Chapter 7 #2
Brushing my hair back, I took stock of myself in the reflection of the front windows: blond hair pulled back into a high ponytail with a few wisps framing my face, the light makeup I’d taken time to apply this morning—something I rarely did in the summer months when Owen and I were outside more.
I’d picked dark-wash jeans and a white boho blouse that read casual but professional and paired them with sandals.
I needed to get cowboy boots if I wanted to fit in with the locals. I hadn’t missed how about 75 percent of them wore the footwear or work boots, even though the temps had raised into the seventies.
Straightening my bag on my shoulder, I gave Nova’s friendship bracelet a tap for luck and headed inside.
I quickly scanned the patrons and marked a variety of folks—a table of guys who were likely locals, given they looked as if they’d recently kicked off from a construction site.
I took stock of a couple poring over a hiking guidebook and had to stop myself from a warning lecture.
A family piled into a booth, along with a few other groups. Two guys and a woman sat at the bar.
The space itself had real character. Two walls were adorned with local signage, while a third had nothing but license plates.
The fourth was dedicated to the spectacular bar.
The woodwork looked hand-carved and expertly done.
And the bottles lining the shelves were various shapes, sizes, and values.
A dark-haired man standing behind the bar looked up from his phone as if he had radar for people approaching his domain. He quickly swept me from head to toe, not in a lascivious way but in an assessing one.
That sort of thing didn’t bother me. I did the same, looking for any red flags or other alerts. So I gave him an easy smile. Not overly forced but warm. “Hi.”
“Afternoon. Looking for a table?” he asked, those dark eyes never leaving my face. He was tall, leanly muscled, and had a hint of scruff. When he moved, I saw that his dark eyes had a golden-green cast.
“Actually, I was hoping I could talk to someone about a job opening.”
Brown brows lifted in surprise. “Summer gig?”
I guessed that some tourists who stayed through the summer liked to find part-time work. It made sense, something to line your pockets while you were away.
“I’d take it for as long as you’d offer it.”
The assessing stare was back. He double-checked my features as if he might’ve misplaced them somehow. “New in town?”
I nodded. “Just moved here from Oakland. I have restaurant experience, though it’s been a minute. I worked in a bar and grill for about five years back in Rhode Island. In Oakland, I worked as an office manager at an accounting firm.”
“Far from home,” the man assessed. “Little bit of a different vibe up here.”
It wasn’t a question, but I understood what he was asking. He wanted to know if this was a fluke and if I would bail on him the second I realized we were in a small-as-hell town without the comforts of city life.
“Different is just what I’m looking for,” I told him. And it wasn’t a lie. The past year had fundamentally changed me in ways that made me crave quiet, peace, and the knowledge of who your neighbors were.
“Well,” the man said, leaning against the back bar, “what are you looking for in a job?”
This was my chance. “Anything I can do from nine to four. I’ll clean, serve, sous chef, wash dishes, mix drinks, clear tables. I’ve got some bookkeeping experience, so I could help in that area if you’re looking for it.”
He was quiet for a moment, then shoved off the bar and reached out a hand. “Wylder Archer. This is my bar, and it just so happens that I think bookkeeping is the seventh circle of hell.”
A laugh bubbled out of me as I took his offered hand. “Braedyn Winslow, but my friends call me Brae.”
“Well, Brae, there a reason you can’t work past four?”
I swallowed. This could be the breaking point. “I have a son. He’ll be in camp Monday through Friday, eight thirty to four thirty. I need to be with him the rest of the time. Once school starts, the hours will be similar.”
“That’s as good a reason as any.” He glanced to his left, his gaze settling on a woman who looked to be in her early thirties with tanned skin and a sleek fall of light-brown hair. “Cora,” he called.
She looked up as she set the final plate down on the table. The ease of the motion said she’d done it thousands of times before. “You called, boss man?” she said as she tucked her tray under her arm and crossed to us.
“Cora, this is Brae. She’s new in town. How do you feel about training her for day shift?”
Cora’s green eyes lit like a kid’s at Christmas. “Hot damn. Best news of my day. Welcome to Starlight Grove, Brae.”
“Thank you. And nice to meet you,” I greeted. And then the light dawned. “Are you the Cora engaged to Travis by any chance?”
Her whole face lit up then. “I am. Do you know Trav?”
“A little.” I struggled to explain just how I knew her fiancé without trauma-dumping on all of them. “He, uh, helped me out with an incident last year when I was visiting.”
Cora simply nodded. “He’s a good one.”
But Wylder had that assessing look again. He didn’t give voice to his curiosities. Instead, he pointed to a pass-through window where I could just make out a woman with salt-and-pepper hair and kind eyes. “That’s Fiona in the kitchen. She’s a sometimes cook and sometimes waitress.”
“And all around keeping your asses in line,” she called back. “Hi, honey. You can call me Fiona or Fee, I answer to both.”
“Nice to meet you,” I returned.
“Did I hear fresh meat?” a male voice called as it got closer.
I turned to see a man who looked to be in his mid-thirties but had the boyish expression of someone much younger. He was definitely handsome, with dark hair and blue-green eyes, but he wore it in a way that said he knew it and used it to his advantage.
“Aidan,” Wylder warned.
“What?” he asked, affronted. “What did I do?”
“It was what you were about to do, which was hit on my new waitress and bookkeeper.”
“Stop using your psychic abilities on me,” Aidan muttered. He held out a hand. “Don’t listen to the lies these two tell you. I’m misunderstood, that’s all.”
I took the hand, laughing as Aidan executed some sort of bow where he touched my knuckles to his forehead. I glanced at Wylder. “Psychic, huh?”
Wylder rolled his eyes in a movement that mirrored one of Owen’s. “Hardly. Worked in bars since the second I turned eighteen. I know people.”
That made a little more sense. And that sort of experience gave you a kind of wisdom that was hard to come by.
“He uses his gifts for evil,” Aidan grumbled.
Wylder stiffened at that, and Cora sent Aidan a death glare.
He winced. “You know what I mean. He always knows when I’m lying about calling in sick.”
The tension in Wylder’s shoulders eased a bit but not all the way. “You’re just too easy to read. You call in sick anytime you’re here with friends the night before or the fish are biting.”
“Yeah, yeah, keep your psychic powers away from me,” Aidan said with a laugh. “Even if you do look all hot as hell when you’re mind-melding people.”
There was something here—something in the interplay that had just occurred, the reaction to the word evil. But I wasn’t sure what it was.
“So,” Wylder said, bringing my focus back to him. “Can you start tomorrow?”
A grin split my face. “Seriously?”
“One-week trial. You do good, you become a permanent hire. You in?”
“I am so in,” I agreed quickly.
Cora patted my shoulder. “Welcome aboard.” She glanced down at my feet. “I recommend sneakers tomorrow.”
“Noted.” The fact that I could wear my lucky Converse that Owen had decorated for me was a definite bonus. I glanced at Wylder. “Is there a dress code?”
“Dress code for what?” a deep voice asked—a familiar deep voice. Something about the tenor. It had a frequency all its own that made my skin pebble in anticipation.
I turned, taking in my hot, unhinged neighbor. He’d obviously showered and wore jeans that hugged thick thighs—likely a by-product of those morning runs—and a worn T-shirt with writing so faded I couldn’t make it out. And the glasses were back. Damn, those glasses.
But beneath them, I took in the dark-hazel eyes full of suspicion. The emotion was only amplified by the lines of tension bracketing his mouth. Apparently, my neighbor was just as unhappy to see me here as he was at the cabin he’d thought was his. The only problem was, I was here first.
“Are you following me?” I accused, a hint of humor lacing my words. I couldn’t help poking the grumpy bear.
The man glowered in my direction. “It’s my brother’s bar. What’s your excuse?”
Oh, hell.
That meant my hot, grumpy-as-hell neighbor would be in here. Possibly a lot. But I didn’t let that make me falter. I jutted out my chin. “I work here.”
“You hired her?” the man demanded, clearly disbelieving.
“Jesus, Dex, what’s your deal?” Wylder asked.
Dex. It fit him somehow. Short, to the point, and a little harsh but still sexy as hell.
“Newsflash, neighbor, just because you think I’m the worst doesn’t mean everyone does,” I informed him.
Cora let out a strangled laugh. “What’d you do, Dex?”
“I didn’t do anything,” Dex began.
“He broke into my house and flashed me,” I said, completely nonchalant, knowing it would just piss Dex off.
He gaped at me. “That…that isn’t even remotely true.”
“Dude, you can get arrested for that shit,” Aidan muttered.
I arched a brow at Dex. “Isn’t it true?”
He glared at me. “You are the worst.”
I grinned. “I’m afraid that’s you, Bird Poop Boy.” I shot Cora and Wylder a wave. “See you tomorrow.”
And with that, I left Dex to explain. It served him right, the grumpy pants.