Chapter 27
27
PIA
“A little early to start drinking for you, isn’t it?” Beck asked as I sat at the bar.
I gave him “the look” but that didn’t stop Beck.
“Someone a little on edge about the meeting today?”
“I was hoping you could take my mind off it,” I said. Mason had now been with Paul Baker for nearly two hours. “Not remind me of the fact that he might be agreeing to sell Heritage Hill as we speak.”
All week, we’d avoided the topic. In fact, since he’d made dinner, we hadn’t talked about the future at all. Or any of the scenarios Mason had gone through, all of which, in retrospect, were a fairly accurate representation of where we stood. Even if, at the time, I hadn’t liked the clinical nature of his relationship assessment, as if I were a mission to be planned.
“He’s not gonna sell.”
At four in the afternoon, O’Malley’s was just getting going, even for a Friday, leaving Beck to hang with me a bit. I could have called my mom or sisters, or friends back home, or Delaney, but when I got restless enough sitting behind my desk, I’d come here.
To talk to Beck. Of all people.
“You don’t think?”
“Nah, I don’t. He told me about your proposition. Sounded to me like Mace thought it was a real viable option. Why sell if you’re willing to take it over, you know?”
“True,” I said. But the longer the meeting went, the less sure I became.
Beck went behind the bar, poured something and handed it to me.
“What is it?”
“Gin Gimlet.”
“How did you know I liked these?”
“Lucky guess.” Beck went off to serve another patron. When he came back, I was two sips in.
“Not bad,” I said.
“So tell me why you’re here. I know it’s not to tie one on.” Before I could respond, he said, “But if it is, I got you covered.” He gestured to the bar behind him.
“That wasn’t the plan.” I lifted the limoncello. “But I’m starting out with this. It’s a high-proof one.”
“You’re right,” he said. “It is.”
“My parents serve a few different brands at their restaurant. I can tell this is probably…” I took another sip. “Closer to sixty proof.”
“Right on the money. The girl knows her liquor.”
I laughed, looking down at my phone. Nothing.
“Turn this thing over,” Beck said, unnecessarily since he did it for me. “Does he know you’re here?”
“No,” I said.
Beck grabbed his phone, shot off a text. “There. Now he does and will undoubtedly come as soon as he’s done. Time to relax and enjoy my company.”
It was impossible not to do so. “You are so different than I first thought,” I admitted. “Not unlike Mason, I guess.”
“I could tell you liked me right from the start.”
He was teasing, and I could not in good faith keep a straight face. “You are a nut.”
Beck didn’t answer until he came back from serving another customer.
“Guilty as charged. So tell me why you’re really here.”
I shrugged.
“Oh no, you’re not getting out of it that easily. You’re worried, obviously. But why here? Why me?”
“Great question.”
Beck spread his hands out on the bar and leaned toward me.
“Pia. Talk to me.”
“Forget it. Let’s talk about something else.”
“No bueno. Try again.”
“You are relentless.”
“Among other things. And been tending bar long enough to be able to read people. This is not the Pia I’ve seen flitting through the inn this week like a woman on a mission. The one sneaking off into corners when she and my friend Mason don’t think anyone is looking. Who has him smiling more in a week than I’ve seen him smile in a year. This one is nervous, and tense, and I don’t think this is just about your job.”
Astute man.
“Do you think he’ll go back to the city?”
Crossing his arms like his prize pig just won a blue ribbon at the farm show, he grinned. “Now that’s why my girl needs to down that drink and stop sipping it. Come on.”
“No, Beck. I’m not doing shots.”
“Yes you are. Sometimes it’s good to let loose. Down it.”
“Beck.”
He started chanting for the handful of people who were at the bar to participate. And they did. After a few choruses of “down it,” I finally took a drink, sucked it back and slammed it on the bar.
“Should the bartender really be encouraging his customers this way?”
“When the customer is you, yes. This time, I’ll join. As a matter of fact…” He stepped back and called out, “Shots on me. It’s Friday night, people, let’s make some noise.”
He was out of his mind.
Two shots and a half glass of vodka soda later, the bar began to get busy. Our talk, I assumed, was over. But Beck came over, leaned in and said, “It’ll be a game-time call. Mace has wanted to be a cop most of his life. On the other hand, he hates the city, loves the inn and really likes you so… hard to say.”
I was still taking in his words when a soft voice said from behind, “A little birdie told me you were here.”
Like every time he was close, goose bumps spread all over me. Or at least, it felt that way. I turned my head, unsure how public he wanted to be since most of our intimacy this week had been at the inn. I’d even begun to wonder if Mason kept it that way on purpose.
His long, lingering kiss answered that question pretty firmly.
“That’s enough.” Beck’s voice broke through the fog that was my attraction to Mason. Since we’d gotten together, it had only grown. After staying with him for the night, sleeping in my empty apartment bedroom all week had been a major letdown. “Or get a room.”
“Have plenty of them,” Mason said, sitting. “But I’d rather annoy you.”
“Dude, if you want to pack on the PDA, be my guest. I’m just here to serve,” Beck said, getting Mason a beer.
“Speaking of…” I’d always wanted to ask. “Mason said you have a business degree. Ever think of using it?”
Mason’s expression said it all. Apparently this was a sore subject. At least Beck didn’t take offense.
“Not really. I’m pretty happy here, especially now that I’m not paying rent.” He leaned over the bar to pat Mason on the back. “Thanks, buddy.”
As Beck moved away, I waited for the hammer to drop, letting the topic of the bartender’s life plans go for the moment.
Looking into his eyes, I tried not to let pleading define my gaze. I was here to prove that I was worth more than my asshole boss thought, not fall head over heels for a guy to seek his validation too.
“He drove a hard bargain.”
What did that mean? I remained calm. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” Mason said, taking a swig of beer. “Paul came prepared. He’d done his homework, that was for sure.”
I grabbed my vodka soda and took a long drink, needing the liquid courage. This did not sound good.
“Pia Russo. Are you tipsy?”
Not what I’d been expecting.
“Maybe. Someone was feeding me shots.”
“Someone? What time did you get here?”
“Not sure,” I said, hearing the slight slur in my voice that had given me away. “I don’t handle shots well.”
“And why did you come to O’Malley’s in the first place?”
I lifted my chin. “Am I in trouble? Work was done for the day, none of the guests were in house and?—”
“You don’t have to explain.”
“But you asked why I was here.”
“Right. I didn’t ask why you weren’t at the inn.”
“Mason?”
“Yes, Pia.”
“Did you sell?”
His smile fell. Mason became so serious, I knew his answer before he said it. No number of shots would dull the pain of his next words because I knew, without a doubt, he had. Mason had sold the inn.
He was leaving.
“Yes, I did.”