Chapter 5 #2
I’m going to have to find something to bring in money, and photography is the obvious choice. Do I want to go back?
“Thursday.” Campbell nods like it’s a done deal. She snaps her fingers. “Oh, and if you’re in town through August, there’s the Taste of Springs fair. All the local food vendors show off their goods. Foster House will have a booth.”
“Oh, right.” Jamison slips her phone back into her purse. “Have you been to the local bakery?”
“No, not yet.” I’ve been eyeing it, but working late means sleeping late, and then I have my daily stop out to Haven’s place. I eye the cute little place each time I pass it, but I’ve spent so much on the strays already. I’m supposed to be saving money, not buying deworming medicine and muffins.
“Elodie will be there, and she makes stuff with Foster House products.”
My interest is officially piqued, and it’s growing to see this Foster House I keep hearing about. So far, all the people I’ve met who are involved with the distillery have been nice and accommodating. “I’ll make sure to get there before I leave.”
“See you Thursday,” Campbell says brightly, and they take off.
“I never agreed to Thursday,” I say to myself.
“They can be like that,” Haven says wryly and takes a drink.
Is that a good thing or a bad thing? I don’t make friends easily, and it’s like they’re not giving me a choice. Do I want any roots here? The lure of a small town usually leads to loneliness.
Haven slides over to the stool on the corner that Campbell had been in. “Every time I come in, you’re getting hit on.”
I clean up the empties the girls left behind. “It doesn’t mean anything. It’s the nature of the beast.”
His lips form a perplexed line. “In that metaphor, who’s the beast?”
“Not who, the scenario.” I smother a giggle. “But Beast is my other nickname.”
“Weird that both of us have the same one.”
My laugh bursts out of me. “Coincidence, right? ”
Papa makes his way over, a glare firmly fixed on Haven. “My daughter’s trying to get some work done, Hennessy.”
Haven ducks his chin down. “Sorry, Silas.”
Haven could’ve argued with my dad or been flippant, but he wasn’t. My respect for him notches even higher. The rebellious teenager inside me wants to rear up and flirt with Haven just to aggravate my papa, to get his attention, but I did not move here to regress.
My mind has to stay on work. The large group left, and a few more tables have emptied. While I clean those, Haven gets up and tosses some money on the bar top.
“Have a good night, Prescott.”
I smirk at him. Too chicken to say Red in front of Papa?
He flashes me the smallest of smiles before turning to Papa. “Night, Silas.”
Papa scowls at him but tips his head. Haven leaves, and I only sneak one peek at his fine ass. Papa watches me.
“You can’t let that boy get to you,” he says as I arrange the glasses by the sink.
“Is Haven Hennessy that bad of a guy?”
“No.” He hastily dumps out the ice and leftover liquid. “The Hennessys are all good, stand-up guys.”
“You’d rather I date a bad boy?”
“No, I’d rather you go out there and live life.”
“I don’t quite know what that is.” My gaze strays to the door as it opens. Is Haven coming back?
A woman my age walks in and waves to one of the seasonal workers.
Why’d I get my hopes up?
“What do you want to do?”
Cuddle cats and take pictures of them. I’ve actually enjoyed my shifts at Bootleg too.
Papa’s giving me flexibility, and that’s probably what I’ll lose when I embark on my next career.
He’s waiting for me to say something. “I don’t know.
Probably go back to photography. Maybe start my own studio.
I could do other people’s animals this time. ”
“See? You’ve got a plan. No need for a Hennessy to interfere.”
“You’re afraid he’s going to dickmatize me into the trad-wife life?”
Papa stiffens, his sharp inhale loud. “I don’t know what any of that means, but I don’t like the sound of it.”
Chuckling, I shake my head. “Haven does seem like a good guy.” Thoughtful, responsible, and handsome. He would be the guy to make me go back on all the promises I made myself after my ex left. Technically, I kicked him out. “But I’m not on the market.”
Papa grunts. “Does he know that?”
“I’m not his type.”
“That boy doesn’t have a type, other than women who want everything. But as soon as they say so, he dumps them. I’ve had more than one of the ladies in here sobbing into their vodka tonic.”
My heart drops to the floor and flops. Gah, I should’ve known. I did know, yet my hopes rose without me noticing. “He avoids commitment?” Seems ironic to say that to a guy who’s only ever committed to this bar.
Papa runs his fingers along his mustache. “Accidentally poured one of those girls a Foster House vodka too and made her cry harder.”
“Papa!”
He shrugs, pulls out two shot glasses, and fills them with the rosemary-and-cherry-infused vodka. “Been meaning to see what this piss tastes like.”
I take one and shoot it back, grateful for the burn.
Damn, that’s bad news about the best man I’ve ever met.
And damn, that’s good vodka.