Chapter 7
CHAPTER
SEVEN
Collin
I double-check the front entrance is secured and flip off the lights as I make my way to the back of the bar. It’s just after nine, and thanks to an afternoon baseball game, everyone cleared out a little after eight, so closing down at nine was a piece of cake.
But it hasn’t been quiet.
Apparently, there’s been a herd of elephants moving in above this place because the amount of foot traffic on the back stairs and the heavy feet on the floor have echoed through the bar, despite having some classic country playing from the jukebox.
But, oddly, the noise has been…settling.
Probably because it reminds me of home, back when I was younger.
Four kids all under one roof, and most of the time with friends in tow.
To say it was chaotic every now and again is an understatement.
Grabbing the money bag with tonight’s drawer, I slip it in the safe in the small office and head for the back exit.
I always go through the rear entrance because it’s closer than returning to the front door to leave.
As I make sure the lock is secured and step outside, I smile when I realize quickly I’m not alone.
“Jeez, Way. Can you not pick it up and walk normal?”
“Fuck off, Duncan. I’m the one going backward down this ramp, and this couch is fucking heavy.”
I stop and smile, watching as two guys struggle to get a couch out of the back of a moving truck. “You know, if you take off the cushions, you’ll be able to grip it easier without having the extra fluff in your face.”
The two guys stop and practically drop the couch in a start. “Who the hell are you?”
“Collin. Bartender.”
“Ahh,” the taller of the two says, adjusting his hold on the couch and trying not to drop it.
“You could be a peach and help my brother. He’s apparently a wimp and can’t lift shit,” the slightly shorter one announces, earning him an eye roll.
“Fuck. Off. Duncan.”
The other brother just snorts a laugh as they carefully remove the couch from the truck and head toward me. Before I can reopen the door for them, it flies open and out comes Emberlyn. “I’ve aged three years while waiting on you dorks!”
I can’t help but laugh. Emberlyn reminds me of my own sister.
“You could help, Em,” one of the brothers hollers as they juggle the couch up the broken concrete steps.
I realize instantly they’re going to need some assistance getting this couch through the doorway and up the stairs.
It’s a pretty big couch, with what looks like oversized cushions and a chaise lounge on the end.
“Uhh, why didn’t you remove the lounge?” I ask, dropping my stuff on the ground and grabbing one of the corners.
“Because my stupid-ass brother didn’t think we needed to,” the brother I’m standing beside grumbles. “Notice who didn’t grab this end?”
With the lounge attached, we have to hold the back of the couch up higher to keep it from hitting every step as we ascend.
It’s not easy, that’s for sure, but we make it work.
Now, getting it through the apartment door takes some shimmying and pushing—and a little bit of cursing—but we manage that too.
“Why didn’t you take the chaise off?” one of Lizzie’s uncles asks as they watch us try to get the piece of furniture into the living room.
“Ask the dumbass,” the brother standing next to me states, sounding a little breathy.
“Hey, it worked, didn’t it?”
“Why must you always do things the hard way?” Lizzie’s mom asks, shaking her head. There’s no missing the humor dancing in her green eyes.
“Because they’re both boneheads,” Lizzie announces as we’re carefully placing the couch on the floor. As soon as I stand, our eyes meet and it’s like a jolt of electricity through the air, a lightning strike you don’t see or hear, but you sure as hell feel it.
“Lizard, we can take this couch back downstairs,” the bigger of the two brothers announces.
If it’s intended to be a threat, she’s not scared. Lizzie rolls her eyes. “I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t make it out of the living room with it,” she sasses, hands on her hips and with a little splatter of paint streaked across her cheek.
She looks beautiful.
“Boys, stop fucking around,” Walker states, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes at his sons.
They both just gape at him. “What? Lizzie is name-calling and not at all appreciative of our free manual labor.”
The corner of my mouth ticks up.
Yep, definitely a lot like my family.
Their dad doesn’t reply. He just stares at them.
“Come on, Waylon. Let’s go downstairs where we’re appreciated for our muscles and ingenuity.”
When the boys walk past, they snatch a pizza box off the counter and dive in to what’s left inside.
“Sorry about that,” Lizzie says, walking over to where I stand. “And thanks for your help.”
“No problem. They seemed to be struggling a little, so I thought I’d help before the couch took a tumble down the stairs,” I tell her.
She shakes her head. “I told them the couch came apart.”
I take a quick look around at the apartment above the bar. I’ve never witnessed someone living up here.
“It still needs a lot of work,” she says, following my line of sight and looking around. “New carpet and floors are first on the list, and then I’ll have to update the bathroom.”
I nod. “I came up here two or three times, but it was always in the kitchen.”
“Want a quick tour?”
“Sure,” I reply, feeling oddly anxious to spend a few extra minutes with her.
“We did a deep clean this afternoon, but it still needs so much work,” she informs me, moving toward the hallway. I dutifully follow, eager to see the rest of the building.
She opens a closed door and steps inside.
“I was going to make this into a second office, but my aunt Lyndee talked me out of it. My work should stay there, and even though I technically live there too, she recommended I use it for something personal. If I need to get paperwork done, it isn’t that far to go to the office. ”
I nod, understanding where her aunt is coming from. “What will you use it for?”
She grins slightly and looks at the empty, dark space. It definitely needs an overhaul, but it does have some potential. “Besides a small guest bedroom for my sister, I’m going to use it as a small library,” she starts, opening her mouth and closing it fast.
“And…”
Lizzie shakes her head and glances away, a rosy hue tinting her cheeks. “It’s silly.”
“Doubtful,” I find myself saying, hoping she’ll tell me the rest of her thought.
“I, uh, like to sew. So, I’ll set up a small desk for my sewing machine, but I want to bring in a comfy chair too where I can do other stuff.”
“Like?”
She meets my gaze and states, “I enjoy counted cross-stitch and have been learning to crochet.”
“Yeah? That’s cool,” I tell her, even though I really don’t know much about either. I remember my grandma making stuff when I was little, but I don’t know if it was crocheting or knitting or something else.
“Thanks. I sat on my couch in my old apartment, so it’ll be nice to have a designated space to create and work.”
“I agree,” I tell her, thinking about my guest room, which contains home workout equipment and a collection of autobiographies. “What do you like to read?”
Her cheeks turn a deeper shade of red. “Uhh, romance mostly.”
I nod, trying to block the image my brain conjures up of Lizzie reading a steamy romance novel in bed, touching herself when the scene gets hot.
It doesn’t work, of course, because my mind not only watches the scene play out, but it also invites me to join her on the bed.
I look away and start to count backward from one hundred.
“Do you read?” she asks, her voice soft in curiosity, yet so fucking sexy at the same time.
“Yeah,” I state, clearing the desire from my throat. “I read autobiographies mostly. My favorite are musicians.”
“Really? I just finished Ozzy’s latest. The one he did before he passed.”
“No shit? I just finished that one too,” I tell her.
“My uncle Tank is a musician, even though he probably doesn’t consider himself one. He sings and plays guitar.”
“At the bar, right? I’ve heard about that,” I confirm, earning a smile.
“Yeah, he has quite a following, even after all these years. Anyway, come on and I’ll show you the rest of the apartment.”
We exit the small, unfinished space and walk across the hall.
I can tell right away it’s her bedroom, and not just because of the queen-sized bed sitting in the middle of the room.
It’s freshly painted and already feels like her.
It’s bright and cheerful, and even though it still needs work, I can tell she’s putting herself into the room.
“Aunt BJ is finishing up the second coat of trim,” Lizzie states when the woman on the step stool turns our way.
“Last wall,” she confirms. “You could probably move your bed tonight, but if it were me, I’d just leave it in the middle until tomorrow.”
“Makes sense,” Lizzie replies. “New carpet will be installed soon, and that’ll help it feel a little cozier. My dad and uncles ripped up all the carpets earlier because they were nasty.”
“I can imagine.”
We exit the bedroom and stop at the other door in the hallway. When she opens it, I almost shudder. “Bathroom needs…work.”
It’s a small bathroom straight out of the seventies. “Yikes.”
She giggles and shakes her head. “Avocado green and some shade of gold. Not only that, but they’re in pretty rough shape.
Chuck said he had the water shut off up here for decades, so it didn’t cause problems. It was all pretty dirty and a little stained, so we cleaned it the best we could for now, but eventually, it all needs replacing. ”
“It all takes time,” I state, stepping out of the small space. Not only does it smell like her, but I catch sight of her personal items, like her shampoo, bodywash, and razor in the shower, and her hair brush and small bag of makeup sitting on the vanity.