Whoever had been in the dining room was gone, Tonya figured. But the liquor was surely still safe on the bar’s illuminated shelves. A lot had happened this past week. She just needed to oil the edges of her memories, make them easier to swallow.

Tonya barged into the room and strode toward a glowing row of reposado tequilas. No one would notice a shot or two gone from an already-open bottle, she figured. When Mike had been bartending, he’d always doled out a couple pours after an extra-long or boring shift, listing them as “spills.” Philip hadn’t seemed to mind giving the staff a few freebies. One of the unspoken rules to keeping a minimum-wage-earning restaurant crew happy was the discount on food and drink.

Mike wasn’t behind the bar now, of course. But the same rules surely applied—though Tonya didn’t exactly want to ask Philip outright if that was the case. It was uncomfortable enough that she’d shown up at his door homeless. Begging for booze would pretty much erase the distinction between her and a wino.

Besides, he wasn’t even in the restaurant. He’d disappeared shortly after the last cook had taken off. Now that she’d been cleaning for more than a week, he probably didn’t think it necessary to babysit her while completing odd jobs in the kitchen.

Tonya slipped behind the front bar and scanned for a bottle with a broken label over the stopper. One “spill” was all she wanted. One shot to ease walking into and waking up in Imani’s peanut-free household.

Tonya spied a previously uncorked bottle of Casamigos. She grabbed it, feeling like a thief, even though she assured herself that she wasn’t stealing anything that she wasn’t entitled to. If Philip were here, he’d probably have a shot and offer her something too. Tonya popped off the bottle’s cap and selected a glass from the counter.

Behind her, a door opened. Tonya jammed the stopper back on the bottle’s neck, pressing it down with her thumb as she pushed it away. She whirled around. “Hello?”

Philip walked toward her. He seemed to bristle at the sound of her voice. His posture became painfully erect, as though tensed from an unexpected shock. “Why are you in here? Shouldn’t you be in the kitchen?”

The light emanating from the back bar wasn’t enough to highlight Philip’s expression. But Tonya didn’t need to see his full face to feel his anger. It was evident in Philip’s seething tone. His stiff body language.

“I was thinking maybe the bar needed a dusting.”

Philip continued his approach, eyes bright and burning. “I don’t see a dust cloth.”

Tonya chuckled, partly out of embarrassment, partly to lighten the mood. “You’re right. To be honest, I was hoping to take my end-of-shift shot.”