Loathe at First Sight: A small-town enemies to lovers romance: The Lawsons: Book 1 (The Lawson's)

4. A Not-So-Warm Welcome

four

Liz

Taking a deep breath, I walk toward the door of Andre’s Tavern. Before I even walk inside, I can hear the loud country music playing over the speakers. This place is more honkytonk than anything else.

When I step in, I see that not much has changed. The same animal heads hang on the walls. The same neon signs light up, advertising different beers on tap. Hell, even some of the same patrons sit at the stools around the lacquered oak bar top.

A few people turn around to look at me, and I swear I hear some whispers. Maybe it’s the fact that I look like I’ve just been through a tsunami. Or maybe it’s that people are wondering what the fuck I’m doing back here. I have no idea what my parents have or haven’t told people about why I had to move home. I don’t know which of those scenarios would be harder—if everyone knew my business or if people just guessed at what that business might be.

Thankfully, people’s attention turns away from me pretty quickly.

Growing up, this place was always our second home. Despite the fact that it was a bar, that never stopped my parents from having us around. When we were little, and they had just bought it, we would hang out in the office, playing make-believe games with a disconnected phone and keyboard. As we got older and hit our teenage years, Mom and Dad would let us come in and work for some extra cash. They didn’t let us serve drinks or anything, but we all were well-versed in washing dishes and mopping floors before Andre’s opened for the day.

I spot my mother at the bar. She’s talking on the phone and scribbling something on the small notepad in front of her.

Suzanne Lawson.

A woman who I have idolized my whole life—no matter how different she and I may be. She made raising five kids look easy while still managing to help my father run his dream business.

The woman thrives in chaos and does her best work under pressure. My insane work ethic is definitely a trait that I inherited from her.

She may be short in stature, but everyone in this town knows better than to mess with Suzanne. She takes no shit from anyone—including us kids.

There was no question that our mom loved us. She was our biggest cheerleader in everything we did. But she was also tough. She always pushed us to what she knew we were capable of. She’d go to war for us without question, but she wasn’t overly affectionate. Our dad took on more of that role.

I watch her tap her pen on the bar, clearly getting annoyed with whoever is on the other end. Probably one of her distributors who is giving her bad news that an order is going to take longer than expected. She blows her blonde bangs out of her face and chews on her bottom lip.

As if she can feel me staring, her eyes dart to mine. And they stay there, watching me like a hawk as I force my legs to move toward her. When I reach the bar, she’s just hanging up the phone.

“Hi, Mom.”

Her eyes move from mine back to the notes she was writing on her notepad. As she scribbles, she replies, “Hello, Eliza. You’re late.”

“Car trouble,” I tell her.

“Did you call your brother?”

I nod. “He didn’t answer.”

“Why didn’t you call us?” I wonder if she was asking just to give me shit, or if she was worried about why I was late.

“A tow truck driver drove by and helped.”

That doesn’t get me a response. Her stoic exterior makes it impossible to tell what she’s thinking. Usually, she’s not quite so prickly.

But when she’s mad? Watch out.

A moment later, she says, “Your dad and I have a few more hours here. Why don’t you go on and head to the house?”

“Uhm, okay. But about that, can I borrow your car? Mine is in the shop.”

Before she has a chance to answer, my dad comes walking out of the kitchen.

“Suzanne, have you—” When he sees me, he loses his train of thought. “Lizzie Lou!”

He’s the only one in the entire world that I will still let call me that name.

He runs to the other side of the bar and wraps me in a giant hug. “Man, I’ve missed you!”

“I missed you too, Dad.”

“I’m glad you got here okay. We were getting worried about you.”

“Yeah, sorry. My car broke down, and I had to have it towed.”

Mom interjects, “Eliza was just asking to borrow one of our cars so that she can get back to the house.”

“Of course,” he says, pulling his keys out of his pocket and handing them to me. “What do you say the three of us do lunch tomorrow?”

Mom purses her lips together. “I’m busy. I’m meeting with a new supplier.”

He looks back at me. “Well, then, how about just the two of us?”

“Sounds great.”

I’d prefer it that way.

He gives me a huge, warm smile, showing off his pearly whites. That smile of his has prompted almost every woman in town to ask him out at one point or another. Andreas, or Andre as everyone around here calls him, got his mother’s Greek genes…and the Greek name.

Most women in town think that he’s ridiculously good-looking. Any of them would have gone home with him in a heartbeat. But ever since he met my mom, he’s only had eyes for her.

I take the keys from him and say a quick goodbye. As much fun as this little reunion has been, I’m exhausted.

That becomes more apparent when I take the short drive to their house and am barely able to keep my eyes open. After driving from Los Angeles to Oregon, I’m sick of being in a car.

This old pickup truck is just about as old as I am. But the thing still runs like a dream.

Less than ten minutes later, I’m walking through the door of my childhood home. As I step into the living room, a million memories hit me all at once. Although a few minor things have changed—a bigger TV and a new couch—this place is exactly the same.

The whole house always smells like vanilla. That was the only candle scent Mom would ever burn. Maybe that’s why I like vanilla body wash so much. It reminds me of home.

Or maybe it just smells good.

I’ve never put much stock into psychology.

Slowly, I walk through the living room, looking at all of the photos on the walls. The biggest frame holds a picture from our last family vacation. We took a trip to Yellowstone National Park shortly before I graduated high school. That was the last time we were all in the same place at the same time for more than a few days.

In the photo, we are all smiling. I remember right before this was taken, we were all hot, sweaty, and miserable. It”s funny how a picture can hide all of that. But overall, it was still a fun trip.

All of us kids resemble our dad with our skin tone, brown eyes, and dark hair. Michelle is the only one even close to Mom because her hair is a few shades lighter than the rest of us, so it’s a dark brown rather than black. Poor Mom. She had five kids, and not a single one of them looked like her. Those Greek genes of Dad’s are strong, and he passed them along to all of us. Mom’s blonde hair and blue eyes didn’t stand a chance.

Most of the other photos are all of us kids. Some are from graduations. Some are from when we were little. But all of them show exactly how proud our parents were of their babies.

None of the frames match, and there’s no rhyme or reason to any of them. The whole house is pretty much like that—just a collection of random things that they’ve accumulated over the years. I wouldn’t say that the place is cluttered, but it’s pretty damn close.

Back in Los Angeles, my house was the definition of organized. Everything had a specific place, and it would drive me crazy if things were strewn about. And everything matched.

I let out a deep sigh and decide to head upstairs. I can walk down memory lane tomorrow after I’ve gotten some sleep.

The door to my old bedroom creaks as I push it open. This is one of the only rooms in the house that seems to have changed over the years. After I moved out, they originally turned it into a room for Eve, Michelle’s daughter, since Michelle was still living at home when she was born. After they moved out, Mom turned it into a guest room.

For who? I have no idea. They never have anyone come over that isn’t already local. Even when I used to come home to visit, I would usually stay at the town inn rather than here. I would have done the same this time if I had any money.

I throw my bag down on one side of the bed and fall in a heap on the other. I stare up at the ceiling, watching the fan go round and round.

What the fuck has happened to me?

Not all that long ago, I had my perfect life. It was the life I’d dreamed of for myself. And in the blink of an eye, it all was ripped away. Now, I’m right back to square one.

I rub my eyes, thinking that I don’t want to break open the pity pinata right now.

The room is so quiet that it makes it easy to get lost in my own thoughts, so I reach for my phone and turn on my favorite true crime podcast that I was listening to on the drive. I tell myself that in a minute, I’m going to get up and take a shower before going to bed. I’m sure it will help me feel better.

But as I get comfortable on top of the thick blankets, I am entranced by the words of the podcast. It’s a small thing from my old life that gives me a bit of comfort.

And before I know it, my eyelids grow too heavy to bear, and I’m out like a light.