7. Footloose
7
FOOTLOOSE
SOPHIE
Fourth of July weekend in Holly Creek proved to be a small town ode to patriotism. The entire population of a few thousand had taken the time to attend the events in force, mingling with countless numbers of visitors. I’d heard Jessa say a few buses had even brought tourists down from Canada.
The throngs of people on the street wore their red, white, and blue proudly. Patriotic bunting was attached to every roofline and fence. Kids ran around and waved hand-held flags everywhere. And Keaton’s bar was buzzing so loud with country music, packed with people, he worried it might be a fire hazard.
I had planned on observing—taking notes, absorbing the vibe, making mental marketing checklists like a nerdy anthropologist in denim cutoffs and cowboy boots. But when two of Keaton’s servers called in sick, chaos hit like a child running amok through the brewery with a lit sparkler.
“I can help,” I said, hopping behind the bar before Keaton could argue.
“It’s not in your job description,” he grumbled.
“But immersing myself in serving could bring me some valuable brand research.”
“Don’t argue. We could use her. We’re getting killed here.” Jessa was all for it, and tossed me one of the new Hops logo t-shirts and a black apron. “Welcome aboard. We have one rule. Keep the customers happy and they’ll tip us better. We all share the tip jar contents at the end of the night.”
Keaton cocked his head at her. “Be serious. You know our rules.We card everyone, and we don’t serve to minors. And don’t over serve either when you notice someone getting drunk.”
“Got it. I just hope I don’t spill my tray and beer over anyone.” I slipped the black H. C. Hops t-shirt over my red tank, tying it off at my waist, then tied the black apron behind my back.
“Wait—you’ve waitressed or something before, right?” Keaton asked, eyes wide and suddenly concerned.
“Nope. This’ll be fun,” I giggled. “Don’t worry. How hard can it be?”
Two hours later, I was sweaty and exhausted, yet having the time of my life in this celebratory atmosphere of happily buzzed people.
The jukebox played, the beer flowed, drinks served, and I admired a certain rhythm to it all. I served one table at a time and kept up a sweet repertoire with the guests. In between, I grabbed drinks, and swapped stories and gossip about people with Jessa, who knew practically everyone, having lived here her whole life.
Every single time I passed by Keaton, he beamed at me with a smile I couldn’t define—was he in his element? The boss of the brewery, making money, and giving people a holiday to remember?
I wasn’t the only woman who couldn’t keep my eyes off him. A bus must have dropped off an entire group of fans to view Keaton in his hometown. He signed several napkins and coasters with a felt-tip marker, more than once.
When one chick begged him to sign her cleavage, I tried to keep my jealousy under control. He was a big fish in a small pond, and he soaked up every second of it.
Perhaps I wasn’t cut out to date a celebrity? The fan inside of me lamented, watching it all unfold. There were plenty of flirty men at my tables, though. Where my dating strategy failed in the past, I should have worked as a cocktail waitress to get more men to notice me.
I found out a particular group of three hockey players from Canada had driven down on their weekend off. One of them, goalie Declan Majors, had relatives in town and was particularly attentive to me every time I stopped by to check on their drinks.
“Aw, that’s Declan… I went to high school with him. He’s definitely had a glow up since then,” Jessa informed me as she eyed the man. There wasn’t much she missed from her post behind the bar. I didn’t know how she did it. Making drink orders plus managing the serving staff and in constant observation of the patrons—all while keeping Keaton in line. She particularly gave him grief over signing the woman’s chest. I hoped he paid Jessa well. She was worth her weight. “Look at the way he’s been eyeing you.”
“Who is eyeing who?” Keaton asked, appearing by my side as he dropped off a tray of empty glasses.
“Hot hockey men are fawning all over our new server here,” Jessa explained, with a tilt of her head toward me while simultaneously filling four shot glasses up with tequila. “What do you think about that, Keaton?”
He glanced over his shoulder, eyeing them. “I’d say they’d better keep their hands to themselves or they’ll find their asses kicked to the curb.” Was that a green-eyed monster or his usual protection of someone in his employ? To me, he said, “Why don’t I take their table, and you take table eight.”
I rolled my eyes. “Relax, brewmaster. I can handle them.”
“My, my. So protective of our staff, isn’t he, Sophie?” Jessa commented with an all-knowing glance, and filled my tray with the shots.
“Do you want me to put in a good word for you, Jessa?”
“Ew. No. Hockey players are hot, but not my type.”
“If I’m not your type, and they aren’t either, then who is?” Keaton asked. I was curious about how he knew Jessa wasn’t into him. Having hung out in the brewery the past few weeks, it was clear to me that they had a special bond, like siblings. Had they ever tested the waters for more?
“I guess I’ll know it when I see it,” she shrugged. “Uh-oh. Don’t look now, boss man, but a fresh group of women just arrived.”
“Better grab another felt tip. They’re sporting ample cleavage,” I snickered to Keaton, and moved away toward the hockey players. Never before in my life did I think learning to balance a heavy tray full of drinks in one hand would be a particular skill I’d want to master.
As a teenager, I never had to worry about money or work. It was only since graduating from Columbia that I’d attempted to get my first job ever, trying to put my marketing degree to good use. Mom frowned upon it. “I don’t understand why you’re making this so difficult on yourself. Your stepfather would give you a job in a heartbeat,” she’d said, so sure of her second ex-husband’s offer to employ me upon graduation.
He would have, but then I’d be under his thumb. I’d be obligated to have to work for him and with his sons. My older stepbrothers never exactly took to me. I’d be fighting them just to get ahead.
Fortunately, I was able to land a job with a top advertising agency. It was good, at first. I liked the work, and earning a paycheck made me feel valued. But soon I found out the hard way how cutthroat the business could be. I quit and have been striving to build my own clientele ever since.
“Here you go, guys. Four shots, but there’s three of you. Who gets the extra?” My eyes bounced from one handsome player to the next.
“That’s for you, sweetheart. Join us in a toast? We’re celebrating my birthday.” Declan handed me the shot glass. “One shot won’t hurt.”
I hesitated, noticing Mr. Grumpy face scowling at me as he stopped by.
“Having a good time tonight, guys?” Keaton greeted them, voice taking on a new tone I hadn’t heard from him yet. Bossy, controlling, protective… sexy.
“Yep. Thanks. I commend you on your stout. It’s good,” Declan said, slyly eying me over the rim of his glass. “And Sophie has been taking really good care of us.”
“Good to hear. Carry on. Soph, can we talk?” He yanked his head toward the bar, and I followed.
“Oh, come on. Don’t take the pretty lady away,” Declan loudly complained behind us.
Keaton didn’t stop until we were behind the bar, with Jessa eyeing us carefully. He turned on me, closed in, and lowered his voice. “I need you to take table eight.”
“But what about?—”
“The hockey crew? I’ll take care of them. They need cut off anyway.” He must have noticed my scowl and continued. “Listen, I’ve been doing this longer than you. Trust me. Those guys will only get more rowdy.”
“And you don’t think I’m capable of handling myself?” I crossed my arms. “I’d say the past five years of bad dates have given me plenty of practice with assholes.”
He mirrored my stance. “Is that right? Damn shame, Soph. Sounds like you needed an intervention by a good man long ago.”
“Do you know where I could find a good man?” I taunted him with a cocked eyebrow.
We stared each other down for a beat until Jessa suddenly yelped when the music changed.
“Woo hoo. Let’s go. This is it!” she shouted, grabbing my wrist and dragging me along with a few of the other servers. We came to a stop right in front of the hockey guys.
“What is it?” Confused, I looked around.
“This is our song. We dance to it whenever it comes on, gets the crowd going. And the more we wiggle our asses, the more we get in tips. Come on, follow my steps,” she urged.
“Yee haw,” Declan yelled, and his friends whistled. The crowd shifted, making room for us to move.
Before I could protest, Jessa was line dancing like she was the product of two country singers for parents. She and the other bar staff shimmied and shook through the lyrics, and I finally joined in. I laughed as I stumbled through the first couple of moves until I gained more confidence with it.
I whooped, clapped, twirled, and lost myself in the music. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d let go like this. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Keaton staring, acting like he cleared off a vacated table nearby. More like he devoured my every move, pretending not to care while his eyes said everything.
When they landed on my hips, I nearly lost my footing.
“Why isn’t he dancing?” I called over to Jessa, loud enough for him to hear. We exchanged a look, and without another word, we each grabbed one of his arms and hauled him over to join us.
He resisted at first, stiff and broody as ever. Then the music shifted, the rhythm caught him, and… wow. The man could move. With a sexy Wrangler butt, his gyrating hips never stopped, surprising me at every turn.
Jessa whooped. “Okay, Kingston! Didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Neither did I,” I gasped.
Then the size of our dance group increased when the hockey players decided to crash in. I could see Declan headed right for me until Jessa intervened.
“Why if it isn’t Declan Majors? I thought that was you.” She forced him to take up her arms and dance. “I was just thinking the other day about those keg parties we used to have in the fields out on old route 365…”
With Declan occupied by her, Keaton suddenly grabbed me and twirled me. If I didn’t know better, Jessa mastermind this whole thing. I giggled and synced with him to the beat of the song.
Everywhere we touched—hands, thighs, knees—something sparked.
Keaton’s grip tightened, like he felt it too but didn’t know what to do with it.
He caught me around the waist and dipped me in a smooth move. My hair draped to the floor as my head lolled, and when he brought me back up, I was breathless in his arms, caught in a trance of his romantic mood. Our eyes met, mine half-lidded staring into his sultry blues. I’d exhausted any power I had to resist his charms.
“Like I said, damn shame a good man isn’t around to intervene,” he chuckled wickedly.
My chest expanded, trying to catch my breath, as the song ended, yet he held me a second more. What would he do with me if we were alone?
I shook my head and snapped out of it, like I breaking out of his spell. I stepped back quickly, smoothing my apron. “Anyway. Back to work.”
“Table eight,” he growled as I passed him, which did nothing to calm the ache that started to manifest between my thighs.
I sauntered back behind the bar, wiping my brow, and Jessa followed. “Didn’t know your boss had hips like Elvis. How was your dance with Declan? Did you reminisce about high school?”
“Oh, he hardly remembers me. I just wanted to give you and Keaton some time together.”
I shook my head. “Jessa, you can’t force two people together.”
“From where I stand, I’d say there’s plenty happening between the two of you naturally.”
“And you and he never…?”
“What?” She snorted. “Hell no. I’m not into broody guys with beards. Nope, I’m holding out for a man who is filthy rich. Someone to take me away from all of this.”
Keaton returned to the bar then and eyed us, staring at him. “What?”
“Nothing,” Jessa dismissed, and we got back to work.
Over the last two hours until closing, the bar kept humming with people until the very end. At some point, Declan and his buddies had left, even drunker, and he begged me for my phone number. I finally gave it to him, just to get him out the door.
At closing time, I helped Jessa clean up, following her around. She gasped when we came to the last corner table, a cozy one by the original fireplace from the Victorian home Keaton had converted into the brewery. What a mess of game parts strewn everywhere from multiple games.
“Look at all these tiny pieces people don’t have the decency to clean up. I’ve told Keaton a hundred times that having his stash of classic board games here for people to play is more trouble than anything. Why, last month this couple got into a fist fight over who won...”
I stopped listening and eyed the pieces. Gingerly, I helped, picking them up and making sure each piece was correctly put back into the respective boxes. I could hear my stepdad’s voice now, nagging us kids about that. The games had become his life, and ultimately the entire reason mom left him, too. It’d been many years since I’d played or even touched a game.
“Are you okay? You’re looking like these pieces have a transferable disease on them or something,” she noticed and chuckled.
“Uh, I hate board games. That’s all. Played too many of them as a kid, I guess.” I shrugged and laughed it off, hiding the truth.
Finally finished, Jessa and I leaned against the bar for a breather as Keaton finished sweeping up.
“Whoa. You get to do this nightly? My feet are killing me. I have no idea how you’re still standing.” I observed her sensible tennis shoes compared to my boots. Granted, the last thing I ever thought I’d be doing tonight was working like this. If I had, I would have selected proper footwear.
She bumped her shoulder into mine. “Come on, time to turn in your apron and split the tips.”
As I untied the strings at my back, she started counting the coins and bills in the huge tip jar. The other employees gathered around.
“Yes. Big haul tonight. Here’s everyone’s share.” When she handed me a pile of money, I hadn’t expected it. I shoved it right back.
“Oh, no. I was only volunteering tonight. Put my share back in and split amongst you,” I demand.
Keaton must have spotted me limping toward the office to get my things. “You good?” he asked as he came up from behind.
“Debatable. I’ve gained a new respect for anyone who survives a shift on their feet.”
He moved ahead of me, opened the office door, and held out a hand to help me inside. The second it closed behind us, the noise faded and I sunk down into my office chair, groaning at every muscle in my body complaining.
He picked up something from his desk, brought his chair over to face mine, and then he patted his knee. “Foot rubs are my specialty.”
Too exhausted to fight it, I lifted my foot up. He carefully took my boot off, then my sock, and repeated on the other. The item from his desk turned out to be some type of foot lotion which must have contained soothing properties. With some in his hands, he began to knead one foot, then the next with an expertise that could rival the best masseuses at some New York City spas.
“Mm. Oh, my God. Where’d you learn to do this?” I moaned, eyes rolling into my head, ready to sacrifice my entire body to his hands.
“I learned out of necessity, and from a video on YouTube. You work long hours in a place like this and foot care becomes as important as oral hygiene.”
“Do you treat everyone who works for you this way?” I eyed him through slits.
“No. Only the pretty woman sitting in front of me right now.” His blue eyes a shade darker, we entered dangerous territory here. A smile flickered across his face. “Thank you. For jumping in tonight, by the way. You really made a difference.”
My heart fluttered, thinking back over the night, the way he dipped me during the dance, his protective vibe for me, and now this. After a few more minutes where I was putty in his hands, I pulled my feet away and sat upright. “Don’t thank me. Just promise never to make me wait tables again.”
“You volunteered, if I recall. But it’s a deal.” He chuckled. His fingers worked the tense muscles and bones of each foot, however many they were. Every single one of them acted like an aphrodisiac. I wanted his hands to work further up my thighs.
Hell, he could put his hands anywhere on me and I’d die happy.
Only his hands slowed. “I probably shouldn’t take this any further.” He met my gaze, eyes dark, daring me to say otherwise.
When I held back, he cleared his throat, jolting me away from those thoughts. “Listen, Jessa and I are going to watch some friends of ours set off fireworks in a field right outside of town in a few minutes. Come with us?”
I wanted to say yes, but I needed boundaries. And my track record with romance was not the best. I shook my head. “Thanks. But I think I’ll head home and rest.”
He nodded, but there was something unreadable in his eyes.
I slipped out the door barefooted, carrying my boots and keys in hand, smiling tightly. All I could think about on the way home was what might’ve happened if I’d gone with him.
I told myself I needed boundaries.
But as I lay in bed thinking about his hands, his laugh, the sultry way he looked at me…
I realized I didn’t want space.
I wanted him.