lip. “I have an interview for the Southern Comforts’ bartending position. I was told to come here.”
“Carolina Castillo?”
She nodded.
The woman held out her hand. “Hi. I’m Abby Fitzgerald.”
Carolina stared. Her half sister. With Abby’s pale skin and her reddish-blond hair, they didn’t look alike. Were there any similarities between them?
She was a few seconds too slow shaking Abby’s hand. “Hi.”
“Let me find someone to cover the desk.” Abby moved down a hallway.
Carolina took in a breath. This was a mistake. But she needed a job that paid more than minimum wage. Her mother’s credit card companies were demanding payment.
“All handled.” Abby carried a tray with a sweating pitcher and glasses filled with ice. She led the way to a small parlor. “I brought some sweet tea.”
Carolina sat. Abby poured a glass and Carolina took a polite sip. “O-oh. This is good.”
“It’s my version of sweet tea with tweaks.” Abby winked. “And I don’t give away secrets.”
Carolina froze. Did Abby know her secret?
No way. If Abby knew they were related, Carolina wouldn’t be sitting there. “I understand the position is for a newly opened restaurant.”
“We thought we could get away with only one bartender each night, but we need two.”
“Congratulations,” Carolina said. Would Abby catch the sarcasm in her voice? Of course, Abby’s restaurant would be a success. Everything the Fitzgeralds touched turned to gold.
“Why did you leave Nashville?” Abby asked.
Carolina kept it simple. “My mother is sick. I needed to come home.”
“I’m sorry.” Abby touched Carolina’s hand. “I understand. My family means everything to me.”
“Thank you.” Family? Abby had no clue.
How could her half sister understand? She had everything. Sisters. Mother. She’d had their father.
Carolina had gotten stolen moments with Daddy. Now her mother was dying and she would end up alone.
“Tell me about your work history?” Abby asked.
“In Nashville, I worked at the Silo and Garett’s Bar and Grill.”
“So why haven’t you done any bartending for a year?” Abby asked.
“I was able to get a full-time singing job, so I quit bartending.”
“Oh.” Abby asked questions about her experiences and Carolina relaxed and answered.
A bell rang.
“I called your references,” Abby said. “They were very complimentary about your work ethic.”
“I think it’s important to do what you say you will do.” Unlike the father they shared.
“I like—” The bell rang again. Abby frowned. “I’ll be right back.”
She slipped through the pocket door, pulling it shut.
Carolina stretched and walked to the window, staring across the street. In the square people either strolled or sat on the benches. Veils of Spanish moss hung from the oaks, shading the crowds. Her mother would love the view.
She leaned against the windowsill and knocked over a small porcelain bird. A cardinal. There were four of them scattered on the sill. Four.
She swallowed. It was so little. She picked it up. It couldn’t be worth much. Her fingers squeezed the bird.
No. What her mother had asked her to do was wrong.
Footsteps echoed outside the door. She hurried back to her chair. Blast. She still had the cardinal. She jammed it in her purse as the door slid open. She would put it back before she left. She snatched up her tea and sipped. Maybe the cool drink would chill the fire blazing across her face.
When the door opened, Abby waved her over. “Would you like to see the restaurant?”
“Yes.” Because she wanted to leave. Wanted to stuff the bird under the sofa cushion.
But Abby never took her eye off Carolina as she joined her in the entry.
Carolina couldn’t breathe. She’d have to...drop the bird somewhere.
Abby walked next to her, spouting the B and B history. Carolina chewed on her lip. If Abby quizzed her, she wouldn’t be able to repeat anything she’d been told.
They walked through a kitchen.
“Is this the restaurant?” It was large, but there was a big table tucked in an alcove and a sitting area around a fireplace.
“This is the B and B kitchen, for Fitzgerald and Carleton House.” Abby held open an outside door. “We remodeled the carriage house for Southern Comforts.”
The heat and humidity weren’t the only reasons Carolina started to sweat through her shirt. The bird in her purse weighed on her shoulder like an anvil.
Abby dealt with the restaurant door locks and Carolina walked into a gorgeous room. A wall of windows looked over the gardens they’d just walked through. Outside were tables. “Do these windows open to the patio?”
“Aren’t they fabulous?” Abby tapped her chin. “I might eventually add a bar out there.”
Right now the green umbrellas were closed, but Carolina could imagine them open and the iron tables filled with happy diners while soft music played.
“This is our main bar.” Abby led her to the side of the dining room.
Again, Carolina was overwhelmed. Her heeled sandals clicked across sand-colored tiles. The tables all had flowers and the tablecloths weren’t just white, but brought in the colors of the gardens: greens, pale pinks, reds, even lavender. It should have looked—garish. But the colors made her smile.
The top of the bar was old wood covered with a thick layer of polyurethane. Brass hardware under the bar top sparkled.
“Those were the carriage house doors,” Abby said. “Nathan used them for the countertop.”
“It’s beautiful.” She ducked under the pass-through. It was the normal bar setup—taps, fridges, glassware hanging above and high-end liquor gleaming against a mirrored back wall. Two or three people could easily work back here. “This is a good setup.”
“Because we’ve been so busy, the servers are waiting too long for their drink orders.”
“That’s not good.” Shouldn’t there be people lingering over a glass of wine
