8. Chapter 8
Chapter eight
Warlock
The following Saturday we’re at our usual table at McQueen’s.
After we’ve ordered, I glance around for Tallahassee.
She’s not our waitress tonight, and I don’t see her in the restaurant or working the bar downstairs.
This is the first Saturday she hasn’t been working.
As much as I want to, I refrain from asking our server if she’s here, afraid Tallahassee might see it as an invasion of privacy.
Our waiter delivers our food, and we don’t waste time digging in.
We’ve almost demolished our meal when Pony bumps my shoulder.
When I turn my attention his way, he jerks his head toward the other side of the room.
I didn’t see her in the dining room or downstairs because tonight she’s tending the restaurant’s bar.
A smile spreads across my face when I see her. It’s as if she materialized knowing I was thinking about her. My eyes linger on her, drinking her in.
Hawk leans back in his seat and whistles. “You’ve got it bad, boss,” he taunts with a grin, regaining my attention.
“Yeah, you’re all googly-eyed over her,” Ricochet adds, snagging one of the few remaining chicken wings.
“Who says ‘googly-eyed?’” Hawk shoots back.
Ricochet smirks around a mouthful of chicken and taps his finger against his chest.
Exasperated, I roll my eyes and shake my head. “I don’t get googly-eyed over women, asshat.”
“Until now,” Doc chimes in with a smile.
Nitro grunts his agreement and takes a pull off his beer.
The truth is, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her. I’ve dreamt about her. Woken up hard and aching for her. I’ve been captivated, infatuated from the first moment I saw her. All of which is abnormal behavior for me.
The realization hits me hard. They’re right. I’m falling headfirst for Tallahassee Crockett.
Fuck.
Noticing my epiphany, Doc studies me. “How bad is it?”
There’s no point denying the truth. “It’s bad. I’m in way over my head.”
Pony grins, smacking me on the shoulder. “About time.”
I ignore him and push away from the table, surging to my feet to avoid the rest of my team’s unsolicited opinions.
The restaurant bar serves patrons waiting for their tables, mixes drinks for the dining room, and handles to-go orders.
Bottles of booze are neatly arranged on mirrored, back-lit shelves that radiate a soft glow.
I slide onto a barstool. Other than me, there’s a group of three women and several couples sharing murmured conversation while they wait to be seated.
When Tallahassee spots me she makes her way over.
“Good evening, Tallahassee. Nice to see you again.”
She tips her head. “Warlock.”
I smile and order a beer.
She pulls the beer, sets a napkin on the bar, and places the glass in front of me.
“You’re multi-talented. Not only a great waitress but also a good bartender. Where’d you learn?” I ask, hoping to get her to talk to me.
She doesn’t look up as she starts mixing several cocktails. “I learned how to waitress at a diner in a tiny town in Wisconsin. I worked at a honky-tonk in Texas, which is where I learned to tend bar.”
Without another word, she carries the drinks to her customers at the other end of the bar.
I’m stoked she’s talking to me but I don’t want to risk her shutting down by asking questions about how she went from being a gold medal-winning swimmer to waitressing and tending bar.
Still, I need to find a way to earn her trust. Show her that I can be a safe harbor for her.
She doesn’t pay attention to me when she returns, just sets a large tray on the pick-up station, and starts mixing more drinks. I’m trying to think of something that will keep her talking, when she surprises me by initiating the conversation. “So…why Warlock?”
“My name’s Darren Stevens,” I tell her without hesitation.
She glances up while filling two pitchers of beer and smiles one of her rare, real smiles. I like the way it lights up her whole face and makes all her sadness and apprehension disappear. When she smiles like that, it chases away her demons.
“Like from Bewitched?” she asks.
I’m impressed. “You’re the first person who’s ever gotten that without me explaining it.” I sit forward, my arms braced on the bar. “The nickname was bestowed on me by one of my instructors. At first, I thought it was something cool and badass…until he informed me it wasn’t a compliment.”
I take a sip of my beer.
She sets the filled pitchers on the tray and frowns at me. “Except Darren wasn’t a warlock. He was human and didn’t have any powers.” She pulls six frosty glasses from a glass-front freezer and places them on the tray with the pitchers waiting to be picked up by one of the wait staff.
“That was the point. It was meant to be ironic. Or insulting. Or both.”
“You should tell people you do have magical powers. That you’re a sorcerer who’s able to appear and disappear at will. That would suit you better than being named after a doofus. Because honestly, you don’t seem like a doofus.”
I smile at her. “No?”
She shakes her head. “Not even a little bit.” A slow blush creeps up her cheeks.
She refuses to make eye contact and, under the guise of tending to her other customers, flees to the opposite end of the bar with her embarrassment.
A smirk of satisfaction stretches across my lips at her reaction. I can tell she meant it. Her honesty is refreshing. A lot of women play games, but Tallahassee doesn’t seem to be one of them.
When she returns, she scoops ice into a glass, filling it with club soda and a wedge of lime. After shoving a straw in it, she wraps those luscious lips around the straw and takes a drink.
I look away before she catches me staring.
She sets her drink down and starts another order, this time pulling out a smaller tray. After setting up five shot glasses, she starts filling them with top-shelf tequila.
Remembering what she told me in the coffee shop, I ask, “So, your folks are free-spirited hippies?” I spin my glass between my hands. “That must’ve made for an interesting childhood.”
“I guess that depends on your definition of ‘interesting’,” she says with air quotes. “It wasn’t dull, that’s for sure. But there comes a time when you realize a naked drum dance isn’t what the other kids are doing with their parents on Saturday night.”
My jaw goes slack in disbelief. “You’re joking, right?”
Her blue eyes connect with mine. “You have no idea how much I wish I was.”
I’m elated that tonight she seems more relaxed. I’m making progress getting her to open up a little. For the first time, she’s showing me small glimpses of her real, unrestrained personality.
When she stretches over her head to pull down four wine glasses, I try not to enjoy the sight.
She uncorks a bottle of wine like a pro and starts filling the glasses. “What about your parents?” she asks.
“They’re divorced. I’m not close with my mom.
She isn’t what you’d call the motherly type.
She’s cold and aloof. I’m pretty sure she never wanted kids.
” It’s not like me to share these details, but if I don’t open up to her, I can’t expect her to open up to me.
“She lives in Italy now. My dad’s the opposite, which is probably why they’re divorced. He lives here in town now.”
“I’m sorry about your mom.”
A busboy arrives to refill the freezer with clean pitchers and glasses, taking away the dirty glassware.
Tallahassee thanks him, then turns to face me.
“It’s nice that you’re close to your dad.
” She places a pitcher of beer and two frosty glasses on the tray with the tequila and sets up a separate tray for the wine, then disappears down the bar to tend to her other customers.
When she returns, she starts mixing a pitcher of margaritas.
“Are you close with your family?” I ask.
She doesn’t look at me, but the question rewards me with another smile. “Yeah. I love them. But honestly, they like to get all up in my business, and I could do without that.”
I’m ecstatic she’s making an effort to talk to me.
“Get you another beer?” she asks.
I give my head a shake. “No. Thanks. I’m good. So, what would you say is the number one thing on your bucket list?” I’m hoping to learn what she likes to do so I can convince her it’s something we should do together.
Her body goes rigid, her eyes filling with sadness.
Damnit, I fucked up.
Her soft voice is full of pain when she responds, “All I want is for people to forget who I am.”
What unspeakable experience could make someone want to disappear? I’m pissed off she suffered something so abhorrent that she wants to be forgotten. I’m not sure how much longer I can wait for her to tell me what happened to her. Until she does, I’m walking through a minefield blindfolded.
She shakes herself out of her melancholy and turns away, starting another drink order. I want to press her for details, but I also don’t want to risk her spiraling.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Tallahassee. I’m only trying to learn something, anything about you.”
Her eyes swing my way. There’s a long pulse of silence when her shields drop completely, and I see her.
Clear-eyed and open. Lonely and vulnerable.
A woman carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders and struggling under the burden.
It touches a soft spot inside me. Until this moment, I wasn’t sure I had any soft spots left.
The air feels heavy. Something significant and undeniable passes between us.
Possibilities.
Promises.
Hope.
And then, as quickly as her walls came down, they snap back into place as she focuses her attention on the drink order.
Still, I can’t shake the feeling that something has changed between us. That a fissure has cracked in that heavy suit of armor she wears. I don’t draw attention to it.
“You know I’m dying to ask about the naked drum dance comment you made earlier, right?”
That earns me a small chuckle. “It’s pretty much exactly what it sounds like.
A bunch of women strip down, beat on drums, and dance around a bonfire in a circle.
” She leans closer, as if she’s about to share a secret, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
“I’m not gonna lie. There’s usually copious amounts of wine involved. ”
I laugh. I’m enjoying this side of her. It’s sweet and endearing. I like it. I like it a lot. It sparks a fierce need to do everything in my power to erase the fear that constantly claws at her, so she always feels safe enough to be herself.
“In its own way, though, it’s enchanting,” she adds wistfully.
“Enchanting, huh?”
“Mmm.”
She stays busy, taking care of the customers waiting at the bar for their tables and handing off to-go orders and delivery pick-ups.
Wait staff come and go, collecting the trays of drinks Tallahassee pours.
Some step behind the bar to pull pitchers of beer or pour wine.
They greet Tallahassee and study me with blatant curiosity.
My teammates swing by to say goodbye to Tallahassee and inform me they’re heading downstairs. I don’t want to leave but the last thing I want is to make her regret spending time with me. Reluctantly, I drop some cash on the bar and say goodnight.
“Night, Darren.”
It’s the first time she’s used my real name, and I can’t deny I like the way it sounds rolling off her tongue. I want to hear it again.
When I reach the top of the stairs, I glance back and see her watching me. She smiles and gives me a shy wave.
I return her smile and wave back, then push through the door, ecstatic at the way this night turned out. Small victories.