Rhiannon's POV
Wednesday nights weren't usually crowded. Sometimes the hipsters would come in after their bible studies down the road, but it shouldn't be too busy. A summer shower dripped tracks of raindrops down the windows.
It should have made the dimly lit bar feel cozy, but instead, it felt dismal.
Rhiannon popped the tops off a couple of beers and handed them to a man who was prattling on about the difference between lagers and IPAs to his friend. He barely acknowledged Rhiannon, and that was okay.
Every time the back door creaked open, Rhiannon's stomach plummeted. She didn't know if she could stand to face John today. Or any day.
"Miss," a gray haired woman snapped.
"Oh, sorry," Rhiannon jumped, hurrying to assist the woman.
"You really should be paying more attention to your customers," the woman chided.
"I'm so sorry, how can I help you?" Rhiannon asked.