Chapter 26-Sloane
He loves me.
The words replay in my head like my favorite song.
Over.
And over.
And over again.
“Miss? Can I have another IPA?”
I walk right past the customer without even realizing he'd spoken.
Joan catches my eye from behind the taps and smoothly slides over to take his order, shooting me an amused little grin.
I mouth a silent thank you.
Because I need a minute.
No.
I need about twelve minutes.
Micah Fiero just told me he loves me.
Actually, he didn't tell me.
He simply said it.
Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Like it had been living inside him for so long it finally refused to stay quiet.
And what did I do?
Did I throw my arms around him?
Did I kiss him?
Did I tell him I'd been hopelessly in love with the quiet cowboy for weeks now?
Nope.
I stood there like an absolute idiot breathing through my mouth.
I groan and cover my face with both hands.
“Smooth, Sloane,” I mutter.
Real smooth.
Why did I freeze?
I honestly don't know. It isn't because I don't feel the same.
Lord knows I do.
I'm so completely, hopelessly in love with that man it scares me. Micah makes me feel things I didn't even know I was missing.
Safe.
Seen.
Wanted.
Cherished.
Not because of what I can do for somebody.
Not because I'm useful.
Just because I'm me.
Thirty-three years.
That's how long I waited to know what it feels like when someone looks at you like you're the best part of their day.
He notices everything.
When I'm tired.
When I'm overwhelmed.
When I'm pretending I'm okay.
He doesn't try to fix me.
He simply stands beside me.
Like we'll figure it out together.
My cheeks grow warm just remembering the way he'd looked at me before he left.
Those brilliant blue eyes.
So serious.
So steady.
“I love you.”
My heart does another ridiculous little flip.
“Oh, honey,” Joan chuckles as she passes me carrying a tray of drinks. “That smile says somebody's having one heck of a day.”
I press my lips together, trying—and failing—to hide it.
“Is it that obvious?”
“Boss lady...”
She laughs.
“You've been floating around this place all afternoon.”
Great.
So everyone knows I've completely lost my mind. We exchange a few more words, then I grab a smoked brisket sandwich from the kitchen and eat it, standing behind the bar.
The hours drift by.
Customers come and go. I refill glasses. Run food. Cash people out.
The usual.
But today, I smile more. I laugh more easily. And I answer questions.
The motions are familiar enough that my body handles them without much help from my brain.
Because my brain?
It's somewhere out on Jersey Iron Ranch with one grumpy cowboy who kisses like he means forever.
I don't notice how late it's gotten until Freddy pokes his head out of the kitchen.
“Night, Boss.”
I blink.
“Already?”
He laughs.
“Told you she was daydreaming.”
One of the cooks snickers.
“We took care of the trash, and we’ll lock the back door, Boss.”
“Okay,” I reply, stunned. “See you tomorrow.”
Freddy and the rest of them wave and head out the back.
I wave back absently. When I look up again, the dining room is almost empty.
When did that happen?
I glance toward the front windows.
The sun is long gone.
The neon beer signs have taken over, splashing red and blue across the polished floor.
Milly never showed.
Again.
Which leaves just me and Joan.
Wonderful.
As if summoned by the thought, Joan's phone rings.
She frowns at the screen.
“Oh no.”
She answers immediately.
“Hello?”
Her expression falls.
“My poor baby...”
She listens for another few seconds before hanging up.
“I'm so sorry, Boss.”
Her eyes fill with worry.
“Little Johnny's throwing up again and his fever is high.”
My heart sinks.
“I think he picked up some stomach bug at daycare.”
“Oh no, Joan, I’m so sorry.”
She starts pulling off her apron.
“His daddy's working nights now, so he can't leave.”
She looks absolutely miserable.
“I'm so sorry to leave you shorthanded.”
I don't hesitate.
“It's okay.”
I wave her toward the door.
“We've only got that one table left.”
I nod toward the two men nursing beers in the corner.
“I'll close up.”
“You sure?”
“I'm sure.”
She hugs me quickly.
“Thank you.”
“Go take care of your little boy.”
She hurries out.
The front door closes behind her.
The silence that follows feels different.
Not scary.
Not yet.
Just noticeable.
I rub my arms.
Probably because I'm suddenly alone here.
Or maybe because I miss Micah already.
I smile to myself.
Pathetic.
It's only been a couple of hours.
Still, I pull out my new phone. I should let him know Joan had to leave.
He worries. He'd want to know.
Besides maybe I'll finally tell him what I should've said before he left.
I love you too.
Just thinking the words makes my stomach flutter.
I type out a quick message.
Only…
Nothing happens.
The little sending circle just spins.
“What?”
I frown.
I try again.
Still nothing.
Seriously?
I glance toward the top corner.
One lonely bar.
“Come on...”
I tap it again.
Nothing.
Maybe I should call him instead—
“Miss?”
The remaining customers wave me over.
“Can we get another round?”
I glance at the clock.
“We're actually closing.”
“Aww, come on.”
“One more?”
They look harmless enough.
Just a couple guys finishing up after work.
I sigh.
“One.”
They grin.
“Thanks.”
I pour the beers, still wondering why my brand-new phone isn't cooperating.
Maybe Micah will know. He seems to know everything.
The thought makes me smile.
The front door opens behind me. Without looking up, I call over my shoulder.
“Sorry, we're closed.”
Silence.
Something about it prickles the back of my neck.
I turn.
My smile disappears.
Scarface.
He's back.
And this time, he isn't with just a handful of men.
He’s got more.
One.
Two.
Five.
Shit.
There are at least ten of them.
Maybe more.
Big men.
Hard faces.
The kind of men who don't come into a neighborhood bar looking for wings and beer.
My stomach drops.
Scarface grins.
It isn't a nice grin.
It's the kind that makes every instinct inside me start screaming.
“Looks like your boyfriend isn't around to save you this time, sweetheart.”
His voice crawls over my skin.
Cold.
Mean.
Satisfied.
He points toward my remaining customers.
“You.”
He jerks his thumb toward the door.
“Get the fuck out.”
One of the men looks at me.
Really looks at me.
His expression is apologetic.
Ashamed.
Like he wants to help but already knows he can't.
I give the smallest nod.
Go.
Please.
He stands.
“So much for another beer.”
His buddy mutters something under his breath, and together they head for the door without another word.
“My boyfriend's on his way from Jersey Iron Ranch,” I say loudly.
Louder than necessary.
I want those customers to hear me.
I want someone besides me to know exactly where Micah is supposed to be coming from.
I only hope one of them is smart enough to realize I'm asking for help without actually saying the words.
The front door closes.
The deadbolt clicks.
One of Scarface's men locked it.
My pulse jumps.
Then chaos erupts.
A chair crashes into the wall.
Glass explodes across the floor.
Someone flips a table.
“No!”
I lunge forward instinctively.
“Stop it!”
Another bottle shatters.
One of the men sweeps an entire shelf of liquor onto the floor.
Thousands of dollars.
Gone.
“W-what are you doing?”
Scarface strolls toward me like he's got all the time in the world.
“Where's your brother?”
I swallow.
“I don't know.”
“Liar.”
“I don't.”
“He owes us.”
His smile widens.
“And if we can't collect from him...”
His gaze slowly drifts over me.
“...maybe we'll collect from you instead.”