Chapter 7 #2
She’d said the words separately to make sure that she had them right.
His smile was almost ear to ear. “That’s right.”
“So… is that hyphenated?”
The second his smile fell she knew that she’d picked the wrong thing to say.
“No,” he scolded, “those are my names. McMichael and Macmillan.”
“Oh.” She knew her brows were likely hidden by her bangs the way they shot up at his confirmation. “That’s unique.”
He smiled again and she gave a silent sigh of relief.
She let out a breath and smiled hoping to lighten her own mood. “I had a classmate in college who was named David Davidson.”
His smile froze on his face and his expression reminded her of that old twirling beachball on computer screens when a program was loading.
‘Boy,’ she groaned inwardly, ‘I really need some alcohol.’
Gibson stepped into the bar for a bit of a respite.
He'd enjoyed Taylor's wedding in the ballroom, and he'd gone upstairs to the reception while the newlywed couple and the others in the wedding party had gone to take pictures, he'd milled around the restaurant and talked to random people.
Small talk. Honestly, he didn't want to spend a lot of time sitting in his assigned seat because there was an empty chair beside his, reserved for his date.
He'd told Taylor he was coming by himself, but his friend, being madly in love, had left the seat open just in case.
Taylor had been his childhood friend and while many of the other boys he'd played with had all moved on to other friends through the years, he and Taylor had stuck together.
Taylor had even asked him to be a part of the wedding party as a groomsman, but Gibson had had to say no. Being a firefighter meant that his schedule was always dicey. Being a lieutenant meant that it was harder to get someone to take over his shifts when he did try to get off at the last minute.
And Taylor and his fiancée had put the wedding together in a few weeks.
It didn't hurt that Emily had been planning her wedding since she was a little girl, so she had a whole book of pictures of everything from flowers to shoes and make-up to rings.
There was no stone left unturned for the wedding and between the vast fortunes of the groom and the bride's families, they didn't have to skimp or go without.
The event space was festooned in flowers and different kinds of expensive fabrics.
And those… twinkling light strings, like the ones that people used in college dorm rooms, but these were fancier.
And the food! Well, he couldn’t complain about that. The thick steaks, fancy baked potatoes, and multi-colored carrots drowning in herb butter. That had been amazing, and he would have eaten more if he’d been allowed to eat in peace.
But the single women in the bridal party had taken it upon themselves to make sure that he wasn’t lacking for conversation.
It would have been great if the food had been lacking, but really, he just wanted to eat and enjoy the music.
Instead, he’d bowed out of the dessert course to take a walk around the hotel.
He hoped that while he was gone, the bridesmaids would find other ways to pass their time and he could get a chance to talk to his friend before he left for the bridal suite to change for the start of his honeymoon in Majorca, Spain.
One of the bridesmaids had gushed about it as if she was the one going on the trip. Wishing aloud with her eyes sparkling with dreams that she would have a honeymoon half as grand.
Gibson hadn't said much while she was talking. He'd listened in and nodded, interjecting some words and sounds that hopefully proved that he was listening, but if she was looking at him as a possibility to make that dream come true. She'd be disappointed in him.
He worked for the Center City Fire Department, he explained to her and the fact that he did construction as a side-gig to earn money, too.
That seemed to sour her on his presence.
He didn't hide the fact that he was Taylor's 'poor' friend.
She'd looked at him as if he might be joking, but he made it clear that he wasn't anywhere near Taylor or his bride in the financial sense.
Their families weren't just high-priced lawyer rich.
Socialite rich.
Or even head of a foundation rich.
Both families owned a fair share of Chicago independent of each other.
Together, the groom and bride would likely end up being the King and Queen of the city in a few years.
Thank goodness he'd never had those lofty dreams for himself.
He was more of a get his hands dirty kind of a guy.
And while the waitstaff and bartenders in the Boleo restaurant were offering the finest alcohol to the guests to drink, Gibson wanted a beer.
A plain, pulled from the tap beer.
When he sidled up to the bar at Vol. 39, he had a feeling that this might not be the place to get that. It was elegant in a way that said it was too rich for his blood.
“Sir?”
Gibson turned and saw the bartender looking in his direction. “Hey. Sorry, I’m not sure-”
“What can I get you, sir?”
Lifting a hand to rub at the back of his neck, Gibson gave the other man a lop-side grimace. “Any chance I can just get a beer? A… a Guinness?”
“Sure! I can get you a Guinness.” The bartender pulled a perfect Guinness and set the glass with its foamy head in front of Gibson. The price he named off was just about perfect too.
Reaching into his wallet Gibson pulled out the amount of cash for the beer and a good tip as well.
Smiling, the bartender thanked him, and explained, “I’d offer you a table but we’re almost full up with a doctors’ social thing tonight.”
“Ah,” Gibson had just finished his first sip and set his glass down, “I saw the sign downstairs when I arrived for the wedding.”
“Oh,” the bartender looked a little shocked, “you’re not staying here at the hotel? I’m sorry. I thought all of the guests were staying at the hotel.”
Waving off the apology, Gibson explained.
“I’m a last-minute addition since I managed to get out of work at the last minute, so the room block was full.
I’m going to find a room somewhere else later.
” He gave his suit jacket pocket a pat. “I’ve got half a dozen cheap travel apps on my phone. Something has to come up.”
“I hope so.” The bartender shrugged. “Well, you’re welcome to hang out in here for a bit if the wedding is a little too much to handle. Just pretend you’re a doctor if someone pretentious starts talking to you.”
Gibson grimaced. “It’s like that, huh?”
One of the waiters rounded the bar with his tray and set it down beside the bartender. “Trouble in the corner alcove.”
The bartender looked concerned. “What kind of trouble?”
The waiter rolled his eyes. “Asshole doctor. That one who came in earlier grousing about how the valet better not ding his ‘Lambo.’” The waiter added in the air quotes.
“He’s got some lady cornered in the banquette.
Wouldn’t even let her order her own damn drink.
I gave her a look to ask if she’d like a different cocktail, but I think she’s given up hope. ”
Gibson frowned. “Hope about salvaging her drink?”
“No,” the waiter shook his head as if announcing a dire emergency, “freedom.”
Gibson almost choked on his sip of Guinness.
“This is his order for her. A Cosmo.”
The bartender and waiter made identical frowns at the order.
“Yeah,” the bartender shook his head, “she doesn’t look like a Cosmo kind of woman.”
That got Gibson’s attention. The entire bridal party had been downing Cosmos since they’d sat down at Boleo. “What would you think she’d order?”
The waiter deferred to the bartender, taking the time to run the credit card for the order and the bartender pulled out a menu from behind the bar.
“We have a bunch of craft cocktails that we make here. I think she’d like the Moonflower.
I know,” he waved a hand and almost rolled his eyes at the name, “but it’s a kick ass cocktail and I think she would love it.
Berry liqueur, lemon, and two liquors from Japan.
One a whiskey and the other made from plums. It’s elegant, like she is. ”
“Now I have to see who you’re talking about.” Gibson had a feeling that the woman they were talking about had to be worth whatever he’d need to do to get a look.
The credit card machine behind the bar gave a rather dour sound and the waiter gave the bartender a knowing look before he looked back up at Gibson. “You want a look at the lady?”
“Yeah,” he answered in reply. “After all that build up, that was a given.”
The waiter pushed a button on the credit card machine a few times making the receipt paper about four inches long. “Give me a minute. I’m about to tell mister ‘fancy’ over there that his card was declined. I bet you anything he’ll come back with me to the bar to argue. That’ll be your chance.”
With a resounding RIP, the waiter pulled the tape free of the machine and picked up the card with a grim smile on his face. He skirted around the bar and walked at a distinct pace through the milling crowd.
Gibson moved along the bar at a slower clip. He didn’t want to call attention to himself, but he really did want to see the poor woman.
When the waiter reached the table, it seemed like things weren’t going to be as simple as the waiter anticipated.
The man he was talking to didn’t seem to be in any hurry to move, so Gibson did. He took another couple of steps and had nearly reached the other end of the bar when he finally caught a glimpse of the woman that the waiter and bartender were talking about, and he was stunned.
Shaken.
“Shit.”
He’d already had it in his head that he’d help the woman escape from captivity, but now it was a priority instead of just a thought.
An absolute must, because the woman trapped in the corner booth of Vol. 39 was Kay Hata.
His Kay Hata.
The woman he was half sure he was in love with.