“… she doesn’t hold their hands, and they wander off. Where do they wander? Behind the mysterious curtain. Now, she’ll use her precious dinner time with the family to explain why some movies are hidden behind a curtain and why kids aren’t allowed to see them… More importantly, what have you lost in this probable scenario?”

They glance at each other. Roy raises his hand.

“Yes, Roy?”

“Our pride?”

“Our dignity?” Christie tacks on.

“Our patience,” Wade mumbles.

“No, you’ve lost a customer. For life. For life, gentleman,” she repeats.

And suddenly, I don’t care about fishing because this is too entertaining. I barely control my laughter with a hand over my mouth.

“But a customer looking for vintage pornos, on the other hand,” Wade tries, sounding defeated.

“Most people wouldn’t expect to find that here. There’s a valid market for such materials, but not here if we’re trying to be a convenience store. Ask yourselves, what do you want the G&G to be?”

“A convenience store,” they mumble together.

“The porn has to go,” she says, hands on hips.

“She’s right,” Christie says.

“Fine,” Wade barks. “We’ll… consider removing it.”

“Not consider it, Wade,” she chirps back. “You will remove it.”

“You aren’t the boss of me, missy. Why should I do anything you say?” he challenges, his eyes dark and narrow and his mustache twitching.

“That’s why you hired me, right?”

His eyes cut to me like he might end our deal right then. “Yes, but maybe I like things as they are. A little tidying up, sure. But this? I never agreed to big changes, and why should I make ‘em anyway?”

She perches her hands on the counter, making eye contact daringly but maintaining her usual smile. “Because Maureen wouldn’t want this for you, Wade.”

My heart stops—I can’t believe she said it. Neither can anyone else. She promised me she’d turn him into a teddy bear, not a damn, pissed-off, claws-out grizzly.

This is why I need to be here—to regulate them and protect her from their bullshit.

Wade glowers at her, practically bubbling with anger, while the others stare, mouths dropped and eyes wide. He stands, his chair shooting out from behind him and maintaining his glare, like Marina has thrown a shit-brick directly in his face. Her soft smile feels like fuel, feeding his rage.

I must intervene. This was my idea. I divulged Wade’s history. And suddenly, bringing her into their lives feels like introducing a lit match to a gas spill. This is not good.

But seconds into their stare-down from hell, with Wade seething and her softly smiling, she does the unthinkable. She lays her delicate hand on his fisted one across the counter.

“Tell me something, Wade. What was her favorite color?”

“Um, green,” he spits out harshly.

“Apple? Sage? Olive?”

“Shamrock. Her Irish roots and all,” he says, slightly softer.