"Hey, Eddie, I’m hearing some things…" Barney’s next to him today, boldly slicing a massive pork leg, turning it into fillets, seasoning them, and prepping them for the evening. "You’re fighting again?"

  "Who told you?" Eddie turns to him, answering more quietly.

  "Everyone’s talking about it." Barney looks around. "Probably came from Cork. And he said we’re getting someone new. Probably to replace you."

  They obviously knew. But Eddie still doesn’t want it coming from his mouth. It’s early afternoon, and he’s still busy making sure the vegetables are clean. Then he’ll chop them up to be ready for the night. This is his last week here, that’s true. But he doesn’t want it spreading around. Though it seems it’s already too late for that. He’s not worried about his coworkers finding out. What worries him is that if they know, sooner or later, Maisie will too. He’s taken a step forward—she’s okay with him training. Or rather, she doesn’t mind it. Now comes the second step: telling her he won’t be working so he can train. But with that second step comes the third. If he’s not working to train, it means he’s seriously taking the fight. And he doesn’t know how to tell Maisie that.

  "Well, look at you, little boxer."

  Beatrice has her hands propped on the counter that separates the kitchen from the servers. She’s resting her head on them and speaking so loudly it echoes everywhere. Eddie’s lucky it’s early enough that not everyone’s around yet.

  Eddie glances at Barney. He shrugs.

  "You’ve got it mixed up." He tries to change the subject.

  "Rory Flint? For real? I went to school with him. I don’t know, sweetie, but I don’t think you’ve got much of a chance." She peels herself off the counter and starts throwing goofy punches at the air to mock him. Barney laughs.

  "It’s not set yet." Eddie corrects her. "And don’t call me sweetie."

  "Yeah, Bea. He’s got a wife." Barney defends him, but it’s more to tease.

  "Well, that’s just how I talk. And Eddie really is sweet."

  "And ten years older than you."

  "Less than that. But it doesn’t matter anyway."

  "Don’t you have something else to do?" Eddie jumps in, trying to shoo her off.

  "I do, but I thought I’d mess with you a bit. And Rory Flint—" She repeats his name, saying it harder this time. "That’s a big bite for a retiree like you."

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  "It’s neither set nor your business."

  "I’ll cheer for you." She winks at him playfully. "And you can bet I’ll be in the gym."

  Barney points at Beatrice with his knife, she pretends to be scared, and then slips out of the kitchen, disappearing into the distance.

  "I think I get what’s eating you." Always-cheerful Barney’s serious now.

  "You’re right, Barney. I don’t know how you all know, but yeah, this is pretty much my last week. Then I’m heading to the gym."

  "You coming back?"

  "From what I know, the fight’s in about a month, blondie." He uses the nickname Barney hates—it always grabs his attention. "Which means the month after that, healthy or not, I’m back here."

  "If Cork still wants you."

  "You won’t get rid of me that easy." Eddie hands him a peeled carrot. Barney takes it and bites into it boldly.

  "The money good at least?" he asks with a full mouth, crunching the carrot remnants.

  "Really good. But I don’t want to spill anything."

  "I started training once too." Barney declares proudly. "Got to the nationals, and my mom saw me with a bloody nose and stopped me after the first match. Took a lot of shame in front of my classmates. I’d won, turned around to celebrate, and instead of my coach’s happy face, I saw her. She’d climbed into the ring. Never been so scared in my life."

  "And you didn’t go back?"

  "Didn’t go back out of shame. Stayed home for a whole week. Felt like the whole town knew and would mock me. Didn’t even want to hear about the gym."

  "Maisie’s the same way. She doesn’t want me fighting."

  "I don’t know, Eddie. If you’d asked me five years ago, I’d have said follow your dreams and all that, but now… I think our moms and wives might be right."

  "What would you do if you were me?"

  "In your shoes? You mean Maisie really won’t let you?" Whether by chance or not, Barney hit the mark. "I thought you were kidding." His blond coworker pauses to think. "I don’t know. I’d probably listen to my wife. But like I said, it depends. Boxing was never that exciting for me. I don’t even watch sports in general. But if the money’s good…"

  "Now you see what I’ve been mulling over all day."

  "If you haven’t agreed, why are we even having this talk? And how does everyone know before you?"

  How’s he supposed to explain he’s wondering the same thing? Either Cork’s been blabbing and it’s spread by word of mouth, or Brantley’s proving once again how small a town it is—news here travels at the speed of light. The truth is, if Barney knows in the kitchen and Beatrice knows in the restaurant, by the end of the day, even the customers will hear about a fight between Rory Flint and some cook.

  As he thinks it, he’s already imagining the town headlines. Rory Flint vs. Eddie Walsh—The Cook. That’d sell. Can the young hope take down a cook? Or can a cook knock out boxing’s rising legend?

  "One hour till opening." Cork’s voice booms through the kitchen, pulling him out of his daydreams. "In thirty minutes, I’m checking your prep. No excuses if you’re not ready."