Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Erica
I flipped off my other shoe. The floor was a little dusty, but surprisingly clean overall.
I’d figured the inside would match the outside.
The tables and chairs were worn, but still serviceable with a bit of elbow grease and maybe some polish.
An ancient tarp covered the taps, secured by bungee cord.
The bar itself was shrouded in a large piece of paint-stained canvas.
I frowned at the thick gray smoke coming from the kitchen. What the hell? I rushed around the bar and through the swinging door. The heavy scent of cigarette smoke slammed into deja vu.
“Rita!”
The crabby waitress with the improbable crayon-red hair who had been attached to this place since before I was born was sitting next to the back door cracked open to let in air. Of course it never helped, but Rita did what she wanted.
Why Sharkey put up with her, I never knew.
But her ass had been Velcroed to that chair every day I’d worked there. I guess it didn’t much matter if the bar was closed or not.
She took a long drag and blew a stream of smoke at me. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
Still sweet as ever too.
I snatched the cigarette out of her hand and stubbed it out into the pail of sand she used to prop open the door. “You can’t smoke in here.”
She calmly took out her leather cigarette pack holder. The leather was cracked and held together by safety pins. I was pretty sure it was older than my mother. She plucked another one from the Newport 100s pack with the tips of her long red nails. “What are you doing back here, kid?”
I grabbed her lighter. “We are in the middle of getting reviewed by the fire code chief,” I whispered furiously. “You cannot smoke in here. What are you doing here?”
She shrugged. “Working.” She pulled a pack of matches out of a different pocket and lit up.
I looked over my shoulder. This was not happening to me. I straightened my spine and gentled my voice. Maybe she was so deep in mourning for Sharkey she didn’t know she currently didn’t have employment. “Rita, the bar is closed.”
“I know that, you twit. I’m not stupid.” She blew a stream of smoke toward the door this time. How kind of her. “I’m here to meet with the new owner of this place.”
“Well that’s me.”
She shot out of the chair. “The hell it is.” She dropped her cigarette and stomped it out with her thick-soled black shoes.
I covered my face with my hands. “Dios mio.”
“Erica?”
“You’re going to get us into trouble.” I rushed to the back door, propped it open, and waved my hand against the smoke, but it was no use.
“Still such a good girl. Always following the rules.” Rita grabbed her purse and breezed by me to the back parking lot.
Jacob filled the doorway. His impressive shoulders barely fit through the door.
I didn’t remember him being so…beefy when we were kids.
He’d always been tall, if a little bit on the beanpole end.
Between basketball and football, he’d been the sweet-natured jock who was friends with everyone and yet truly close to no one.
A little sliver of unease hit me. Where had that thought come from?
He narrowed his gaze. “Since when did you smoke?”
“Not me. Rita was here.”
“That makes more sense.” He tossed my little mesh bag at me. “Let’s get this done, Freckles.”
I caught it and sighed. Today was not turning out how I’d imagined.
I pulled on my shoes and followed him out. Sure enough, he had a clipboard this time around. I was pretty sure most fire code agents used a tablet. Then again, Crescent Cove was a small town. Maybe they didn’t have that kind of technology in the budget.
He made tsking sounds as he walked around the bar. He checked outlets and vents, and he even carried out a small stepladder from beside the front door he must have brought back in with him. He kept humming to himself as he marked things off.
I followed him around, my blouse sticking to my back with every step. There was no air circulation in this godforsaken place.
I wasn’t sure if checks were good or bad. The more his brow furrowed, the more I went with the shit column.
By the time he put the damn clipboard down, my shoulders were aching from tension.
Jacob tucked his pen behind his ear. “Well, you’re not quite to full shut down, but there’s a lot you’re going to have to fix before you sell this place.”
“Can’t I sell it without the fixes?”
“You can.” He propped his fist on his hip. “You’d take a helluva loss. If you made some simple repairs, you’d come out further ahead for sure.”
“Is that a professional opinion? Aren’t you supposed to be impartial?”
He dropped the clipboard on the table. “Look, Freckles. I loved this place. The Cove doesn’t have too many bars that aren’t overrun by townies looking to let off steam. Station 49 took to this place over the last year. We loved Sharkey, and I want to make sure you’re taken care of.”
My heart pounded. “Why?”
“We take care of our own. Sharkey thought you were good enough to take on this place, so I guess we have to as well.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Gee, thanks.”
He stepped closer to me, and his spicy woodsmoke scent filled my head. “Besides, you used to be one of my closest…” His gaze dropped to my mouth. “Friends. I take care of my friends.”
I stepped back and bumped into a chair. I tamped down the urge to growl at him. I hadn’t been that girl in a damn long time. I didn’t lose my temper and I wouldn’t be baited by him. “I appreciate that, Jacob.”
“Just Jake these days, Freckles.”
I poked him in the chest. “Stop calling me that.”
He grinned down at me. “No can do. Especially when they’re burning through your carefully applied face paint.”
“It’s not paint. It’s one-hundred-dollar concealer.” My fingers went to my nose automatically. Sure enough, my makeup wasn’t holding up to the heat in the bar.
He snorted. “You paid too much. Besides, you look better all natural.” He picked up his clipboard. “I’ll be back with the boys soon to start working on this list.”
“What list? Don’t I get a copy of the citations or whatever?”
“Citations?” He barked out a laugh. “I’m not a cop. But yes, you’ll get a written report of your violations in twenty-four to seventy-two hours.” He tucked the sheets in his inside jacket pocket.
“What? I can’t wait that long.” I chased after him. “Jake, you have to give me the preliminary findings.”
“You gotta stop watching cop shows, darlin’.”
“Erica. My name is Erica!” And okay, maybe I watched way too many true crime documentaries. But what else should I call the results of this farce of a meeting?
He slid on his aviators before he opened the bar’s door. “Go see your mom and sisters. I’ll be in touch.”
“That is not how this is supposed to work, Jake Mills,” I called after him.
He turned around and walked backward toward his truck. “How did you think it was going to work? You’re back in the Cove, Freckles. Things here aren’t like how they are in the big city.”
I stomped on the porch and heard another crack. I quickly stepped to a more secure board.
“Careful there or I’m going to wonder if you like me scooping you up in my arms.” He opened his truck door. “I know I enjoyed it.” He gave me a salute and shut the door before I could reply.
I ran down the stairs, but he just waved as he drove off, spitting gravel in his wake.
This was supposed to be a quick trip. In and out, with maybe some of my mother’s empanadas as a treat.
Not a project, dammit. And definitely not one involving Jake Mills.