Chapter 5
Chapter Five
CALLIE
Tonight is the night. My first bartending shift.
I adjust the red and white checkered button-up that barely contains my cleavage and tuck it into the high-waisted jean shorts Maura provided.
The Bar’s uniform isn’t terrible, but it definitely screams country.
As sexist as it is, the hotter I look, the more tips I get.
Even still, this outfit is a lot more revealing than what I’d typically wear.
“Great,” I mutter, turning sideways. The underside of my ass is almost falling out, and with me being midsized, it’s not a tiny butt. Good thing I happen to like my rear. It’s my best asset.
“You look like a slut, Callie.”
A line cuts across my forehead as Theo’s vile words slice through my mind. He was always criticizing. Degrading. Yeah, the outfit is super sexy, but so what? I look great. I love my body. Showing it off doesn’t make me any less worthy of common decency.
Even still, my stomach flutters with anxiety. I’ve been bartending for years now. But this is Big Ridge, where everyone knows my name and my past. I’ll inevitably run into more ghosts I’m not ready to face. What if they all think the same way Theo did?
As if thinking about him summoned him, the screen of my phone lights up and his name flashes across it.
Scowling, I send it straight to voicemail, but he just calls back again.
“Fuck you,” I growl, blocking his number.
There are a half-dozen voicemails, but if the voice to text preview is any indication, there’s no way I’m listening to those.
The last thing I need is for him to tell me what a piece of shit I am.
I delete the messages and look at myself in the mirror again. He can’t hurt you if he’s not here. Theo wouldn’t be caught dead in a town like Big Ridge. That’s the entire reason I’m here. And if I don’t hurry up, I’m going to be late.
Shoving all thoughts of my manipulative ex to the back of my mind, I apply a final swipe of mascara, grab my purse, and head out.
The drive to The Bar is quicker tonight, with most tourists tucked away in their rentals or fancy restaurants for dinner.
I blare music from my It was never a phase playlist to keep from thinking.
The moment I pull into the parking lot, I groan. There are so many cars. Some parked haphazardly along the side of the road. Music and laughter pour out every time the door swings open. I snag a spot in the back next to the dumpster and wrinkle my nose as I climb out.
That is fucking ripe.
I head through the back door, greet Lincoln and Matt, the dishwasher, eyeing the door that leads to the front.
The roar of the crowd is already loud, but it can’t be that different from the places I worked in New York City.
Besides, when it’s busy, time flies, and being overwhelmed with orders will keep me from worrying about Theo.
I push through the door and stop in my tracks.
Shit. I lied. It’s even more chaotic than I expected.
Bodies press against each other, country music blares from speakers, a few women, tourists by the looks of them, are dancing on a table and no one seems inclined to stop them.
The scent of beer and fried food hangs heavy in the air.
The bar itself is three-deep with people waving cash, trying to get served.
Maura spots me and relief washes over her face. She’s wearing the same uniform, and even with her graying hair, she’s hot as ever. Maura’s always been gorgeous, and something about the wrinkles around her smile makes her even more so. Like you can tell she’s lived her life laughing and loving.
“Thank god!” She grabs my arm and drags me to the well. “We’re slammed and Jay is on vacation until next week.”
I have no idea who Jay is, but she doesn’t give me a chance to ask.
“A fucking tourist bus broke down, and half of them decided to wait it out here.”
I survey the damage. Dirty glasses are piled up at both ends of the bar. The ice bin is nearly empty, and the bottles in the well are running low.
Maura tosses me an apron, and I secure it around my waist. “Happy first day to me.”
“Sink or swim, baby.” Maura smacks a bar rag into my palm. “The locals are at the far end. They’ll be easier on you.” We all know tourists can get pissy.
With that, I dive head first into the chaos. It takes about ten minutes to familiarize myself with Maura’s set up, but I find my rhythm, and muscle memory takes over. I’m flying between the taps and bottles, mixing drinks with practiced precision.
The lead bartender being out tonight with no replacement would have been a disaster. It’s nice to feel like I’m contributing on my first night.
“Two Jack and Cokes, a whiskey neat, and a vodka cranberry!” I holler over the noise, sliding the drinks across the bar top to a group of tourists who took mountain vacation a little too far.
They’re all in matching flannel, but none of them look like they know their way around an ax.
“Ready to start a tab?” I flash a smile that’s all business.
The one with a beard nods and hands over a card. I set up their ticket and hand back the card, ready to move to the next customer, but the guy’s fingers linger on mine. “What time do you get off?” His thumb rubs over the back of my hand.
How do you say fuck off in customer service? “How about you keep your hands to yourself, and I’ll keep serving you drinks?” I pull my hand back, smile never wavering. Look at me go. I’m about to be employee of the month.
“Damn.” Andy, a retired Big Ridge track coach, laughs. His faded Carhartt hat has seen better days. “Better watch out for this one, boys. She’s been known to bite.”
“That was one time,” I say quickly. Not to mention, I was only eight and basketball is an intense game. “And in my defense, she deserved it.”
“Heard she might have rabies,” Pete, another local, chimes in.
The tourists back away slowly, like they’re worried I’ll hop over the bar and maul them. Laughing, I glance at Pete and Andy. “You two are a riot.”
They smirk at one another. I roll my eyes and get back to work.
An hour passes in a blur of orders and cleaning shakers as fast as humanly possible.
Surprisingly, it’s nice to chat with those who remember me.
I make myself sick being overly polite to tourists who don’t know better than to snap their fingers for attention. Those are the worst type of customers.
Bree appears at the side station, silently waiting for me.
I pop over to her. “Hey, all good?”
“It’s busy.” She gives me a forced smile. “I need three lagers and three shots of the cheapest whiskey you got, sweetheart.” She makes air quotes and drops her voice down low.
The table she’s waiting on is full of what appears to be former frat boys who probably work in finance and cheat on their wives every time they go out of town. Groaning, I grab her drinks as quick as I can.
“Let me know if they bug you,” I tell her.
She exhales in relief and nods, taking the tray full of drinks to the table.
The sooner she’s done with those douchebags, the better.