fixed on the back of the restaurant where Cherry waited.

"I can't believe I did that," Ira told her. "I'm so fired. Am I fired? I should be fired."

"If that's all it took, we'd all be unemployed." Cherry patted her shoulder. "Don't worry about it, sweetie. Happens to all of us from time to time. And ignore Jenny. She's just in a bad mood because her date stood her up."

Ira glanced down at her beer-soaked shirt. "I smell like a brewery."

"We can fix that." Cherry held out a bucket with towels, wipes, and spray cleaner. "You get a towel to Jenny and wipe down the tables. Kai will get the floor. Ken will have new drinks poured by the time you're done. Everybody'll be happy."

Ira flashed her a tired but grateful smile. "Thanks, Cherry."

She delivered the towels to Jenny the Recently Dumped, who didn't even bother to say thanks, then turned—

And smacked right into Tawan's chest.

"Ugh. Sorry."

Tawan put her hands out to steady her. Ira had never felt so klutzy in her entire life. She was used to navigating a stage with strobe lights and smoke machines. Maybe because on stage, people got out of her way. Funny—she'd never noticed that before.

"Here." Tawan held out a clean Sevens shirt, this one black instead of her beer-saturated white one that was now completely see-through. "Thought you might want to change."

A Not-So-Charming Surprise

"Thanks," Ira mumbled, taking the clean shirt from Tawan's outstretched hand.

"Ready to get out of here?"

It sounded like a genuine question, not the smug triumph of someone who had predicted her screw-up. But still, it made her straighten, pushing down the lingering humiliation and dredging up what was left of her dignity.

"No. I have a shift to finish."

She spun on her heels and marched off toward the bathroom. Was she imagining it, or did Tawan murmur, "Attagirl" as she walked away? Surprised—and pleased—Ira glanced over her shoulder, meaning to throw her a saucy wink, but— Tawan was already turned away, greeting someone else. Ira craned her neck, a flicker of curiosity replacing her mortification. And just like that, her mood soured all over again.

Ratchanee and her sidekick, Mali, had arrived at some point while Ira had been busy throwing beer all over the floor. Ratchanee had her hand on Tawan's arm, her head tilted, an earnest, intimate expression on her face as she leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. She looked...amazing, Ira had to admit. The tailored, curve-hugging black coat. The mock turtleneck. The pencil skirt that perfectly illustrated just how long her legs were. Ira glanced down at her own beer-soaked T-shirt, dirty jeans, and stained apron. She looked like a waitress. And—well, technically, for now, she was one. But what did it matter? It wasn't like she was in competition with anyone. She wasn't Tawan's real girlfriend. She wasn't even technically supposed to care. So why did she feel like she'd just swallowed something sour?

Ira made her way slowly back to the bar, keeping an eye on this not-so-charming new development. The entire restaurant was watching, too—because of course they were. Ratchanee was a spectacle. Her every move was polished, every word carefully calculated, like she was a Bond villain in the middle of executing a master plan.

"Here." Cherry handed Ira a fresh towel, her lips twisting into a smirk. "Never thought I'd see the day Ratchanee darkened our door twice in one week." Ira frowned, glancing back toward the corner booth, where Ratchanee was now laughing softly, lightly touching Tawan's wrist.

"Why?"

"We're too low on the totem pole for her family. That one, in particular, likes the other side of the river. That's where the expensive houses are. The bigger the house, the higher the commission."

Ira blinked. "Commission?"

Cherry arched a brow. "Oh, I take it you haven't seen the billboard?"

Ira shook her head.

Cherry rolled her eyes, using air quotes as she mimicked a syrupy voice: "'My offers don't get rejected.'"

Ira grimaced. "That sounds..."

"Annoying? Pretentious?" Cherry finished for her. "All of the above?"

"Yeah, that."

"She's the top agent in the region. Real estate's how her family made their money, and Ratchanee loves money. That's why she always looks like she's dressed for a goddamn Vogue spread."

Ira couldn't argue with that. "She does look... professional."

She glanced down at her dirty, smelly shirt again. I look like I've been living under the bar.

Cherry chuckled, patting Ira's arm reassuringly. "You don't have anything to worry about, sweetie. She never looked at her the way she looks at you."

Ira's heart tripped over itself.

"Really?"

The idea sent a little thrill through her—or Earn. Yes, definitely Earn.

"Go on, get changed. I'll watch your tables."

Ira hurried to the back, giving herself a sponge bath in the bathroom sink, changing her beer-drenched white Sevens shirt for the black one. She tried to rinse the beer stink out of her hair under the faucet, but it didn't help much. The stench was still there, or maybe it was the wet shirt she'd wadded up and wrapped with paper towels.

By the time she emerged back into the restaurant, Ratchanee had cozied up with Tawan in the corner booth.

Mali—her usual shadow—had conveniently wandered off somewhere. They were talking, and Tawan was listening.

What were they talking about?

Ira tugged at the hem of her clean shirt, a weird knot forming in her stomach. She couldn't just march over there and demand that Ratchanee stop touching her "girlfriend."

...Could she?

No. That would be rude. And—more importantly—she wasn't really Tawan's girlfriend. She had zero claim here. She forced her feet to move, shifting her focus to her actual job. Four tables were waiting for food, drinks, and her attention.

Ira picked up a pitcher of water, grabbed the burger and fries for table two, and acted like she hadn't just upended an entire tray of beer all over the restaurant.

And like she wasn't thinking about marching over to that corner booth and ripping Ratchanee's perfectly manicured hand right off of Tawan's wrist. After dropping off the food, Ira casually poured water for someone at a table near Tawan's.

The restaurant was too noisy. She could only catch bits and pieces of their conversation.

"...honey, all I'm saying...," Ratchanee's voice drifted over in between loud cheers as someone on the TV reacted to a Muay Thai match.

Ira missed the next bit as laughter erupted from the group of older uncles near the kitchen, teasing each other over their drinks. Frustrated, she moved toward the elderly couple sitting one table away from Tawan.

Ira scribbled down the order, straining to hear the conversation behind her.

"No," Tawan's voice cut through the background noise.

No...what? Damn it.

"But don't you think...," Ratchanee started.

Her voice was lost as a group of customers near the bar burst into laughter over a joke.

"Unless you two are planning to stay? I mean, is this...," Ratchanee's voice trailed off.

Ira narrowed her eyes. What was that supposed to mean? Cherry tapped her shoulder as she rushed past. "Order up, sweetie." Ira startled and turned away from the drama.

"On it."

After rushing several orders to the mostly right tables, Ira returned to the counter—only to find Ratchanee waiting for her near the cash register, looking annoyingly determined.

Ira grabbed the tray of drinks for table six, balancing them carefully. "Do you need something?"

"I need to talk to you. Do you have a minute?"

Ira gave her an apologetic shrug. "It's pretty busy. Maybe drop by tomorrow when it's not packed."

"This won't take long." Ratchanee placed a perfectly manicured hand on the counter, blocking Ira's exit.

Ira glanced around. Nobody was shouting for her, and things had started to calm down a little. Plus, she was really curious.

"One second. Let me drop this off."

When she got back, she noticed that Ratchanee had positioned herself strategically—just far enough from the register that Tawan's line of sight was blocked by the group of regulars watching the football match on TV.

Ira crossed her arms. "Alright. What's up?"

Ratchanee leaned in, her tone sweet, almost conspiratorial.

"I was hoping you could help me out with something."

Ira raised an eyebrow but didn't interrupt.

"You must have noticed that house you're staying in has basically been abandoned," Ratchanee continued. "Tawan hardly ever visits anymore. Her father moved out a long time ago. The place is just sitting there, empty, because she can't let go of the past. It isn't healthy for her or her dad, and I can't imagine how it must make Wanthanee feel."

Ira stiffened. Where was this going?

Ratchanee sighed prettily, like someone burdened with the weight of caring too much. "And poor Kai. She's stuck there every weekend mowing the lawn when she could be doing something else with her time. It's never even really been her house."

Ira kept her expression neutral. "All I've noticed is a beautiful home that's been loved and cared for."

She refused to admit how empty it had felt when they first arrived.

"Well, yes, it was... once." Ratchanee let out another theatrical sigh, the kind of overacted breath that would have made Piper roll her eyes.

"I have a lot of personal history tied up in that house, you know," she continued. "I practically grew up there. When her mother was alive, all the neighborhood kids went there after school. And in high school, the whole basketball and rugby team would gather there after games and on weekends."

She shook her head sadly, like this was some kind of tragic fairy tale.

"But after she passed... well, I'm sure you can imagine how painful it is for Tawan to be in that house."

Ira took a slow breath. Ratchanee was treading on dangerous ground—ground that Earn was expected to be familiar with. Her patience thinned. "Is there a point to this? I have tables waiting."

Ratchanee's eyes sharpened, her gaze fixing on Ira like a predator locking onto prey. Ira knew that look. She'd seen it on agents who used to lurk around concerts, sniffing out young, naive talent with promises of stardom.

"I'd like your help convincing Tawan to sell."

Ira blinked. "You want her to sell her childhood home?"

"Yes. I do."

Ira instinctively shook her head. She hadn't been here long, but she already loved that house. It wasn't just walls and furniture—it was a living scrapbook, filled with memories, love, and history. That wasn't something you just tossed aside for money.

"That's not... I can't..."

Ratchanee huffed out an almost wry laugh. "Believe me, I know it's a tough subject. But that house is worth a lot of money, and she could use the cash for her business. She's just being stubborn."

Ira narrowed her eyes. "This sounds like something you should ask her."

"Oh, I have. Believe me, I have." Ratchanee clasped her hands together, the very picture of fake concern. "But as you can imagine, our history makes it... difficult."

Ira wasn't buying this act.

"I don't think the house or the history is really the issue here. If Tawan said no, then that's your answer. Let it go."

Ratchanee started to turn away, then stopped, her expression shifting to something sharper, more calculating.

"She doesn't appreciate how hard it's going to be to build a life with you in that house when she keeps holding on to the past."

Ira felt a prickle of irritation crawl up her spine.

"Don't worry about us. We'll be just fine in that house. Though I do appreciate your concern for our well-being."

She loaded her words with sarcasm, hoping to make Ratchanee drop the act. Ratchanee made a little sound of protest, like a wounded princess.

"It makes no sense to let it sit empty."

"It's not empty. Not anymore."

Ira felt her temper flare, her grip tightening around the edge of the counter.

"Is that why you rushed over with brownies?" she challenged. "You thought you'd, what, offer her a little sugar? Maybe a little something on the side to sweeten the deal? Must have really stabbed you in the ass to find me there."

Ratchanee's eyes flashed with something sharp and dangerous.

"You don't want to live in that house any more than she does," Ratchanee said coolly. "Let's be honest. You might be enjoying your little side trip to the sticks, but you're not a Kalasin girl, and Tawan obviously hates being here. You two will head back to the big city or wherever life takes you, and that house will sit vacant until it falls down from neglect. What a waste."

Ira felt like she'd been punched. Because Ratchanee was right—though not in the way she meant. Ira wouldn't be in Kalasin forever, and Tawan's beautiful house wasn't her home. Soon, they'd figure out who was behind her stalker, and this game of pretend would end.

So why did that thought twist her stomach into knots?

Ratchanee sensed the hesitation. Her eyes gleamed with victory.

"Just think about it. Talk it out with Tawan. She'll follow you back to the big city if you ask. You obviously belong there, and she's nothing if not loyal. Think about what the money could do for both of you."

Then, with a satisfied smirk, she sashayed away, like she'd just scored the winning point. Ira stared after her, her hands curled into fists.

"Bitch."

"She's been asking her to sell for years," a voice said in her ear.

Ira nearly jumped out of her skin. She spun around to find Kai standing behind her, arms crossed, watching Ratchanee's retreating back with barely concealed annoyance.

"Oh. So it wasn't just because of me, then?" Ira asked, catching her breath.

"Nah." Kai snorted. "From what my mom says, Ratchanee's acted like that house is hers ever since they were kids."

Kai set down the tub of dishes she was carrying and turned to face Ira with a curious tilt of her head.

"So? You going to do it?" she asked. "You going to push my sister to sell her house? To her?"

Ira glared in the direction Ratchanee had gone.

"I'd burn it down first."

Kai grinned, nodding approvingly. "Nice. You're all right, Earn."

Ira stewed in the juices of her talk with Ratchanee while she focused on the people who'd come in for company and a meal. She normally loved the energy that came with being in a crowd, but Ratchanee's words had wrapped around her mood and squeezed.

This wasn't her job. She wasn't going to stay. She wouldn't really get to know any of the people in this town. And that house wasn't hers to lose. Longing pinged at her heart.

It was silly. She didn't need Kalasin. She had a family who loved her. Maybe she didn't have her own house yet, but she would someday. And in the meantime, she'd stay with Wisanu, help with the new album, and then they'd get back on track after Ying's wedding or after Wisanu's baby was born.

She had a life. A good one. Didn't she?

Do you, really?

A voice that sounded suspiciously like Kate's whispered in her ear.

Or are you just part of other people's lives?

Ira glanced toward the front of the restaurant, where Tawan and Kai were putting up the chairs so they could mop. They weren't talking, but they were working together—with familiarity, ease, and unspoken understanding. There was a lot of love there.

Tawan fit here.

Earn did, too.

Earn's life was simple and happy. She could get used to Earn's life. Could you, really? Wisanu's voice whispered in her head. The voices in her head weren't helping at all. She shook them off.

Despite her clumsy serving skills and her run-in with Ratchanee, today had been a good day. She was tired and sore, and she still smelled like beer, but she'd never had an experience quite like this. Everyone had accepted her as, well, just another small-town girl. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt like she was part of something that hadn't involved her sisters or a stage.

But this wasn't real. How could she hold on to something that didn't exist? She wanted to, though. She really didn't want to lose...

What? The town?

Her warden?

She liked being here with Tawan. A lot.

But she'd learned the hard way that trying to leave her reality behind was a good way to lose everything.