Chapter Seven
Callum
The last stool scraped against the floor with a satisfying thud as I flipped it upside down on the bar.
It was past midnight, and The Rusty Stag was finally quiet. Only the hum of the ice machine and the low buzz of the ancient neon sign outside kept the silence from feeling too heavy.
Drew leaned against the far end of the bar, counting tips and sipping a soda like he had all the time in the world. Meanwhile, I was one loose spark away from kicking over a barstool just to watch it bounce.
“She’s gonna change everything,” I muttered for the third time in ten minutes.
Drew didn’t even look up. “You’ve mentioned.”
I grabbed the rag off the counter and started wiping a spot that had already been wiped twice. “She’s probably making a list as we speak. Replace light fixtures. Paint walls. Install fancy new bathrooms with touchless sinks and toilet paper folded into origami. ”
“Don’t forget mood lighting,” Drew added helpfully.
“Oh, she’ll want that too. Fancy chandeliers and exposed brick. Gotta make it Instagram-worthy, right?”
“As long as she keeps the talking fish, we should be fine.” Drew set down the tip jar, finally looking up. “You know, it’s wild how much attention you’ve given this woman, considering how much you don’t care about her.”
I shot him a glare. “I don’t care about her.”
He grinned. “No, of course not. That’s why you’ve brought her up more times tonight than the fry basket that caught fire two summers ago.”
“I care about the bar,” I growled, slamming the rag on the counter. “I care about this town. And I can feel it. She’s itching to change it. She’s got that look.”
“What look?”
“That clipboard-in-her-head look. The one where she’s measuring things in her mind and mentally demolishing the dartboard and replacing it with a curated whiskey flight and reclaimed wood accent wall.”
Drew chuckled. “You’re spiraling, man.”
“I’m observing,” I snapped. “I’ve been around long enough to know what happens next. She smiles and says she wants to respect the vibe, and then the next thing you know, there’s a QR code menu and rosemary in the water glasses.”
“She hasn’t even touched the bar,” Drew pointed out. “She sat there. Drank the gin you made her. Didn’t ask for anything. Didn’t complain that you put a couple of weeds in her drink.”
“Yet.”
He raised an eyebrow. “So what’s really got you wound up? The fact that she owns the building? Or the fact that you can’t stop looking at her?”
I stopped wiping the bar.
Drew smirked. “Yeah. I saw that too.”
“They weren’t sparks,” I muttered.
“No?”
“They were the kind of sparks that blow up a town.”
He laughed, loud and unbothered. “Man, you are so in trouble.”
“I’m not in trouble,” I said through gritted teeth. “She’s trouble. With her sweet little voice, her let's talk civilly attitude, and her city boots, which probably cost more than this jukebox,”
“She said she wasn’t trying to change the bar.”
“And I said I didn’t believe her,” I snapped. “Because people like her don’t change things. They think rustic is a filter on their phone. They look at a place like this and see potential. What they mean is the potential to rip out everything that makes it special.”
Drew leaned back, folding his arms. “You ever think maybe she does like it?”
“Of course, she likes it for now. It’s all novelty and charm and talking fish on the wall. But give it a week. She’ll start noticing the flaws. The cracks. The fact that the booths wobble and the menu hasn’t changed in five years. And she’ll think she can fix it.”
“You don’t like being fixed.”
“No,” I said flatly. “I like being left the hell alone.”
He nodded, then took a slow sip of his soda. “So what’s the plan? Glare at her every time she walks in until she breaks down and sells the place?”
“If that works, great.”
“It won’t.”
“Then I’ll outlast her.”
Drew grinned. “You’re assuming she’s not more stubborn than you.”
I scowled. “No one is more stubborn than me.”
“Okay, but I saw her face when you shoved over that drink with those dandelions—”
“I didn’t shove it.”
“You presented it aggressively. ”
I rolled my eyes. “It was a message.”
“Yeah, and she heard it loud and clear. But she didn’t back down. She just sat there sipping your insult-garnished cocktail like it was the finest drink in the county.”
I ran a hand through my hair and groaned. “She liked it, Drew. That’s the problem. She took the whole thing and didn’t flinch. And now I don’t know what to do with that.”
“Sounds like respect.”
“Sounds like bait.”
Drew snorted. “Well, maybe next time she walks in, you can meet her with a bouquet of poison ivy.”
I stared at him.
“Kidding,” he added quickly. “Mostly.”
The jukebox clicked softly in the background as a new song started. Something slow and bluegrass-y. The kind of song that made you think about things you didn’t want to admit.
“She’s gonna mess this place up,” I said again, softer.
Drew didn’t respond right away. He just looked around at the empty bar. His eyes scanned the scuffed floors, the patched-up booths, the mismatched barstools, the ceiling fan that squeaked if it turned too fast.
“She might not,” he said eventually. “She might just want to make it better.”
I shook my head. “People always think better means different. But this place? It’s already good. ”
Drew looked at me, his voice steady. “Then show her what makes it good. Don’t just growl at her across the room like you’re guarding buried treasure.”
I didn’t answer.
Mostly because I knew he was right.
But also because there was something uncomfortable in how she looked at this place, as if she had seen it. Like she appreciated it. And still, there was that glint in her eye that said she wanted to put her stamp on it anyway.
I couldn’t let her.
I wouldn’t let her.
Not without a fight.
The night had settled into that eerie kind of quiet that only comes after two in the morning in a town like Reckless River. Not a single car passed, no doors creaked open down the street, not even the damn raccoons were rustling in the alley. Just cold air, gravel under my boots, and the low hum of the streetlamp flickering above the back parking lot.
I’d told Drew to head out twenty minutes earlier. He’d looked at me like I needed a therapist and a long nap, but he didn’t argue, probably for the best. I needed space. And silence. The kind that only the end of a long, frustrating night could bring.
I returned to my truck, swinging the door open and tossing my keys onto the seat. But I didn’t climb in right away. Instead, I leaned against the open door, stretching my back and letting the night wrap around me like a blanket soaked in tension.
I should’ve gone home.
I should’ve driven straight to my place, showered, and fallen face-first into bed.
But something made me glance up toward the staircase.
The apartment above the bakery glowed with soft yellow light. The door was cracked open—not all the way, just enough that a wedge of warmth spilled into the night.
And then I heard it.
Laughter.
Light, genuine, unfiltered laughter. A woman’s.
Her laughter.
Lydia.
I froze, one hand resting on the edge of my truck door as the sound floated down the stairs.
I didn’t mean to listen. I wasn’t lurking. But damn if that sound didn’t hook something in my chest and tug at it.
It was too late for anyone to sound that happy.
And too late for me to be affected by it.
But there it was…bright, real, and open in a way I hadn’t seen from her yet. Not when she was staring me down across the bar. Not when she tried to convince me she wasn’t a walking demolition crew in designer boots.
That laugh didn’t belong to someone dangerous.
It belonged to someone who made things feel easy.
And I hated that I wanted to hear it again.
I stepped toward the stairs without thinking, boots grating softly on the gravel. I wasn’t going to go in. I had no right to, but I paused at the base, head tilted, just listening.
“Okay, okay, wait…” Melanie’s voice rang out, muffled through the open door. “Let me try it again.”
Then came a very poorly disguised impression of a man’s voice—gravelly, low, and cranky enough to belong to someone twice my age.
“ This bar’s been here sixty years and I ain’t about to let some woman with pretty shoes and a Pinterest board come in here and slap glitter on the dartboard. ”
More laughter. Lydia’s voice was louder this time.
Melanie kept going, deeper now. “ It’s rustic, dammit. Those grease stains are history. We don’t need any ambiance…just character and cholesterol. ”
Lydia laughed so hard that something thumped. Maybe a knee against the table or the side of the couch. “Stop it! You sound like a grumpy pirate!”
“ Arrrgh, stay away from me, bar, ye landlady temptress! ”
I scowled.
Hard.
They were talking about me .
And they weren’t even trying to be subtle about it.
I should’ve walked away. Should’ve just let it go. But I didn’t.
I stood there like a dumbass, jaw clenched, pride wounded, arms crossed like I could fold the frustration out of my chest.
Was that how she saw me? Some crusty old bar troll with commitment issues and an aversion to paint?
I shouldn’t care.
I didn’t care.
Except… I did.
Because I’d spent the last hour trying not to think about how her voice softened when she talked about rebuilding. The way her eyes lit up when she defended herself. She didn’t back down, even when I tried to push her into it.
And now she was upstairs laughing about me like I was a punchline.
I heard Melanie say something else about my boots and how I glared like I had a personal vendetta against lighting fixtures, but I stopped listening.
I stepped back from the stairs, back toward my truck, my heart still pounding with something that was not attractive and not jealousy.
I was just pissed.
That was all.
Pissed because she didn’t take me seriously. Because she was in my town, in my building, mocking me after claiming she wasn’t here to cause trouble.
I slammed my truck door harder than necessary and gripped the steering wheel like it had personally offended me.
The laugh echoed again, even with the windows up.
God. That laugh.
She was trouble. All soft curls, quick wit, and a smile that could make a man forget why he was mad in the first place, right before she changed everything he’d worked for.
Well, not me.
I remembered exactly why I was mad.
And I was damn sure not about to forget it.
Let her laugh.
Let her joke.
Let her imagine she could sweep in here and win everyone over with her sunshine and sweet talk.
But I wasn’t buying it.
Not for one damn second.