4. Violet
Chapter 4
Violet
The bar is extremely packed for a Friday night. It must be because of the new set the Thornwood Heartbreakers are playing.
I recognize almost every face I see. All small-town folks. Farmers finished from a long day of work, the small business owners from the strip of town, blue collar workers, and almost everyone else that lives in the surrounding properties. A few tourists are here also. When the weather gets a little warmer more of them start rolling in for hiking trips, camping, and fishing. So, we all try to enjoy the time the town is empty when we can relax before the influx of people.
As we make our way closer to the bar, there are only two empty seats left. And they are not directly next to each other. A man sits in the middle. So, Olive and I will most likely be split up. All of the round oak tables that line the center between the bar and stage are filled. Once the night goes on some townies dance in front of the stage and tables.
The bar is decorated in a rustic theme. A live edge counter coated in epoxy follows the left wall. Recessed lighting shades the inside in a warm glow. Assorted bottles of alcohol are neatly arranged on a few shelves behind the counter. Vintage tin signs hang all over the establishment, some with coca cola, betty boop, and corona. Adorning the walls with accents of color that pop against the dark wood paneled walls. Glasses clink and drip with condensation. The faint aroma of smoke and beer lingers in the air.
“Well, this sucks,” Olive says as we make it to the black leather stools. The man sitting in the center is someone I don’t think I’ve met before. He is tall, that much I can tell even though he’s sitting. His boots hit the floor, where mine normally dangle high above the stone, tiled floor when sitting on the stools. His hair is short and brown with streaks of natural dirty blonde. He's dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a forest green and white striped flannel. I’m not sure who he is because I can’t see his face.
“Who’s that?” I whisper in Olive’s ear.
“Who? Him?” she shouts over the chatter and points directly at him.
I tug on her arm, pressing my pointer finger against my lips. “Shhhh. Yes, I don’t recognize him.”
“Oh, I have no clue who that is.” She giggles, whispering this time, “Isn’t he dreamy?”
I don’t know if he's dreamy. How would she know? He hasn’t turned around yet.
“Are you already drunk?” I ask. “You are too giggly, and you haven’t even had a sip yet.”
“I may have prepared before we came.” She winks.
Oh no. Here we go again.
She makes bad decisions when drinking. Normally involving guys. Hopefully Chad isn’t here. He’s her ex-boyfriend. And he is notorious for breaking her heart.
“Okay, I’m gonna ask if he will move down a stool so that we can sit together,” I say as I grab her arm, “Stay here, okay?”
“Yes ma'am.” She hiccups.
I roll my eyes and approach the mystery man. I tap him on the shoulder, and he looks at me. And that’s when it clicks. I've met him before. A memory flashes in my mind of a few days earlier.
Mr. Grumpy.
Olive was right, he is dreamy. I understand all too well. I am utterly speechless again.
“Yes?—you again,” he grumbles, his husky voice laced with annoyance once he recognizes me.
Boy, do I regret touching him. I think I poked a bear. He scowls, eyebrows furrowed in a disapproving glare. And the instant attraction I felt towards him fades away—yet again. As for my willingness to be friendly and swoon.
“Who’s been peeing in his wheaties?” I think to myself but whisper out loud without control.
“Excuse me?” He crosses his strong arms over his chest, looking even more annoyed.
Oh! I cover my mouth with my hand.
“Oh crap. Did I say that out loud?”
“Yep. Indeed, you did. What do you want?”
Hmmm. Okay. I get it. He’s not a happy camper.
I didn’t mean to go blurting my inner thoughts. I meant to keep that thought shoved away. Deep in the confines of my mind.
But it’s too late now to take it back. Maybe I should roll with it?
“Look, my friend and I showed up late and we wanted to sit next to each other. I point to Olive standing behind me and she gives a pearly white smile, all her teeth on display, and a wave. “Would you be able to move down a seat so that we aren’t separated? Please. If you don’t mind? I didn’t mean to bother you again. And I’m so sorry about hitting you in the head.” I ask as nicely as I can, feeling slightly bad for disturbing him and saying that comment aloud. Kill with kindness, right?
“I do mind, actually. I was here first. And I happen to like sitting here. It’s the best view of the stage.”
So that’s how it’s going to be. Two can play at this game.
“Are we twelve? ‘I was here first.’ I haven’t heard that one since middle school. And is one stool down going to block your view of the stage? I don’t think so.”
“Whatever you want to think, darling.”
Darling? I am not anyone’s darling . First, he calls me Miss, now I’m darling! What’s it going to be next? I don’t think the next one is going to be a nice term of endearment.
I’ve come to the conclusion that he is a gigantic jerk. And this will not end well.
Tonight, I will end up doing one of two things: making my one phone call to Olive, while at the police department, begging her to bail me out. Or two, punching this guy straight in his smug face. I hope the latter, but both could actually happen, I realize.
I need to be civil; we are here for a good time. It’s not like I want to choose violence. Or have these negative thoughts. That’s normally Olive's forte. What has gotten into me? Something about his instant scowl set me off.
“Hey Olive, Mr. Grumpy won’t move. So, I guess we have to be separated,” I say loud enough so he can hear.
“I don’t care as long as I can order a drink,” she says and waves over the bartender, ordering a whiskey neat. The bartender/owner, Mason, knows my order so I don’t have to say anything. I never stray from my usual, while Olive likes to change up her order every time. Mason smiles at me and starts making our drinks.
I sit at the bar, sliding my fingers across the smooth wood grain surface. The lights are bright in here, but the dark walls make it a relaxing environment. Sounds start to travel from the stage, announcing the band's first song.
The microphone whizzes and the sounds of someone tapping on it fills the bar. The chatter of the once loud environment dies down. “Ahhem, thank you all for being here to hear our new set. The first cover we’re going to play is ‘Drinkin' my baby (off my mind)’ by Eddie Rabbitt.” The singer's voice sounds across the bar with melancholy. Mason slides my beverage towards me across the bar.
“One mocktail for Vivi and a whiskey neat for Olive.”
“Thanks Mason. How’s business?” I ask.
“No problem. Anything for you.” He wipes the counter off with a rag. “The last couple weekends have been packed so I’m hiring a couple more employees. The Heartbreakers have been bringing in a ton of customers lately.”
“Call me or stop by if you need any help before you find someone.”
“You’re the best. I might need you next weekend if I can’t find anyone by then.”
“Mason!” Olive calls, trying to get his attention before I can answer.
“Olive!” He shakes his head and shoots her a grin.
“I’m making some strawberry pop tarts on Monday as a test. I want to perfect them before I add it to the breakfast menu. If you stop by in the morning, you can be my test subject.”
“I’ll be there, no doubts about it. My stomach is already grumbling.”
“Hey! Where’s my invite? Are we not best friends anymore?” I tease Olive, knowing all too well I’m not about to miss out on her pastries. Her coffee shop, The Olive Bean, is a daily stop before I open for the day. It keeps me sane.
“Well, you would’ve known you were already invited if you listened to me on the walk here. You were in a bubble thinking about the chickens, remember? I had a full-on conversation with myself.”
“Oops, sorry Olive, I’ll be there.”
“Good.” She nudges Grumpy with her elbow, and he grunts in response while turning his gaze to her. “You want to join us on Friday at the Olive Bean a half hour before I open? Strawberry Poptarts.” She wiggles her eyebrows up and down.
“I don’t know.”
“Come on. They’ll be delicious. Hopefully. I can always use a few more opinions.”
“Okay. I’ll stop by for a few minutes.”
I glare at Olive, and she winks at me.
“See you guys Friday,” Mason says and then turns towards someone looking for a drink.
The sounds from the song flicker through my ears. It soothes my agitation caused by my companion next to me. Until he speaks again.
“Mocktail? Are you a square?”
That’s it, I will be in jail tonight!
“Does it look like I’m a square?” I ask, bewildered someone could even possibly utter something so disrespectful and judgmental, and lack manners. “Wait, don’t even answer that question,” I say huffing while taking a sip of the sweet goodness.
He chuckles. I’d love to swipe that smug grin off his face. “I mean that chicken sweatshirt screams it.”
“I hope the rooster leaves a surprise on him,” I mumble under my breath.
“What was that?”
“Oh I was saying how I’m the squarest square of all. Ninety-degree corners and all. So boring. You shouldn’t talk to me, you might fall asleep from all the fuddy-duddy emanating from me.”
Yep, that was the worst comeback I have ever thought of.
“Ha. Okay, fuddy-duddy ,” he says while leaning back on the bar stool.
“Okay, Wade Walker.”
“Who’s Wade and what does he have to do with this?” He scruffs his short hair, looking perplexed.
“Wade Walker from the movie Cry-Baby . Only the greatest 90s movie of all time.” I pause to contain my astonishment. “You called me a square like the drapes and squares in the movie; that's what he has to do with this.”
“Never heard of it.” He takes a sip of his drink.
Another red flag in my book.
The band plays a few more songs, “Fishin’ in the dark” by The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, “I fall to pieces” by Patsy Cline, “Ring of Fire” by Johnny Cash. People dance, sing and sway to the soothing melodies. The band sounds amazing. And I am having a great time. Olive is dancing with Mason in front of the stage. He twirls her around to the thrumming sounds. Her hair swooshes in a cloud around them.
They have been good friends for years and I always wondered when they would become something more than friends. But at the moment I don’t think Olive notices how Mason looks at her.
I’m getting ready to leave as the last song plays when I see Constance at the microphone. I widen my eyes.
This has to be good.
Constance, Chuck’s wife, is Thornwood Valley’s gossip executive—yes, that’s what she refers to herself as. She feels it's her job (self-appointed), since no one else has any interest in keeping the town updated with things that go on. Every small town has someone that is in charge of spreading the word about all of the gossip and happenings. She was the one to fill the position. Constance runs the town’s events and is part of the gossip mill.
She also owns The Chop Shop, the town's only barber shop. The business was inherited from her parents when she graduated high school. Chelsea, her daughter, now runs the place and continues their legacy. Bobbie and Annie are the other two parts of her trio. They meet twice a week updating each other with the comings and goings of the town. They aren’t mean spirited, but they will find out all of your secrets and make them public knowledge. They like to involve themselves in matchmaking, events, and anything that happens.
Secrets are hard to keep in our small town.
“Hi everyone, I hope you had a good time tonight. I have an exciting announcement before you leave.” Constance brushes an imaginary piece of lint from her floral dress and continues, “As you all know, starting Monday the town's annual spring festival month starts. And it's a special one, the twentieth anniversary since the first one ever celebrated in our quaint town. That means it's time for everyone to be partnered up in groups of two. Each group will team together to participate in all of the events.”
How could I have forgotten? Every year this happens in the first week of March. The events commence. And every business owner is entered into a bucket that is drawn at random. We are all pulled in groups of two to compete with the other teams. It raises money for all of the small businesses. Tourists come to our town to watch the festivities and participate in games set up. They stay in the cabins and at the Cozy Cabin Inn. Some town folks also bet on who they think will win. The grand total profit is split between all of the businesses. So that’s why everyone tries to participate. If you don’t participate you don’t get a part of the cut. The grand winners—two small business owners—also get a plaque to display on their business for the year. It’s a whole thought-out event. It lasts the whole month, competitions commencing every Saturday.
“Quiet down everyone. It’s time to draw teams.” She reaches into the wooden barrel and starts pulling names. Annie and Bobbie are on the stage now assisting with the name drawing. Constance adjusts her reading glasses on her nose and reads the first few couplings into the microphone. “Mason and Chloe, you are the first team.” She pauses between each name while she is handed another slip from Annie. “Bobbie and Paula.” She adds an extra pause for dramatic suspense. “Annie—and Olive.” You are now paired together.”
I hear Olive grunt from the dance floor. I try to stifle a laugh but fail miserably. The pair ended up together last year too, and they argued the whole time. Not that they don’t get along. They’re both self-assured. It was hilarious to watch.
“Violet and—” Drumroll. Please be someone I get along with. Please. Please. Please!
“—Dustin,” she says, smiling in my direction.
Who’s Dustin?
“Wait, are you Violet?” Grumpy says, a line appears between his brows.
I nod in reply. He lets out a long audible sigh of frustration.
My eyes widen in horror.
“I’m guessing your name is Dustin then?” I ask, although I already have a strong suspicion. He scruffs his hair and stares at me with those enticing blue eyes that I could let myself be lost in. I don’t want to fall into them, but a part of me does at the same time. It’s a conflicting battle.
His head sags in defeat and he nods.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I yell in protest.
The whole bar quiets to hushed whispers. They stare at us in question. Constance speaks into her microphone, “Shhh, you two. Meet me after if you have questions.”
She continues to call names, but I don’t hear anything. I am boiling. I set my head on the counter on top of my crossed arms. Time passes by and after a while a tap on my shoulder breaks me from my reverie. I look up and see Olive grinning at me. The bar has since thinned out and most people are gone.
“So, I can tell we both got the short end of the straw this year. At least your partner’s attractive,” she says.
I scoff. Spotting Dustin making his way to Constance, I follow quickly. “Wait for me!” I call over my shoulder to Olive as she shrugs and leans back against the bar.
I make it to them as they start to talk. Huffing and puffing from running to the stage, I try to catch my breath.
“Why am I in the drawing? I'm not a business owner,” his deep guttural voice rumbles.
“Well, honey you are now. You took over the farm from your grandparents yesterday. Did you not?” Constance flips through a clipboard absentmindedly, seeming the least bit concerned over Dustin’s reaction.
“Ummm, yes. I guess I did.”
“Then, there's your answer hun. You are now a business owner and if you want to split a part of the profit, you need to participate. Don’t forget to start practicing. Starting Saturday, the first event is the chicken race. Good luck.”
And with that she makes eye contact with me and winks. Her short gray hair spins and is gone as fast as she made it here.
What was that wink about? I wonder.
“See you Saturday, Grumpy.” I tap him on the arm and walk away.
Olive meets me at the door. “I can’t stand him,” I say as we leave.
“You obviously like him, but believe what you want!” She chuckles.
Absolutely not.
If we are stuck together, I am not going down without a fight. We might be partners, but I’m not making this easy on him.