Winnie's POV

Embry was right. We are seeing each other less and less.

For most of the week he's been trying his best to take me to and from work, while taking care of his mom, helping Paul and all the while working. If Embry is able to bring me to work in the morning, then he can't in the afternoon. Or if I find a way to work he tries to give me a ride after. If I do see him it's only when the car is in drive, with him quickly taking off after.

When Embry can't, Jacob does me the favor. Today when he dropped me off he assured me how I'll soon be driving again by the end of the week, and how that my car was nearly ready.

"Hey," Stopping at the kitchen, I try to talk and run an arm load of dishes. Another waitress, Maisie from Forks helps me bring the plates to a crowded table of seven. "Maisie, can I ask you a question?"

"If that trucker at table five is checking you out and not be subtle about it?" Maisie shoots, subtly throwing a glare in the man's direction without anyone noticing that takes years of training.

"He's checking me out? Gross." I try to keep up with her. For someone so short you have to nearly jog to keep up with her. Maisie is our veteran waitress, she's been waitressing at the lodge since she was fifteen. She is probably the toughest out of all of us. Maisie sweet talks the best, walks the fastest, and hustles the most out of all of the whole staff. Maisie trained me herself when I was hired in my junior year. She even use to drive me home before I got Enola's car, even though it added an extra thirty minutes to her drive back to Forks.

"If he bothers you Winnie, you let me know." She states before immediately breaking our conversation to chirp happily at the table, then immediately picks it up again when we walk off after making sure they don't need anything else. "So what did you wanna ask me?"

"Well," I swallow the the lump my tongue is twisting into. "You know how my car has been in the shop?"

"Yeah, it's been there for almost two weeks. Why you need a ride home? Not a problem." Maisie immediately fixes a problem which is very like her. I jog after her towards the dish station.

"Thanks Maisie, but I actually need help with something else... like paying for the repairs. Do you know how I can get some extra cash?"

"I do, but you're not going to like it, Winnie." Her knowing smirk is warning me, but I ask anyway.

"How much exactly am I not going to like it?" I wince.

"You're going to hate it." The twenty eight year chuckles. "See, I waitress part-time at a bar, who could use some extra shifts picked up."

"Okay," I shrug. I'm not one for working bars, but a gig is a gig.

"But, you're gonna hate the uniform, let me tell you that."

"Why?"

"Because, I work at Hooters, and let me tell you, that pays." The word no is ready at the tip of my tongue, but stalls at my teeth. God, do I want to say no. Last place I should work at with my reputation is a Hooters. But I have to find a way to pay Jacob, I haven't paid him for towing my car and that was weeks ago.

"I don't have the uniform." I use the first excuse that comes to mind, trying to convince myself not Maisie.

"There's spares. They'll can give you something to borrow." She immediately amends the problem, because that's what Maisie does best.
"I didn't do my makeup today." I never wear makeup, which Maisie knows.

"With a face like yours? You don't need it." Her sweet talks practically pays itself. She sees the look on my face and tries again. "One of the girls can apply some for you. You don't need much."

"And my shoes—" Maisie interrupts me before I can come up with another excuse, giving me her best stern look.

"Winnie, you don't have to do anything you don't want to. Especially not for money. But if you want to come, let me know an hour before our shifts end, okay?" She puts her tray of glasses down just to put her hands on her hips. It's impressive how a local Forks cheerleader whose barely five foot three and and with her ponytail making up the last two inches, is pretty formidable.

"Crap." I breathe. I rather be locked in the walk in freezer naked than work a shift there.

It's not the uniform that's the problem, it's not that I think it's a lesser job when it's really any other waitressing gig. It's the men that's my issue. Hooters isn't a bad job. It's the customers that make it harder than it should be. I'll hate the way a table of men all will break out into ear to ear smiles. I'll hate the way they try and fail out not being flirty. I'll hate the way they all order the stupid wings and beer. I'll hate they disappointed look they exchange when I can't come up with anything cute or friendly to say. I'll hate how I'll just have to take their order and walk off. I just know I'll probably be scolded by the manger for not smiling enough.

What if someone recognizes me? What if it gets out that the local res flasher is now working at Hooters?

I've barely lived down the beach flashing, I can't put this one top of that.

I've been leered, catcalled, harassed, and slut shamed since I was fifteen, this is the last kind of job I should work.

Yet, I've been leered, catcalled, harassed, and slut shamed since I was fifteen, so I absolutely do it while getting paid at this point.

"You look sick." I jerk out of my thoughts to meet Embry's brown eyes. He lowers down cautiously into the chair at the counter with worried eyes. A guy just as massive lowers down next to him, his hair just as short as Embry's with the identical tattoo on his arm.

"Does she always look like she wants to puke when she sees you?" Paul Lahote asks Embry, who gives him a flat look.

"Hey." I barely manage, gobsmacked by their sudden appearance. Not knowing Embry was going to stop by is surprise enough. Paul Lahote? That one is a complete shock. I haven't seen Paul since he dropped out of school in sophomore year.

Without meaning to, I make sure my uniform is bottom to the top. There's nothing that makes me more uncomfortable in my own skin than whenever I'm around someone I went to high school with. Having most of the student body see you naked, then never being able to live it down is a different kind of trauma.

I try to remind myself Paul is Embry's friend. I mean I was worried about Jacob, only for him to be one of the nicest guys I know. Also, with everything Paul is going through, he deserves some extra thoughtfulness.

"Is it okay that we came?" Embry doesn't look like his usual self. His face is stoned over, jaw tight, eyes bright with something that's bothering him.

"Of course, of course," I try to act casual, patting around for my pen and pad. Though friendliness isn't my tact, it's one of the hardest things for me when I'm around locals. "Customers are always welcome. That's why the sign says open."

Embry doesn't laugh. Doesn't even crack a grin.

"Is that meal still good?" Paul tries to break the silence, drumming his hands against the counter.

"Yeah. What can I get you guys?" I unsuccessfully try for a smile. Please don't let me look like an idiot right now. If I get anymore worked up I'm going to break out into a sweat.

"A couple of onion bagels with sausage, hashbrowns, Mac n cheese and eggs inside the bagels." Paul's order is so out of the ordinary I stop scribbling it down just to wait to see if he's joking.

He isn't.

The expectant look on his face tells how he's serious. Continuing, I silently tell myself at least he didn't order it with pickles. I've seen too many weird dishes with a side of pickles.

"Embry?" I turn to him.

"I'm hungry." Paul and I give Embry the same taken aback look. Embry with all of body mass is never not hungry. The guy is halfway to seven feet tall and all muscle. He eats a truck load for every meal. Every Sunday he would eat so much The Lodge had to order double produce from our supplier just because he ate that much. He's type who is always down to eat, always munching on an apple, a granola bar, literally anything that's out he'll eat.

Something is wrong.

"Man, don't make me eat alone. That sucks." Paul tries to convince him. Embry who always thinks about how to make others more comfortable before himself immediately gives.

"Fine."

"Something small?" I offer.

"Whatever." Embry shrugs off. Since he's not his usual self I just get him a muffin and his usual coffee order with two sugars. Paul is nice enough to try to chat with me, but with everything he has going on Paul wasn't very talkative either. Instead I opted to let the two eat their food and pretended to be busy in the kitchen to give them privacy. Right before they leave I bring out a packed up to go bags, one for each.

"Some sandwiches," I hand one to Paul who immediately perks up. It's incredible how he just ate the grossest, heaviest bagel and still has room for more.

"You didn't eat much. Just in case you get hungry." I say to Embry who hesitantly that's the bag. Paul decides he'll meet Embry at the van and gives me a meek thank you I know he isn't use to giving. Not because he's rude, but because he hasn't had a lot of opportunities to say thanks to someone.

"Everything okay?" I ask Embry. Something is definitely bothering him, he looks as if he's getting bigger and bigger. His shoulders are tense, his arms are wounded around him in a sharp cross, his posture is stiff and straight, along with a face full of worry.

Before he can double down that's he fine, I lean across the counter with my elbows. Inching in close to talk lowly so only we can hear, "I would really feel better if you complained right now, Embry."

He doesn't soften up like he usually does. Though he does seem to loosen a bit.

"I'm just... I've hardly seen you this week. I'm already frustrated about it, about a lot of things." Embry admits lowly. He doesn't look pissed, but instead like a kicked puppy. I want to tell him so badly how I'm missing out rides too. That he's not the only feeling the gap between us, and how the less I see him the more I'm dying for the next moment. He's not even gone yet, and I already feel this absence."I also have to talk to you about your car,"

"I'm getting the money for it." I nod.

"No, not about that, exactly." Embry gives me a look that makes me feel like I'm a kid he's babysitting. As if he needs to tell me something serious, but he cant tell me.

"You know Jacob wouldn't hold these repairs over you. I—We hope you don't feel pressured to pay for it. We just hope you know Winnie there's no rush, and Jacob and you can work something out."

"But I do have to pay him." I point out. This conversation feels like we're picking up exactly where Maisie and I left off earlier. It's such an unusually good timing to talk about exactly what's been on my mind all day, as well as what I was talking about moments before Embry and Paul got here. As if Embry was part of my talk about the Hooters shift without even being present.

"Okay... I just don't want you to feel like you have to do a bank job or something to pay Jacob." I'm relieved Embry finally lightens up a bit, sounding more like his usual self. Though it feels as if we are speaking about the Hooters shift somehow, and Embry is nudging at how he wouldn't want me to do it.

I've only seen Embry this serious a handful times. I'm the one who always worry, not Embry. Not knowing what else to do, I pull a classic Embry mood.

"I think it's really sweet of you to worry about me." It's odd to be the one flirting instead of Embry. The creases in his face finally smooth out to something near sheepish.

"Of course I am." Embry adds.

"I've been worry about you." I don't tell him how I've been worried over him for the last few days. With his work schedule and constant responsibilities Embry is already stretched thin. Now, throughout my day I stop whatever I'm doing to wonder if he's eaten or if he's sleeping, or running around for someone. It makes just want to call him to hear him say he's alright, but I always manage to stop myself before I dial his number and interrupting his day.

"I'm glad your eye is better." I add, glancing over his eye. Whatever Old Quil gave Embry worked. It was gone overnight. Practically as if it never happened.