Chapter Five
Callum
The Rusty Stag had settled into its evening rhythm—low country playing on the jukebox, the fryer buzzing steadily in the back, and the regulars scattered in their usual spots like pieces on a worn-out checkerboard. It was a good Friday night despite my new landlady being too important to swing by and enlighten me about her plans.
The overhead lights were dim and warm, making even the scuffed-up floors and mismatched barstools look almost romantic if you squinted really hard.
That’s what I always liked about hanging out at the place after dark. It looked better and made me forget about all the areas that needed polishing.
But not the type of polishing Miss City Slicker wanted to bring to town.
I was leaning against the back wall behind the bar, arms crossed, when the door creaked open and two unfamiliar silhouettes stepped through.
One was tall and blonde, a head-turner with a swing in her step that said she was used to drawing eyes, and I instantly remembered her.
The suitcase woman.
Melanie was her name.
The other was shorter, with shoulder-length dark hair, big sunglasses perched on her head despite it being evening, and the kind of laugh that practically announced her arrival. They paused just inside the doorway, letting their eyes adjust to the dark, and then started to look around like tourists who’d accidentally wandered into a dive bar on the way to the spa.
Which, to be fair, wasn’t entirely off the mark.
“Oh my God,” the shorter one whispered dramatically. “This is exactly what I pictured.”
Melanie looked around, taking in the wood-paneled walls, the crooked old photos, the battered jukebox that only worked when you begged it, and the giant mounted bass near the dartboard that occasionally spouted prerecorded phrases when its motion sensor decided to work.
"Sweet mother of taxidermy," Melanie said under her breath.
“Is that a talking fish?” the dark-haired one asked, grinning.
“It is,” the blonde confirmed. “Straight from a 3 a.m. infomercial circa 2001.”
I watched them with mild amusement as they approached a booth near the window. They picked the one with a tear in the vinyl and a table that wobbled if you breathed too hard. Drew slid over to them before I could move, menu tucked under his arm, and that easygoing smile plastered across his face.
“Evenin’, ladies,” he said. “Welcome to the Rusty Stag. First time?”
“Is it that obvious?” Melanie asked, smiling up at him.
“Just a guess.” He handed them menus. “I’m Drew. Unless my brother decides to stop brooding and pitch in, I'll be your bartender and server tonight.”
I rolled my eyes but didn’t move from my spot.
“I like him already,” said the dark-haired one, pointing discreetly toward me. “Let me guess… that’s the brother?”
Drew grinned. “That’s Callum. Don’t worry, he only looks like he bites.”
“He saved me earlier,” Melanie whispered. “My suitcase almost ran me over.”
Drew’s brow lifted. “Is that so?”
I puffed my chest a little.
“Yup.” She glanced at the brunette, who stared intently at the whiskey selection.
“Does he also own the place?” Melanie asked, eyes narrowing just a touch. “Because he didn’t mention that earlier. He only said he worked here.”
“He does,” Drew said, clearly enjoying himself. “So, what can I get you two to drink?”
They rattled off their orders, something fruity for Melanie, and a whiskey sour for the brunette. They added burgers and fries, and Drew jotted it all down, promising to return with their drinks.
I kept one eye on them as Drew passed me behind the bar.
“You’re hovering,” he said low.
“I’m watching.”
“If you say so,” he said, grabbing glasses and sliding over to the soda gun. “The blonde said you saved her life.”
“I picked up her suitcase,” I said flatly. “Her name is Melanie.”
“Heroic,” he deadpanned and delivered their drinks.
I didn’t respond.
Across the bar, the two women had leaned toward each other. I could see Melanie whispering something, her eyes flicking to me again.
Then the brunette froze, her hand halfway to her drink.
Her lips parted.
She looked back at me.
Big, beautiful, brown eyes. Soft.
Then she looked back at the blonde.
Then back at me.
“Oh no,” she mouthed.
She sat back in the booth like she’d been hit with a sledgehammer made of secondhand embarrassment.
Her friend blinked at her. “What?”
Melanie whispered something, and the brunette’s brows lifted slowly… followed by her head turning in my direction. She stared at me for a solid three seconds, then whispered, “ Oh. ”
I pretended not to notice. Which, for the record, took a monumental amount of restraint.
I thought back to my earlier encounter with the blonde and glanced down at my zipper. Had my fly been open? What’s making them giggle?
They both looked like kids caught elbow-deep in the cookie jar. Melanie laughed into her drink. The brunette blushed so hard I could see it from here.
Melanie watched me from that booth like a cat watches a laser pointer. Whenever I glanced her way, she’d toss her hair, smile like she knew something I didn’t, or wink.
Once, I swear, she purred . I ignored it.
Mostly.
But then she crooked a finger at me. Actually crooked her finger. Like I was a dog, she was calling over for a treat.
I leaned against the bar, arms crossed.
“She’s doing it again,” I muttered to Drew.
Drew didn’t even look up from the glass he was polishing. “She wants your attention.”
“She can keep wanting.”
He smirked. “You know you’re gonna go over there.”
“Nope.”
“She’s got that look.”
“I’ve built up years of immunity to that look.”
“She’s hot.”
I shrugged. “I like the other one better.”
Drew laughed. “Go on, Romeo. Let the people have what they want.”
I muttered a string of colorful words under my breath, then finally pushed off the bar. I wasn’t going over there for Melanie .
I was going over there because letting her continue to do whatever she was doing felt vaguely dangerous, like she might call out across the room next.
Melanie grinned as I approached, draping one arm along the back of the booth like she was holding court.
“Took you long enough,” she said, eyes sparkling.
“Slow to walk with all this dignity I’m dragging around,” I said dryly.
She laughed, then patted the empty spot next to her. “Sit. Rest those tired, bulging muscles.”
I looked at the other woman. She was trying very hard not to smile. She looked different, less cautious than she had been earlier.
Relaxed, maybe.
Her cheeks were flushed, probably from laughing, and she had a bit of lip gloss smudged near the corner of her mouth.
I tried not to notice. Or maybe I tried too hard not to notice, which meant I absolutely did.
I slid into the table across from them instead of next to Melanie, who gave me a mock pout.
“Coward,” she said.
“Strategist,” I countered.
The brunette glanced out the window, then back at me. “So, is it always this busy on a Friday night?”
I shrugged. “Depends on the week. The river’s been low lately. Tourist traffic thins out this time of year, so it can get even busier.”
“It’s kind of perfect,” the brunette said, fiddling with her straw. “The town, I mean. Quiet. Sweet. It’s got this nostalgic feeling, like something you want to protect, you know?”
I tilted my head slightly, studying her.
“Yeah,” I said. “I know.”
Melanie wiggled her eyebrows between us like she was physically incapable of not stirring the pot. “See? Look at that. Shared values. I knew this was a good idea.”
“I didn’t agree to a matchmaking scheme,” I said.
“No, but you sat down. Which is basically the same thing.”
The brunette chuckled and glanced around the bar again, her gaze lingering on the old jukebox, the photos on the wall, the handmade event signs still curling at the edges.
“It’s got a lot of charm,” she said, voice soft.
“You mean it looks like it hasn’t been updated since '92,” I said.
She grinned. “I wasn’t going to say that.”
“But you were thinking it.”
“No, I was thinking more like ‘78. But I mean it with love.”
“Love doesn’t pay for plumbing repairs,” I muttered.
“Oh, I know all about that,” she said, eyes lighting up. “The apartment upstairs? The faucet in the kitchenette drips like it’s trying to form its own river.”
Melanie leaned in and whispered, “It’s part of the Reckless River experience. Leaky charm.”
I arched an eyebrow.
Melanie opened her mouth, but the brunette answered first.
“Yep. Well, I mean…I’m staying there while I figure things out. Get to know the property better. I didn’t want to start changing things until I saw it all myself. You know… perks of owning it.”
I blinked. “Wait. What?”
She looked confused for a second, then realized what she’d said. “Oh. Right. Sorry. I thought you knew. I’m the new owner. Lydia Tate. I bought the building.”
I froze.
The air around me shifted so fast, I swore Melanie winced.
“You’re Lydia .”
She nodded slowly, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Is… that a problem?”
Drew picked that moment to arrive, two plates balanced effortlessly in his hands. “Got a bacon burger with sweet potato fries, and one mushroom melt with house chips. Enjoy, ladies.” Then he glanced between us and raised a brow. “Everything cool over here?”
“Cool as a January frost,” I said, sliding from the chair before either could say a word.
“Callum,” Lydia said, starting to stand.
“No need,” I said. “I’ve said what I needed to say.”
Melanie looked between us. “What just happened?”
“I should’ve figured it out sooner,” I muttered, returning to the bar.
Drew caught up to me before I made it behind the counter. “What the hell, man?”
“You could’ve told me.”
“I thought she told you. You were all up in arms earlier. I figured you put two and two together.”
I didn’t respond. Just grabbed a rag and started wiping down a section of the bar that didn’t need wiping.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Lydia sit back down slowly, brows drawn tight, lips pressed together like she was chewing on whatever just happened.
I hated that look.
Because it meant I’d made her feel like the enemy, and I wasn’t even sure she was one yet.
But I also hated surprises.
And being dragged into charm offensives.
And being blindsided .
So yeah…I was pissed.
At her.
At myself.
At the whole damn situation.
And yet… I kept glancing back at her table.
Because no matter how much I hated the circumstances, there was something about her I couldn’t stop watching.
Which only pissed me off more.