Chapter 1
Chapter One
Once upon a time, there was a ferocious bear and a tiny rabbit who found themselves trapped in the same lair because the universe had a shitty sense of humor.
And then the bear ate the rabbit. The end.
“Allie. A word.”
I forgot to mention that, in this tale, the bear could talk.
And it’s called Travis Ward.
I shut my eyes, taking advantage of the fact that my back is turned to him, and press my lips into a thin line. Who am I kidding? There’s no getting out of this.
“What’s up, boss man?”
I also forgot to say the rabbit had had an exhausting week and just wanted to go home, open a bottle of cheap wine, and watch reality TV on her phone because she doesn’t have cable.
When I saw Travis earlier today, taking inventory with that familiar scowl on his face, I already knew he wasn’t in a great mood. Which, for him, doesn’t mean much—the storm in him never clears.
Whatever advantage I think I have is short-lived. His heavy footsteps on the floor I mopped just minutes ago approach me with a daunting rhythm.
Too slowly, the tank-sized man who has been my boss for a little over a year steps into my line of vision—well, his chest does. At five foot two, I consider myself to be on the shorter side, but my boss makes me feel all the more minuscule. He’s what, six four? Six five, maybe, if I’m generous. With that dark brown hair and thick, short beard, he’s not beating the bear allegations anytime soon, that’s for sure.
“You know what you did.” That rough, deep voice doesn’t need to ask any questions. He knows I messed up, and I don’t have it in me to play coy.
Yet I don’t answer right away. My shift finishes in five minutes, so maybe if I stay really quiet and stand really still, he’ll forget I’m here. And when I make my escape in five—now four—minutes, it’ll be too late for a scolding.
People can say what they want about Travis, but he never makes us stay a minute past our shifts at the bar and is equally as strict with our arrival times. It’s in his ex-Navy SEAL blood, I bet.
But luck hasn’t been on my side for the past twenty-five years, and it’s not going to start now.
“Allie.”
He says my name in a way that sounds more like a grunt.
When he crosses those bulky arms over his chest, I know he’s pissed. Travis isn’t a huge talker, which means I’ve memorized his body language to a T. But even if I hadn’t, the tightness of his jaw and the permanent notch between his brows paint a very clear picture.
“I messed up the stock order, didn’t I?”
He says nothing, as if he were waiting for me to answer my own stupid question.
I’ve endured much worse than this grumpy mountain of a man—ex-military or not—so instead of begging for his oh-so-great forgiveness, I ask, “How can I fix it?”
His answer is, of course, “You can’t.”
Okay, now he’s being pessimistic for no reason.
I square my shoulders and keep my gaze on his unwavering mossy green eyes, barely paying any attention to his massive upper body that belongs in wrestling matches where sweaty, half-naked men beat each other up for fun.
“What are we short on? Rum? Rye whiskey? I can stop by the liquor store and come back in”—I glance at the clock on the wall—“twenty minutes. I’ll pay for them out of my own pocket.”
When he says nothing, I know my attempt at a reconciliation isn’t working. But I don’t give up.
“How many bottles do we need? Just say.”
Travis doesn’t waver. Good thing I’m a master at reading his poker faces, or else we would have much more frustrating one-sided conversations.
“Look,” I start as the clock strikes the end of my shift, “I’m sorry I messed up the stock order. I wish I could say it won’t happen again, but we both know it might because that computer hates me. I can promise I will pay more attention, though.”
Honesty is all I can give him.
And not even that if I’m being technical.
My brain betrays me as our stare off contest continues. Because now is not the time to think that his perpetually pissed-off look suits him. In a weird way, it does. That grouchy face makes him look handsome but not approachable, like an awe-inducing wild animal.
I really need to stop thinking about his rugged-in-an-attractive-way face, or his thick, short beard that would cover his lips if it weren’t so carefully trimmed, or how black his hair looks under the lights of the bar even though I know it’s dark brown. I really should.
Travis shifts his stance, only to cross his arms tighter. The deep, frustrated sigh he lets out parts the hairs on my bangs.
“You ordered six bottles of scotch, three bottles of brandy, and four bottles of apple vodka.” A pause. I don’t like this pause. It makes my skin crawl and my stomach drop. “You had to order boxes, not bottles.”
I wince. “I can’t get all of that at the store, right?”
“Right.”
This…is bad. Really bad. Making an honest mistake or two is okay, part of human nature and all that, but this is different. Because I didn’t just mess up one stock order last week—three months ago, I messed up another one, and just yesterday, I tripped over Charlie’s stupid backpack in the changing room, and in a desperate attempt to save my nose from being broken, I broke the door handle instead.
I hate disappointing people who are counting on me. It doesn’t matter that Travis fixed the door handle in two minutes or that a few messed-up stock orders here and there won’t put The Lair out of business. I didn’t get yelled at—not that boss man ever raises his voice to start with—but what difference does it make? I still feel like crap.
I really like this job, damn it. I’m happy here.
I’m happy for the first time in a very, very long time.
“How can I fix it?” I insist, a sudden lump of guilt and embarrassment clogging my throat.
His face remains stoic. If I didn’t know him, I’d fear he’d turned into stone right in front of my eyes. But because I do, I only wait in agony for the two-word answer I already suspect he’s going to give me.
“You can’t.”
I hate how I want to fix it, but he won’t let me. How I’m the only employee who’s messed up two stock orders in less than three months.
And I hate that it makes me think that my mother was right. That I’m not good at anything but being a bother.
“Go home, Allie,” Travis orders in that authoritative voice that usually makes my skin tingle.
“But—”
“Be here at four tomorrow.”
I blink. “I’m not fired?”
I expected this to be the last straw. It’s not like I’m the most qualified waitress in the history of customer service even though I take my job very seriously. He could get a replacement within twenty-four hours if he tried.
But he won’t because I’ll still have a job tomorrow. Figure that one out.
“Go home,” he repeats.
“All right. See you tomorrow,” I mutter.
My shoulder brushes his arm as I walk past him, heading to the changing room. He doesn’t add anything else. And when I reach the threshold and glance over my shoulder, he is nowhere to be seen.
I wish I’d imagined that whole exchange, but I’m not that lucky. I’ve never been.
It all started thirteen months ago.
Well, technically, it started sixteen years ago, but I like to pretend it didn’t.
Either way, thirteen months ago, I found myself in the small town of Bannport, Maine. It wasn’t my original destination, given how I didn’t know this place existed until a sign on the road told me so. But something happened that day—something that made me stop.
My car broke down.
Also, my hair needed a desperate round of dye.
By some miracle, I managed to pull into a car repair shop and was told it wouldn’t take them long to take a look. Since I had errands to run, I ventured into town with nothing but my purse and a hungry stomach.
Two bottles of brown hair dye later, I saw it.
The Lair.
A typical small-town sports bar, by the looks of it. The sign above the door was well-kept. Clean too. I could read the white, Western-style letters just fine, which meant dust hadn’t collected. The red bricks of the building gave it a cozy feeling, so at odds with the sports bars I’d been to so far.
As a young woman traveling alone, maybe I should’ve thought twice about stepping into a possibly all-male place called The Lair. But then someone exited the bar, and the mouthwatering smell of grilled meat drifted to my about-to-pass-out-from-hunger self, and I was sold.
Pushing past the Staff Needed sign on the door, I kept one eye on the four occupied tables while I took a seat in a secluded corner, near the pool table at the back and as far away from the TV as I could, since that’s where everyone’s attention was. Nobody glanced my way, which allowed me to relax just enough to scan the menu for that grilled burger I’d smelled earlier.
The smell of food in the air mixed with the pine-clean scent coming from my table, which meant someone had wiped it just moments before. If that hadn’t given it away, the lack of grease on the surface would have.
I glanced around me—dozens of bottles of liquor behind the bar, neon signs on the brick wall, not many tables.
And then him.
“What can I get you?”
I had never heard such a gruff yet soothing voice in my life. It made a strange jolt run down my rigid spine. When I looked up, I understood why this place was called The Lair—a bear-man was hiding in here.
And that in itself might have been the understatement of the century. Tall, much taller than me, stood a huge man with a scowl so deep, it rivaled my mother’s. Only his didn’t have that layer of cruelty I’d learned to spot so easily.
A flannel shirt covered everything from his collarbone down to his hairy forearms, which I could see because his sleeves were rolled up, as if he’d been doing some kind of handiwork. With those ginormous hands and long, thick fingers, it wouldn’t faze me if he could build a house from the ground up.
For someone working in customer service, I thought he had the grouchiest face. And that was saying something, considering I’d seen many faces in the past six years. Too many.
Yet I didn’t feel an immediate urge to run away. The thinnest layer of kindness shone in his green eyes—or maybe it was wishful thinking. Because no kindness meant I could very easily end up in a ditch by the end of my meal.
Don’t think about that. Not anymore.
I could tell his lips were plump and kind of rosy, even though they were pressed into a thin, hard line. Straight nose, bushy eyebrows. Mid- to late thirties, if I had to guess, which would make him a decade older than me. Not that this stranger’s age was any of my business.
My perusal couldn’t have lasted longer than two seconds, but it was enough to make things awkward. I remember he repeated, voice slightly more irritated, “Can I get you anything?”
He knew I’d been staring, and it was nothing short of mortifying.
“A cheeseburger and a Budweiser, please.”
Bear-man only narrowed his eyes at me, silent for a moment that stretched and stretched.
“How old are you?”
Ah, of course. A classic.
Society needed to get rid of the notion that chubby cheeks were baby-like features because some grown people couldn’t do anything about them—nor did we want to. Plus, it’s not like I looked like a teenager.
But I knew there was nothing I could do or say to convince this massive stranger I wasn’t underage except for handing him my ID, as mortifying as it was. The piece of plastic trembled between my fingers—only slightly—as I held it out for him to inspect.
Those narrowed eyes narrowed a little more, and I found myself gulping even though I had nothing to hide—not regarding my age.
“California.” It wasn’t a question or an accusation, but it felt like both to me. “Long way from Maine.”
I said nothing, and he didn’t ask me anymore not-questions. Without another word, he disappeared behind the bar.
Like a coward, I rolled my eyes when I knew he wasn’t looking. If he wasn’t back in five minutes with my beer, I would find another place in this godforsaken town to drown my hangry demons in.
My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I slipped my hand inside as I kept my eyes on the four occupied tables. Every man in this place had decided to ignore the female newcomer, and I was all about that.
I held my phone under the table, as I had done countless times in high school, and was relieved to find a notification from Jada. She’d caught me sneaking furtive glances at my phone more than once during her lessons, but never told my parents. She knew I had enough on my plate as it was.
Jada
Where are you now?
I typed out my reply before a gigantic shadow was cast over me.
Me
Bannport, Maine
A cold Budweiser was placed in front of me, and I almost cried from joy.
“Thank you.” I smiled up at the grouchy stranger, and I got exactly what I suspected he’d give me in return—a scowl.
Whatever.
He left as quickly as he came, and I went back to my conversation with Jada.
Jada
How long are you staying there?
I didn’t consider Bannport an option, more like a quick stop. What did this town in the middle of nowhere have to offer?
A home, maybe.
Ha. The voice inside my head decided to crack some jokes today.
Home . I didn’t know the meaning of that word. Never had and suspected I never would.
Me
I wasn’t planning on staying here.
Jada
Where are you running away to, honey?
A lump formed in my throat as two conflicting emotions crashed into me.
I hadn’t talked to Jada in four days, and I missed her voice terribly. I missed seeing her in person, too, but that wasn’t an option, and it wouldn’t be for a while.
I missed her pollo guisado , her warm hugs, the rich scent of the jasmine candles she burned at home, and the term of affection she’d been calling me since I was twelve. Since that day she stopped being just my schoolteacher and became the adult I needed to survive.
I gulped down half of my beer in a failed attempt to banish the painful memories, but when I set it back down with a thump, the questions were still there.
Am I still running away? Do I even know how to stop?
Me
I’m not running away.
Jada
Can I call you?
One quick look at my battery percentage told me the answer, and it wasn’t the one I would’ve liked.
Me
My phone is about to die, but maybe tonight?
Jada
Whenever you can, Allie. You know we’re here for you.
Tears pricked my eyes, but I was not going to start crying in the middle of a random sports bar while I was all alone. I was not going to show anyone around me weakness, let alone grown men ten times bigger and stronger than I was.
But Jada was right. I was running away—hadn’t stopped for the past few years—and maybe I needed to think about my next move for longer than two seconds.
Me
Thank you. I love you both.
Jada
We love you too. Take care of yourself.
Putting my phone back inside my pocket, I started to peel off the wet label on the bottle, thinking about my options. As I saw it, I had three.
One was to keep moving. After years on the road, I was finally where I wanted to be. I was here, in Maine, at last. I’d made it. Nobody was forcing me to leave or stay or do anything at all.
Option two was to go back the way I came. Once they gave my car the green light, I could drive anywhere in the country, and that notion made me breathe a little easier. I didn’t miss the scorching sun of Texas or the incessant traffic of North Carolina, but maybe I felt like that because deep down, I knew I was simply passing by every place I’d been to.
And option three…
Was I really considering option three?
Two hours ago, I didn’t know Bannport existed, and now I was thinking about staying here for good? Or at least until I had a more solid plan.
I pulled out my phone again. A quick search online told me Bannport was far more popular than I initially gave it credit for. Bannport Lake was a big tourist attraction during the summer, and so were the hiking trails not far from here. The town celebrated some kind of music festival in the spring, and there was even a museum only ten minutes away.
A school, several bars and supermarkets, a gym, hair and nail salons, a bank, a farmers’ market, a library…
Fine, so maybe Bannport wasn’t some random godforsaken town after all. Who would’ve known.
I was still undecided when bear-man came back with the most delicious-smelling burger I’d ever seen. But I didn’t let the goodness in front of me distract me for too long. I was a woman on a mission. One I wasn’t too sure about in the first place, but life was about living and taking risks.
Now that I finally had the privilege of freedom, I wasn’t going to let self-doubts take it from me. I owed it to myself after what I’d survived.
“Hey,” I called out to the man as he retreated without a word.
He didn’t turn around, not fully. Those attentive eyes surveilled me from over his shoulder, and the words almost got stuck in my tongue.
“Could you point me to a nearby inn or a hotel, please?”
I was doing it. I was staying in Bannport, at least for a night. I had enough money to last me about six weeks if I couldn’t find a job, and that was if I cut my expenses by half again.
But it was fine. I’d done it before, and I could do it again as many times as I needed to. Anything was better than my old life.
“There’s a hotel down the street.”
Was that a grumble?
“Could you write down the address for me, please?”
He disappeared behind the bar without giving me a proper answer. Maybe I was testing his patience, or maybe I was overthinking my interactions with him way too much. Both seemed plausible.
If he didn’t want to help me, I could find a hotel on my own. I was by no means a stranger to being independent, to doing things myself because nobody was going to step in and help. I didn’t need anyone to.
Three bites into my burger, though, a piece of paper landed next to my empty beer. I arched an eyebrow, mouth full of beef. Slowly, I swallowed.
His only answer was “The hotel.”
I examined his neat handwriting for all of two seconds before I saw him move out of the corner of my eye.
And then I did something that altered the course of my life forever.
“I saw you’re hiring.”