Chapter 5 #2
Lizzie’s family spends pretty much the entire day at the bar or in the apartment upstairs.
I’ve always known about the living quarters, having gone up there once or twice to get some things Chuck stored up there, but as far back as I can remember, it’s been empty.
I learned quickly that the new owner of this place has been staying up there since she was given the key, but it’s in desperate need of some TLC.
Once everyone got the bar area cleaned up a bit, the small changes they were making complete, and the new sign hung above the door outside, they all turned their attention above us, where they’ve been the last few hours.
“This place already looks better.”
I turn my attention to Larry, one of the regulars, and nod. “It does.”
“And I don’t hate the name,” Burt adds, studying the freshly painted logo on the mirror behind the bar.
Once BJ finished the sign, she turned her attention to the mirror and duplicated the business name and logo from the sign.
It still makes me smile. The lizard holds a beer in each hand, looking like he’s had a few too many.
It’s a testament to BJ’s talent as an artist, to be able to bring the character to life and actually make him look a little tipsy.
I learned BJ’s an accomplished tattoo artist, married to Isaac—or Numbers as everyone calls him—and is Jameson’s sister.
I grunt in response, because to be honest, I don’t either.
I thought I’d disapprove of anything she came up with, but that’s not the case.
And knowing the connection beneath the lizard nickname and her pseudo-uncles is kinda sweet.
It’s like an ode to her extended family yet still keeping true to herself.
Don’t tell her, but it’s all sort of growing on me.
“And it’s brighter in here, right?” Gus asks, glancing around the room. “Don’t tell me that’s just from cleaning.”
I snort. “I think they took two inches of smoke and dirt off the windows,” I tell them, wiping off the counter near where they sit.
“Maybe that’s it,” Tom replies with a hearty laugh.
“She said she’s gonna paint too but promised to take care of saving what she can from what’s on the walls and ceiling.
My very first dollar bill tip to Chuck is hanging right there,” Jarrod announces, pointing to the spot above the bar where he signed and stapled his contribution to the then-new owner.
In less than twenty-four hours, since she asked me to give her thirty days, she’s already making good on her promise.
Of course, the little things she’s done so far are small, cosmetic updates.
I know some of the bigger, more costly ones are yet to come, so I suppose we’ll see if she holds true to keeping the same feel this place has always had.
I hear movement at the back of the bar and watch as Walker makes his way toward me. “Hungry?” he asks, putting the pizza box on the counter.
My stomach growls the moment it smells the Italian goodness in the box, causing Walker to chuckle.
“Have at it,” he says, taking a step back and leaning against the bar. He looks around the room and greets the regulars while I take a bite of sausage pizza. It’s from the diner down the block, and even though they’re not an authentic Italian restaurant, their pizza is pretty damn good.
“Thanks,” I tell him when his attention is returned to me.
He lifts his chin in acknowledgement, and even though he doesn’t say a word, I have a feeling there’s something on his mind. So, I wait him out.
It’s not until I’ve finished my first slice when he finally speaks. “It wasn’t easy for me to step back and watch as my oldest daughter picked up and moved away from the only home she’s ever known. She’s embedded in the walls of Burgers and Brew the same way my best friends and I are.”
He glances at the mirror behind the bar where the new name is proudly declared and smiles. “I thought she’d always be there, with her blond hair, green eyes, and big smile, but that’s not where her heart lies. It’s here.”
He pins me with a look so intense, so forceful, I almost take a step back from the pressure.
“I’m not asking you to watch out for her.
She doesn’t need a babysitter. My Lou is the strongest fucking girl I know, second only to her mother.
Both of them are total badasses,” he says, a faint smile on his lips.
“What I am asking is that you respect her, as your boss and as a woman. This industry, like many, can be harsher on the fairer sex, but I’m not worried about her.
She knows what she’s doing, and she’ll lead by example.
She’ll follow her gut and her heart. She’ll earn the love and respect of everyone around her, I’m certain.
I’m asking you to give her a chance and to treat her right. ”
My throat is a little thick as I gaze at a man—a loving father—who is asking me to be good to his daughter. Not in a romantic way, of course, but as a woman and a superior.
He’s not wrong. This industry can be harder on women.
Men who come to a bar and think they can say or do whatever they want to the woman behind the counter.
Not that it doesn’t happen the other way around too, but it seems even more troublesome for women.
The respect I have for Walker Meyer is endless, and I just fucking met him.
Extending my hand, I vow, “I promise. She’s in good hands here.”
He seems to relax a little more, having said what he felt needed to be said about his daughter.
“Thank you,” he replies, taking my offered hand and shaking it.
“Also, don’t tell her I gave you this, because she’ll hand me my ass on a platter,” he adds, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a business card.
I take the card and glance down. It’s a Burgers and Brew card with a list of names and numbers on the back.
“That’s my cell, as well as the three guys you met today. The last number is for Garreth Taylor, our manager. If for some reason you can’t get ahold of the four names above it, call him. Every name on that list I trust with my life…and my daughter’s.”
I nod and slip it into my own pocket. “I hope I never have to use it.”
He cracks a little smile. “Me too. Might not be pretty for anyone involved.” After a beat he adds, “I’ll let you get back to work. I need to get back upstairs before they come looking for me.”
With that, he turns and walks away, leaving me with a rapidly beating heart and a list of phone numbers in my pocket.
One thing’s for certain.
I hope I never have to reach out to Walker Meyer and his friends.