Chapter 3
Chapter Three
“Pretend you have manners, okay? We’re trying to impress these ladies.”
Oscar plopped his butt down on Misty’s front stoop and, tongue lolling, tipped his head back to look at Denver, as if to say, See, I got this.
One ear flopped over his eye, making him look a lot more like trouble than a canine gentleman.
With a little prayer that the mutt remembered his training, Denver held out the gift bag.
Oscar clamped the handle between his teeth and turned back to the door, his baseball bat of a tail wagging so hard, it swept the front stoop.
Man, he hoped this wasn’t a mistake. He’d wanted to make a good impression.
His grandmama had hailed from Georgia, and, during the formative years she’d helped his father raise him, she’d impressed upon Denver proper company etiquette.
It wasn’t something he’d been called on much to use in his line of work, certainly wasn’t something he or Dad had worried about after her passing.
But Denver had heard her voice in his head, telling him he’d best not show up to a woman’s house for dinner empty-handed.
He’d wrestled over that. What the hell did you bring a florist?
Surely not flowers. And that felt too date-like.
For all he knew he’d misread things and this was meant to be a playdate for the dogs.
So he’d taken a different tack and hoped it was the right one.
Gripping the other hostess gift in his hand, and feeling like an idiot, Denver rang the bell.
Misty answered the door a few moments later, barefoot, with Moxie tucked under one arm and her hair flowing loose around her shoulders.
He said the first thing that sprang to mind. “No flowers?”
“Huh?”
“In your hair.”
“Oh, no.” She raked a hand through it. “I do that as my own form of free advertisement. Since I’m done with work for the day…”
He wondered what today’s flowers had been, but didn’t ask. Instead, he held out the tiny parcel in his hand. “This is for the lady of the house.”
Seeming a little flustered, she took it. “Oh, you didn’t have to do that.”
Denver nodded to Moxie. “Pretty sure the queen there will disagree and anyway, Oscar brought yours. Oscar, say hello.”
Oscar angled his head and lifted a paw to shake.
“Well, aren’t you the cutest?” Misty bent and shook, then accepted the bag. “Ooo, wine. Thank you, Oscar. This will go great with dinner.”
Bullet dodged.
His dog gave a joyful bark and offered up what couldn’t be termed as anything other than a broad, flirtatious, canine smile. She grinned back before lifting her gaze to Denver. “Come on through. We’ll let the dogs out back to get to know each other, and I’ll see what you’ve brought us.”
Denver stepped inside. Her little house was just as fun and funky as her shop, with a heavy emphasis on comfort. Her living room had the kind of furniture you could sink into, with lots of girlie pillows and soft fabrics.
Misty led them through to the kitchen. “I figured you’d be more of a beer drinker.”
“You’re into carrying the work of local artisans in your shop. I’m into doing the same with local beers, ciders, and wine in my bar.”
She paused, one hand on the back door, confirming his assessment that she hadn’t known he was the owner. She chuckled. “An in with the boss indeed.”
They stepped outside. Her patio reminded him of some kind of foreign bazaar—lots of patterned fabrics draped to make a canopy for shade and an explosion of lush plants made him feel like anywhere but East Tennessee.
A couple of rattan chairs were angled to look out over the yard and the view of the mountains beyond.
Wine bottle torches were scattered around the perimeter, already lit and giving off the sharp scent of citronella.
Off to one side, a huge gas grill was heating.
“That right there is a manly grill.”
Misty threw an arch look over her shoulder. “That right there is a fine piece of cooking equipment that knows no gender. Seems I’m not the only one who made assumptions.”
“Touché.”
Once Misty hit the grass, she set Moxie down.
Denver unclipped Oscar’s leash. The big dog immediately turned three circles, sneezing all the while, before dropping into a play bow, trembling with excitement.
Moxie turned her back on him, then looked over her shoulder with an expression that nearly matched her mistress.
With one sharp bark, she took off like a rocket.
In a flurry of paws, Oscar raced after her.
“They’ll be fine out here. C’mon.”
Denver followed her back into the kitchen and accepted the corkscrew she offered.
“I bow to your superior skills in this department, as I value not having to fish cork out of my wine.”
He did his duty, uncorking the sauvignon blanc he’d picked up from Temptation Vineyards, while she got out glasses. His buddy, Ford, had assured him it was a great summer choice, no matter what she was serving. “What are we having?”
“Pork kebabs with summer vegetables and fresh chimichurri. And strawberry rhubarb pie for dessert.”
“Sounds like it’s a good thing I brought my appetite.”
She opened the box with the gift he’d brought for Moxie and gave a delighted laugh as she extracted the stuffed crown squeaker toy. “Oh, this is so perfect for her.”
“Oscar would kill something like that inside three minutes, but I thought, being tiny, Moxie might make it last a bit longer.”
“She’s gonna love it.” Misty snagged the glass of wine he’d poured her and sniffed. “And I’m gonna love this. Thank you.”
“I wasn’t sure if you would. You generally don’t drink when you come into the tavern.”
She went brows up. “Been watching me, Denver?”
Of course he had. How could he not? But saying so could tread perilously close to sounding creepy, and he still wasn’t sure where they stood. “Occupational hazard and a small town. I tend to know who drinks, who doesn’t, and what they prefer.”
She angled her head in acknowledgment. “Makes sense. I know the same thing about people and flowers. To answer the question you’re very politely not asking, I never drink if I’m going to be driving. So, unless I’m home or out with my girlfriends and one of them is driving, I don’t indulge.”
“Sensible.”
They carried the wine outside, and once she’d put the kebabs on the grill, they settled into the chairs with their wine.
Misty curled her feet beneath her skirt. “So where exactly are you from, Denver? Not here. There’s not a trace of southern to that accent.”
“Lake Tahoe. Though I had a grandmother from Georgia.”
“You’re a long, long way from home.”
He sipped at his wine. “It hasn’t been home for a number of years.”
“So how’d you end up here?”
Being a bartender, Denver was used to hearing other people’s stories, not sharing his own.
He didn’t like revealing much of himself.
But he could give her a piece without getting into the whole sorry mess.
“From the time I was a little kid, my dad and I planned to take a big ass road trip around the country. We mapped the entire route, all the best motorcycle roads.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“It would’ve been.” Denver’s throat went thick, so he drank more wine. “He died before we could take it.”
Sympathy flashed across her face. “I’m so sorry.”
A waste. The whole fucking thing had been such a waste, with his dad a victim of all the bureaucratic red tape of insurance that cared more about the bottom line than the people it was meant to serve.
Just thinking about it had his hands wanting to curl into fists to pound something.
But he wasn’t going to get into that whole nightmare with Misty.
Twitching his shoulders, he tried to shrug off the haze of grief and old anger.
“After he was—after, I set out on my own. Roxanne got a flat just outside town here, and I had to order a new tire. Picked up a few shifts at the tavern, while I was waiting. I liked the look of the place—the bar and the town—so I stayed.”
“Simple as that?”
“Is your story more complicated?”
Something flickered over her face as she considered the question.
“Not so much. I finally left a shitty job, and I wanted a real change. A friend of mine gave me a gift—this blown glass globe—I have it hanging in the living room, actually—a gorgeous piece. It seemed like there was a different world contained in this thin shell of glass, colors and shapes, maybe like a better world, waiting to be born.” A light laugh and a wave of her hand wiped away the dreamy look that had settled on her face.
“The piece always fascinated me, so I tracked down the artist—Hale Copeland, maybe you know him—here in Eden’s Ridge.
I came. I saw. I decided to stay and open my shop.
It was about as far from where I was before as I could get. ”
“And where was said shitty job?”
“Kansas City.” That cloud of…something…flickered in her eyes again. “I like to keep my distance from that time and place.”
“Fair enough.” God knew, Denver understood that sentiment. He sipped his wine and met her gaze. “I’m more interested in the now anyway.”
The moment caught and held, drawing out until neither of them could mistake his meaning. Then she smiled into her glass. “Now’s looking pretty good to me, too.”