Chapter Seven #2
“I’m here from four thirty in the morning to two in the afternoon, every day, though I don’t unlock the front door until six.”
Lucy laughed. “I will not be here at six o’clock.”
“Good luck,” Willow called to her as she left.
The Uneven Keel didn’t look like much, even though it was right on the water in the touristy part of town.
A long rectangle of a building with gray shake siding, and a sign with its name wrapped around a crooked anchor.
But it was right on the shore, and a dock extended out into the water to offer parking for customers who arrived by boat.
Inside, it looked like every ocean-themed bar she’d ever seen on her television screen.
A long bar. A bunch of square tables with cheap chairs.
A row of booths along the wall opposite the bar.
The back wall looked out over the water, with a massive window flanked by two doors.
The one on the right led to a small deck that extended to the pier.
She assumed the large deck to the left would offer outdoor seating during the season.
Some fishing nets and other sea-related items hung on the walls, and there weren’t too many customers.
Not surprising, probably, in the lull between lunch and the end of the workday.
There were several men at the bar. A couple of guys in utility company sweatshirts took up one table, and there was a group of women at another.
Watching her from behind the bar was a man about Gran’s age, with a long, silver ponytail and a scruffy beard to match.
Lucy smiled and walked to the bar, aiming for the widest gap between customers. “Are you Billy Loring?”
“Ayuh.” He squinted at her. “Who’s asking?”
“I’m Lucy.” There was no sense in offering the Macauley surname—changed from Griffin by her mother and stepfather during the eight-month marriage that had landed them all in Nevada—unless he asked. “I’m looking for temporary work.”
“Do you have any references?”
She didn’t really think him calling a Las Vegas nightclub that thought she was getting old and also fired her for breaking up Fairee would get her very far. “Willow Brown liked me well enough to send me your way. And I guess Nick Slater would vouch for me.”
Maybe.
He tilted his head. “How do you know Nick?”
“We live together.” The words were out of her mouth before she considered a better way to phrase their relationship.
“Ah.” He nodded once and went back to checking for water spots. “You’re Iris Macauley’s daughter.”
Ouch. “I prefer to think of myself as Helen Griffin’s granddaughter.”
That earned her a rusty chuckle and some eye contact. “Helen’s good people. You got experience?”
“I was a cocktail waitress in Las Vegas casinos and nightclubs for eight years, and I worked in various restaurants before I turned twenty-one.”
In her peripheral vision, she saw a woman’s head turn, and her eyes narrowed as she looked Lucy up and down. Lucy wasn’t sure if the woman didn’t like cocktail waitresses from Las Vegas or if she’d made the connection and recognized her as the sinker of the Fairee ship, but she tensed.
“I’ve never been to Vegas,” Billy said, nodding his head toward the grizzled man who smelled like low tide sitting three stools down, “but I bet Bones over there don’t tip like those high rollers.”
Lucy wasn’t sure she wanted to know why the man went by Bones. “I’m not looking to get rich—just something to keep me busy until Gran gets home from her travels.”
Snatches of whispered conversation from the table where the woman was sitting reached her.
Iris Macauley.
Reese Noonan.
Poor Faith.
Great. A trifecta of Lucy Macauley’s shame. Her face and neck heated, but she didn’t turn her head to look at them. Even before she blew up on the internet, she knew engaging usually only made things worse.
“And did Willow tell you I’m having surgery and Nicole can’t cover for me until school lets out sometime the middle of June?” Billy asked.
“It might have come up.”
“Can you make drinks, or do you just carry them on a tray?” He cringed and slapped his hand down on the counter. “That didn’t come out right at all. Didn’t mean to disrespect the job.”
“It’s all good.” Lucy wanted to tell him about some of the signature cocktails she’d designed because, honestly, she loved talking about them.
But this didn’t seem like that kind of place.
“I can make any mixed drink you can think of and some you’ve never heard of.
And I can pull a draft with a perfect head. ”
That got his attention. “Even a stout beer?”
“Just the right amount of foam, every time.”
“We’re not going to have any of that nonsense I heard about in Vegas, are we?”
And there it was. “I can’t guarantee nobody will ever show up to harass me or sneak videos of me while I’m working.”
He snorted. “I don’t care about folks like that showing up here. They wouldn’t be the first to find themselves out on their asses. I’m talking about the nonsense that started it all.”
Lucy lifted her chin and looked him in the eye. “I didn’t do anything in Las Vegas but have a cup of coffee with a man who lied to me about his name.”
She said it loudly enough for the chatty women at the table to hear, speaking clearly.
“I’m not looking for any kind of attention, and I don’t want it,” she continued. “I just want to serve drinks.”
He considered for a moment, then nodded once. “We’re open eleven thirty to nine until the season starts, then we’re open to ten.”
Lucy struggled to keep a straight face. Where she came from a lot of people were just heading out for a night on the town at ten.
“We’re closed on Tuesdays,” Billy continued. “Come in Wednesday night and we’ll see how it goes. Jeans and any shirt you want as long as I can’t see your nipples, armpits or belly button. And wear flat shoes. I don’t want to listen to those heels clacking around behind my bar all night.”
Lucy smiled. “So I should save the stilettos I like to wear when I’m on my feet all night for when you’re out recovering, then?”
His booming laugh turned heads. “Oh, I’m not going anywhere. They’re cutting on some tendon in my hand, so I can’t pour. But I’ll be here.”
“Okay.” Lucy had won over one grump in Wayward Harbor. She could do it again. “I’m looking forward to it because I bet you’ve got the best stories.”
He laughed again. “You know it. See you Wednesday.”
* * *
“You got a minute?” Beck asked while Nick was clearly in the middle of figuring out why he’d cut a board a sixteenth of an inch short when he was confident he’d measured it twice. Maybe.
“Well, it’s been about forty-five minutes since the homeowner’s called me for something ridiculous, so I’ve got ten to fifteen before the next one. What’s up?”
“I saw you try that board and then I heard all the swear words you managed to string together without even taking a breath. That’s not really like you, so I’m checking in to see how things are going with you and Lucy Macauley.”
Startled, Nick dropped his pencil. At least bending over to pick it up gave him a few seconds to blank out his expression before facing Beck again. “With me and Lucy? No clue what you’re talking about, dude.”
Beck looked confused, and he wondered if he’d overdone it. “You’re just off in some way, and I realized it’s been like two weeks living with some woman you don’t even know. So I wanted to say, if it’s an issue, you can come home. I can sleep on the couch, you know.”
Nick breathed out a subtle sigh of relief. His brother thought Lucy was annoying him and had no idea the real reason her presence was costing him sleep.
“Lucy’s fine. We get along fine, so there’s no reason for any of us to sleep on a couch.” Except Lucy, his guilty conscience coughed up.
“Are you sure? We can make it work if you staying at Helen’s is a problem.”
“I said I’m fine.” When Beck just kept staring at him, he frowned. “What?”
“I don’t know if I believe you.”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’ll be miserable if you think it’s best for me, and for my kids. So I can’t really trust that when you say you’re fine, you’re actually fine.”
He wasn’t wrong, but Nick hated that doing the right thing by his family seemed to be making his brother feel even worse about it.
“I’m really fine. Lucy and I get along well enough.
But I hate that she’s sleeping on a couch even though she says it’s fine.
If we could all focus and maybe get on track, I could leave a little early each day.
I can use the extra time to get the smaller bedroom done so she can sleep in a proper bed. ”
“We’ll do that, then. And if you need help at the cottage, just shout. We can figure that out, too.”
Nick nodded, although he probably wouldn’t just shout. His brothers had enough going on. “I’ll have to grab Gray at some point for the electrical finish work.”
“Okay. I better get back to it, then.”
“Hey, I left the specs for the hallway arch in the pocket of my sweatshirt, which is over by the door. Can you grab it for me before you go?”
Beck walked over and picked up the sweatshirt, shaking some sawdust off before digging in the pocket. “You finally getting used to these new hoodies? I thought you’d wear the one old one you have until it literally falls apart in the washer.”
Nick scowled down at the obviously inferior sweatshirt he’d thrown on that morning. “Next time we place an order, I want the old ones back. I don’t care if I have to pay the difference out of my own pocket.”
“Come to think of it, you’ve been wearing the new ones for like the last week or so. Something happen to the other one?”
Yes, something happened to his favorite hoodie. A redheaded hurricane blew into his life and laid claim to it, and he liked seeing her wear it too much to take it back.
But there was a zero percent chance he’d be sharing that with his brothers.
“Don’t you have anything better to do than worry about my clothes?”
Beck was laughing when he walked away.