Chapter 2 Grizlhut

Conor walked the streets of Jinstain toward the Grizlhut. The town felt crowded with its tall modern glass buildings, massive multistory shopping malls, and row after row of towering apartment buildings with tiny two-bedroom homes.

The wealthy still managed to have a bit of grass around their homes but for the most part, Jinstain had grown faster than the city planners could keep up with.

While it was a long walk to the city center near the port where Mr. Cochan had his GrizlHut pizza shop, it was still faster than trying to drive in this traffic.

When Conor arrived at the GrizleHut on the east end of town, he paused just outside the door to smell the salty sea breeze. Instead of a pleasant sea smell, the pungent odor of dead fish from the nearby market filled his nose. He nearly gagged and quickly rushed inside to find Pops, the manager and former owner, scrubbing tables with an old rag.

"We're closed, come back in an hour."

"Um, sir, I'm supposed to start work here..." Conor hedged. Mr. Cochan had told Pops that he was coming, right?

"Ah, the lout. Late, just as Mr. Cochan predicted," Pops declared.

Conor glanced at the clock above the register and saw it was 9:03 A.M.

"Well go on back and find Cara. She'll get you an apron and show you what to work on," Pops stuck a bony finger in his face and said, "Jessica is a good girl, who works hard. Her father was insane for asking her to marry you. I'll give you one chance here. Prove you can be worthy of her."

Pops hobbled off muttering loudly under his breath about lazy ass kids and their lack of responsibility.

Conor sighed and wandered behind the counter to find a pretty girl in her early twenties, about five and a half feet tall, struggling to set a large rack of pizza dough on the top slot of the rolling rack.

"Here, let me," Conor deftly caught the tray up and lifted it easily into place.

While he may not be overly successful in his business ventures, Conor still maintained a decent fitness. His natural height also proved an advantage in situations like this.

Maybe putting things on high shelves is all I am good for these days. Conor thought bitterly.

"Thank you," gasped Cara, catching her breath and glancing up at him as she tucked an escaped lock of honey brown hair back behind her ear.

She looked momentarily dazed as she stared into Conor's steel-blue eyes before she finally caught herself and said, "You must be the new help. Well, this way. You'll need an apron if you don't want to soil your clothes every day."

Cara led him to a small office at the back of the shop and tossed a black apron to him. "You ever make pizza before?"

"No, but I'm a quick study," Conor found it hard to take his eyes off Cara and the way her naturally wavy hair bounced lightly around her shoulders. Jessica was beautiful, but Cara's beauty wasn't hidden under layers of makeup, and he had to appreciate the natural beauty in her.

Cara frowned at him, but shrugged, "You'll sink or swim tonight. One of the Naval ships is in port, and the whole seaport will be through at some point. Now let's get started. And Conor, keep that beard of yours out of the dough. It may look good on your face but if someone finds it in the dough, that's disgusting. Not to mention it's a surefire way to get canned."

Conor couldn't help but chuckle as Cara pointed at a large can of pizza sauce for him to get down.

As they worked on prepping the kitchen for the evening rush, Conor caught Cara watching him out of the corner of his eye. She seemed intent on positioning herself around the counters in such a way that she could easily glance at him as she reached for various ingredients.

Conor smiled to himself.

It was nice to have someone look at him with anything other than loathing. He went back to his tasks but kept glancing at Cara just as much as she looked at him.

They both took a few hours off after lunch when two replacements clocked in. The other workers seemed intent to just do their job and not make new friends.

Conor waved to Cara and promised to be back by seven for his second shift.

That evening was indeed an insane rush. Over 400 rowdy sailors came through between trips to the local bars, enjoying the cheap pizza and shoveling carbs to contain the alcohol. By two A.M. Pops had long since gone home and Conor was exhausted. It had been forever since he'd worked this long and hard. OK, likely never.

Cara came over with a pizza and sat down. "Let's eat a little something and then finish cleaning up."

"I suppose it would be good to know what we serve," Conor snatched a slice and bit into it with gusto, but his face quickly changed to one of disgust as he forced himself to swallow. "If I wasn't starving I'm not sure I could finish that."

Cara laughed. "Pops swears by his old family recipe. Says the cornmeal adds some authentic character to it."

"Maybe if you enjoy bland cardboard!" he tried to finish another piece just to sate his hunger but gave up halfway through. "Well, let's get this place clean so I can find something edible. Perhaps the leftover toppings are edible."

Conor finished cleaning up, and then clocked out. He walked Cara out to her car and said good night before starting his own trudge home.

What a life this was going to be.

Seeing Cara drive away in her own car, regardless of its quality, sent another pang of guilt through his soul as he remembered all he had lost when Celia's Blessing had gone under. When he made it home, he collapsed into bed, exhausted.

Is this the kind of life I want to live? No, definitely not! Conor screamed inwardly before slipping into the oblivion of exhausted sleep.