Chapter 2
Zara
I don't know why I reach for the rearview mirror, turning it so I can see my reflection. All it does is make me realize I can already smell the inside of the bar on my clothes, despite them being fresh out of the wash. It seems as if the place is ingrained into my very being somehow.
Pushing a tendril of hair behind my ear, I stare at what little I can see of my face.
I told myself that I'd do better, that I'd make a concerted effort to start over and have a real life, but words aren't actions.
I should know. I listened to words for years. I believed what people told me.
I believed Billy when he said he had to work late at the garage. I believed him when he said perfume rubbed off on his clothes from driving a car around the block during an inspection.
I believed until I no longer cared what he was up to. I figured it was another woman, and since he wasn't coming to me for sex, I stopped caring altogether. It's not exactly how anyone would anticipate their marriage to lead them, when they said vows with such stars in their eyes the second they were legally old enough to go down to the courthouse and get a marriage license. The hearts, rainbows, flowers, and stars in our eyes faded quickly once we realized that being adults wasn't all it was cut out to be.
The constant fight to keep the lights on became the focus, both of us working as much as we could to be successful in life. Although, by the time everything blew up in my face, we were practically living as roommates and leading different lives.
We were ten years into our marriage when I was left wishing it was only another woman. There were affairs. The numerous women who showed up on my doorstep looking for him after he was arrested for selling drugs proved that.
I vowed after filing for divorce and having it granted within a month and a half of his arrest that I'd live a better life. I had no idea what he was involved in, but you couldn't tell the folks in our hometown that after his face became front-page news of the little gazette they printed back in Kentucky. The fact that I was never arrested or even interviewed by local authorities wasn't proof enough to keep them from openly tagging me in social media posts, looking for gossip.
When I left that place, I knew I'd never be able to show my face there again, but it was okay. Tommy, Billy’s estranged older brother, offered me refuge, a place to work where no one knew of Billy and the shame he brought on himself.
As I climb out of my car, facing yet another day working as a bartender in this tiny bar, I draw the same conclusion that I did before I ever accepted Tommy's offer. There's a very real chance that Tommy was also involved in dealing drugs, and after the whispered conversation he was having last week in the back room, I believe that is more possible now than ever.
I sigh as I look up at the simple neon sign. The Lost Kitten . What a name for a damn bar.
If I had any other options, I wouldn't be here, but it is what it is. I know it's temporary. I'll work here long enough to save up some cash so I can get a little further from my past than a couple hundred miles. I hear Montana is beautiful, and the population in some places is so sparse that people keep to themselves. After the last couple of months, solitude is exactly what I'm looking for.
The sight of the motorcycle parked on the far side of the parking lot sends a little thrill up my spine, and I should know better. Getting involved with the man who was considered a bad boy back home is exactly what had me working in the mountains at a bar owned by my ex-brother-in-law. Not that all men who ride motorcycles are bad guys or live a dangerous life other than risking the chance of sudden death every time they crank one of those things. The Lost Kitten gets its fair share of locals, but strangers are spread a little further between visits around here.
It makes me think of the surly guy from two nights ago. I wouldn't doubt that he's trouble with a capital T, but a man who comes in mid-shift on a Thursday is unlikely to still be around on Saturday.
I shove that same damn piece of stray hair back behind my ear, wishing I hadn't done the typical thing after signing my divorce papers. I never should've cut my hair because it's been nothing but a hassle since I did it.
I put a wide smile on my face, the one I use to hide the fact that my life is a complete mess, before tugging open the heavy door.
I nod at the couple sitting in the corner, at the exact location where the surly guy was sitting the other night, noting that we may have trouble out of them since Roger is drinking whiskey instead of smiling over a beer with his wife. He and Norma are both alcoholics who love to settle their marital dissatisfaction for all the damn town to see.
My smile widens when I approach the far end of the bar, seeing Edith scurry around. The woman has to be in her late seventies. Although she's always utterly exhausted at the end of every shift she works, she still shows up to open the next day. I'd rather someone shoot me in the head than have to work that late in my life, but then again, maybe this is what keeps her going.
"Been busy?" I ask, honest cheerfulness in my tone.
Edith is a lovely woman. Well, I find her funny, but I don't think her grumpy demeanor is meant to be taken that way.
Her eyes spark when she sees me, and I allow myself to believe it's because she likes me rather than the more likely truth that she's glad I'm here so she can get off her feet.
"It's never busy, but you can't tell my old bones that. I'm exhausted." She finishes wiping down the bar top before slapping her bar towel over her shoulder. "New guy showed up. I doubt he'll tip well. Seems like a giant asshole to me."
I have to chuckle as she angles her head toward the back wall of the bar. I can't be the only one who thinks it's hilarious when old people cuss.
My laughter dies away when I glance over and take in who she's talking about. It's the mystery guy from the other night, and his eyes are locked on me.
"I'm getting out of here. You're stocked with everything you'll need."
I give her a little wave, finding myself incapable of looking away from the dark-eyed stranger.
When I'm finally able to pull my eyes away, I shuffle quickly to pull my apron off the hook and slip the strap over my head before crisscrossing the straps at my waist around my back and tugging them forward to tie it near my belly button.
When I risk another glance in his direction, I find his gaze still on me, as if he's trying to assess how much trouble I could possibly be for him. It makes my fake smile turn into a real one. Honestly, I'm no trouble at all. I live the simplest life anyone could ever imagine. Go to work and go home. I do my laundry on the same day each week as well as my grocery shopping, despite promising myself that I would eventually get a life and have a little fun.
On top of all of that, I've got no interest in any man right now. Short of what they could offer me for a half hour or so, I want nothing to do with any of them. Billy ruined me for all men, and not in a good way. At this point, even their ability to offer me anything sexual is iffy. I can handle all of that on my own and don't have to worry about placating the emotions of some cantankerous man who, I have no doubt, would think I should be honored to even speak with him.
My smile triples as I think of the way he spoke to me the other night. The way he ordered his beer and then broke it down into three smaller sentences, as if I were too slow to understand when I didn't immediately turn around and do his bidding.
I pull my eyes off him for a second time with a quick shake of my head.
The man has to know he's stunningly gorgeous, no matter how dangerous of an air swarms around him. I could see the dimple in his right cheek even when he was scowling at me. I have no doubt he'd have nearly any woman wrapped around that meaty fist of his if he just grinned. Hell, there are women who love the angry type. They see it as a challenge. They want to fix a broken man, give them something to smile about.
I scoff as I take inventory of what Edith did before leaving. As great as she is, she always misses something. When I see that the lemon and lime bins are nearly empty, I'm grateful for having something to do. I doubt she forgot to do this, because I also know just how much her hands hurt and how hard it is to keep a good grip on the paring knives Tommy has here to use. I suggested once that he buy knives with bigger handles, but he looked at me like I was an idiot.
I swear, men are just awful.
As I get the supplies out to cut the citrus, I try not to be so aware of him in the bar, but I just can't help it. I find him curious, someone I want to ask a million questions, if anything, to annoy the shit out of him.
What right does he have to sit across the bar and stare holes into me?
I flinch with the first cut into the lime as it squirts juice on my face. Using the back of my hand to wipe the juice from my cheek, I once again look over, feeling a little relieved when I see the chair he was sitting in vacant. Maybe the man got up and left in the couple of minutes that have ticked by since I last glanced his way.
The scrape of a barstool to my immediate right pulls my eyes in that direction, and I lock gazes with the stranger.
"Need another beer?" I ask him, getting nothing but a blank stare from him.
I do my best to school my face, smiling as I continue to cut limes rather than snapping at him and asking him what right he has to come in here and put me in a bad mood simply by existing.
I consider this might be a me problem rather than a him problem, and that takes me full circle back through the self-help book I read about retaking control of your life by understanding your emotions.
This pisses me off even more, but through it all, I keep my damn smile on my face, acting as if nothing is wrong. If there's anything I've learned since leaving Kentucky, it's that I have to hold my head high and not let anyone see my weaknesses.
Fake it until you make it, right?