Lemons and Roses

Episode4

Today I have another interview.

It is at a club uptown.

I don't expect anything different this time. I have stopped expecting things to go well a long time ago. But I still went. I still showed up, still ironed one of my decent shirts, still forced myself into another room where people would decide what kind of life I was allowed to have.

Not because I believed in it.

Just because I had nothing else to do.

“Miss Bennett, you can come in tomorrow for your first shift.”

I blinked.

For a second, I didn’t process the words at all. They didn’t connect to anything inside my head.

The man behind the desk continued talking like he hadn’t just changed the direction of my entire week.

“Tasha will show you around today. She’ll train you for two weeks. You’ll be paid during training. Your shift runs from 6 p.m. to 5 a.m. If you have any issues, you can go to her or come to me. Is that okay, Miss Bennett?”

Okay?

I stared at him.

My mind kept trying to find the part where this became a misunderstanding. Where he suddenly said, actually no, wrong person, sorry.

Because that’s what usually happened.

Not this.

Not this easy.

I opened my mouth, then closed it again.

Did I hear him correctly?

Was I already hired?

My thoughts immediately went to Juliet. To the restaurant. To the way things had collapsed after I allowed myself to believe, even for a second, that I was safe somewhere.

A job always came with a countdown.

And I had learned not to trust countdowns.

“Mr… Cooper,” I started.

“Just Cooper,” he corrected, without looking up.

“Cooper,” I repeated carefully. “I think… maybe you didn’t notice something on my CV.”

He finally looked at me properly.

That alone made my chest tighten.

“Why do you think I didn’t notice?” he asked.

I hesitated.

“Because you didn’t ask.”

My voice sounded unsure even to me.

“I’ve been applying for jobs for a while,” I continued quickly, like if I slowed down I would lose courage. “People usually bring it up. The gap. Ten years. I… I was in prison. For murder. So I thought it’s better you know now. Before you decide to fire me later.”

Silence.

Not the soft kind.

The kind that feels like it has weight.

My heart started to race.

I waited for the change in his face. The disgust. The polite dismissal. The security call.

It didn’t come.

Instead, he leaned back slightly.

“I saw the gap,” he said simply.

My stomach dropped.

“I figured it wasn’t something good. You were convicted for murder..."

My hands tightened at my sides.

“But you’ve served your sentence,” he continued. “This is a club, Miss Bennett. Not a courtroom. Not a corporate office. Nobody here is a saint.”

His eyes held mine for a moment.

“What matters to me is simple. You show up. You do your job. You don’t cause problems for my staff or my customers. And I pay you.”

I stood still, barely breathing.

“You might be a psychopathic killer for all I care,” he added bluntly. “As long as you don’t act like one here, it’s not my business.”

That should have hurt.

It should have sounded cruel.

But instead…

It felt like something else entirely.

It felt like being seen without being judged at the same time.

Which was rare.

Uncomfortably rare.

My throat tightened before I even realised what was happening.

“Miss Bennett,” he said again, softer this time but still firm, “can you try to keep your emotions in check? I don’t like people crying in front of me.”

That was when I realised there were tears on my face.

I touched my cheek slowly, almost confused.

“Oh,” I whispered. “I’m sorry.”

I wiped my face quickly, embarrassed by how easily it had happened.

“I didn’t expect to get the job,” I said, letting out a shaky breath. “Thirty-one interviews… will do that to a person.”

Something almost like amusement crossed his face, but it didn’t turn into a smile.

“Well,” he said, “you won’t get judgment here. If you can serve drinks, I can pay you.”

For a second, I just stood there.

Then I nodded.

“Thank you,” I said quietly. “Mr… sorry—Cooper.”

“You’re welcome.”

He leaned slightly toward the door. “Tasha!”

The door opened almost immediately.

“Miss me already, Coop?” a voice called before she even stepped in fully. “I saw you like two hours ago.”

A beautiful woman with red hair appeared in the doorway, holding a stack of papers and a pen tucked behind her ear. She looked relaxed, like she belonged exactly where she was.

“Two hours ago,” Cooper replied flatly, “I didn’t have a new employee. Get in here.”

She rolled her eyes but walked in anyway.

Then she looked at me.

“This is Rue,” Cooper said, gesturing toward me. “Rue, this is Tasha. You’ll be assigned to private booths. She’ll show you around today. You start properly tomorrow.”

“Hi,” Tasha said simply, nodding toward the door. “Come with me.”

I followed her.

The club was bigger than I expected.

Louder, too, even when it wasn’t full of people yet.

Tasha showed me everything without rushing. The private booths downstairs—dim lighting, soft seating, places where conversations were meant to disappear. The private rooms further back, locked and quieter, like secrets stored behind closed doors.

Upstairs, there was a lounge that overlooked the entire dance floor. Even empty, it felt alive. Like it was always waiting for something to begin.

“It gets crazy at night,” Tasha said casually as we walked. “But you’ll get used to it.”

I wasn’t sure I would ever get used to anything again.

But I nodded anyway.

By the time the tour ended, I realised I had been holding my breath in different parts of the building without noticing.

“Thanks,” I said when we reached the exit. “For showing me around.”

She gave a small shrug. “Don’t mention it. You seem alright.”

That simple sentence stayed with me longer than expected.

On my way home, I stopped by the bridge.

I had passed it earlier without paying attention, just another structure in a city full of them. But now, standing near it, I slowed down.

The river below moved calmly, like it had nothing to prove to anyone. The water reflected the sky in soft pieces of light.

I stepped closer to the edge.

The wind brushed my face gently.

For a long time, I just stood there.

No thoughts about prison. No interviews. No rejection.

Just silence.

And something unfamiliar sitting quietly under it.

Hope.

Not loud. Not certain.

Just a small, fragile possibility that maybe things could still change.

Maybe I wasn’t done yet.

Maybe I could still live.

I closed my eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and let myself hold onto that thought—carefully, like something that could break if I gripped it too hard.

This has to be it, this has to be the sign I've been waiting on.