Chapter 4
Amaya
I watch Sylvain back out of the lot before focusing my attention back on Mrs. Ames. He was aloof and distant in the car, which only made me more nervous, causing me to talk more.
Mrs. Ames is a short, plump woman with a face that makes it hard to know how old she might be, with coarse shoulder-length hair the color of someone who used to be naturally blonde and now has a healthy mix of white sparkling throughout.
“So, Sylvain.” She says to me, wiggling her eyebrows and throwing me a smirk as she copies the information from my driver’s license into her hotel logbook.
“He’s very…stoic,” I say, diplomatically.
She chuckles. “That is one way to put it. Although when he’s working, he warms up a lot more, you know, putting on that customer service face, I guess.”
“Oh? Where does he work?”
Mrs. Ames stops what she’s doing to look over her glasses at me. “He didn’t say anything?” She huffs out a laugh. “Oh boy, that figures. He owns The Hungry Stag, the only bar in town.”
My jaw drops open. “Wow, that’s pretty cool.
” I pause, thinking about how owning something like a store would be an awesome career.
“He didn’t even mention it, and I even said that restaurant looks cool when we drove by.
Maybe I was talking too much in the car, I tend to do that when I get nervous. ”
Mrs. Ames pats my hand. “Don’t take it personally, dear. I think he was quite taken with you.” She gives me a wink.
“No way! He acted like he couldn’t have cared less. I practically told him my whole life story! Nobody asks for anybody’s life story!”
“Well, he just couldn’t take his eyes off of you, is what I saw.”
I think about the sideways glances he was throwing my way in the car. Here I thought he just wanted me to stop rambling.
“Alright, here’s your room number, and you already gave me a deposit.
I’ll call up the tow place and get your car over here lickety split.
I’ll make sure they park it somewhere out of the way.
There’s been a construction crew staying in town, and they have a few trucks in the lot.
Breakfast starts at seven sharp in the dining room. Sound good?”
“Sounds good! Thank you, Mrs. Ames. I really appreciate it.” From what I could tell, she had given me a deep discount, or maybe small towns were just this cheap.
After getting settled into my room, I took a brief nap before being woken up by the phone letting me know my car was here.
I ran down to thank the driver, grab my suitcase, and my last precious burrito, saved by the elements from the cooler.
The smell alone was enough to bring tears to my eyes, but my first bite is what made them spill over my cheeks.
Nobody, and I do mean nobody, could make a bean and cheese burrito quite like my mom.
Homemade flour tortillas, twice-refried beans with real lard, and fresh cheese from the market. Simple, beautiful, home.
After swallowing the last bite, I let my tears flow as I watched the sun sink into the horizon.
The birds called to each other that it was time to come home to roost, just as the bats took flight in search of their first meal of the evening.
My leg shook under the table, unable to keep still.
Staying alone in this room meant being alone with my thoughts, which meant the familiar cocktail of homesick memories and the general feeling of being a loser.
My body made the decision before my mind did, as I took a quick shower to rinse off the day and put on an outfit that I thought would be comfortable but would blend in. Time to see just how friendly Sylvain could be.
???
THE HUNGRY STAG is full to bursting, a long line winding around the hostess stand and out the door onto the sidewalk.
I quickly figured out that the generous space is split in two; one side is the bar filled with bartops, stools, and pool tables, and the other side is filled with deep burgundy leather booths, flickering romantic candles, and small vases of wildflowers.
The bar is open seating, but instead of sitting, I scan the area for the house manager.
She seems to be dealing with a large crowd at the bar, helping to put clean glasses back on the shelf.
She’s tall with a bright pink pixie cut and piercings in each dimple.
I see she has floral tattoo sleeves, and her name tag pinned to her apron says ‘Gale.’
I wave at her to get her attention, flashing my smile. “Hi! Are you the house manager? Do you have a quick second?” I shout over the music.
She wipes her hand on a clean towel and reaches out to shake mine. “Yeah, hi, what can I help you with?”
“I don’t want to take up too much of your time, but I saw you were busy and was wondering if you had an opening for a few shifts? I’ve been tending bar for a long time, and could even help out tonight as it looks like you’re pretty slammed!”
Gale gives me a once-over and then looks out at the line snaking around the front door.
I see her look around the main dining room, and I have a feeling she is looking for Sylvain.
Next, she starts counting the people at the bar waiting for drinks, glancing at the current bartender who is making them as fast as people can shout out their orders, trying to keep up.
“Fuck it, come on back, let me get you an apron.”
I scramble under the bar and let Gale drape a solid black canvas apron over me.
“Alright, crash course, the well is here. Tonight we 86’d mead, that ran out an hour ago.
All the garnishes are over here. Specialty stuff is back there.
The menu is right there, and if you can’t figure a drink out, let Jess handle it.
” Gale is pointing all over the bar, and as she does so, I am committing it all to memory, pleased that their setup is familiar. Gale gets Jess’s attention.
“Jess, Amaya, and Amaya, Jess. Jess- look out for the specialty drinks that she doesn’t know yet, and give her the regular stuff to mix. Good luck!” Gale ducks back into the kitchen, taking the empty drink crate with her.
The orders start coming in fast and furious, and my mind immediately shifts into the zone, keeping track of a million small details at once.
The vibe of the bar is chill, but dark and mysterious.
It’s definitely a popular place, which makes sense as it’s the only one in town, from what I could see on the drive in.
The regulars naturally gravitate to Jess, not trusting some newbie with their drink, but others give me a warm smile and a chance to make their drink right.
Before long, I’m chatting it up with people, listening to how they’re from out of town with a developer company working on a construction project, or how they are just here for the upcoming end-of-summer festival that is supposedly a “not-to-miss event.” That makes me wonder if that was why Sylvain was so distant in the car; maybe he had preparations to get to.
Thinking back on it, I wish I hadn’t blabbed so much, maybe he would have told me more about the obviously magical place I had stumbled upon, or why he shifts into a horned being, or why there is a customer that is asking Jess for a Sun Cider neat with a silver stir and that she seems to understand exactly what that drink is.
The memory of him sitting on the flat rock right before he heard the branch snap, his back to me, illuminated by the soft sun, accentuating every muscle, his face stricken with loneliness.
Then his face as he turns to see me, as if it were chiseled in stone, the corded neck leading into hard pectorals etched in those sexy as hell tattoos.
Suddenly, I feel flushed, thinking maybe the number of people in the space is making the room hotter.
Or maybe it’s the fact that Sylvain has appeared by my side with a very angry look on his face. “What the hell are you doing?” He growls in my ear, just loud enough for me to hear.
Gale is nowhere in sight, and Jess is busy making what seems like nine different drinks for a line of people waiting at the bar.
“Gale said it was okay.” I squeak.
His hand clamps firmly on my arm, just above my elbow.
It's so impossibly warm that I’m too distracted to protest him dragging me into the kitchen and out the back door.
I slow down, thinking he is going to stop just outside, but he doesn’t.
Instead, he keeps going, marching me right into the forest.
He pushes me against a tree, nose millimeters from mine.
“Explain.”
His eyes are narrowed black pools, moonlight barely reflecting off of them enough for me to see his face properly.
He’s all sharp cheekbones, glossy hair, and taut muscles.
In the pale light, his tattoos are seeping back to the surface of his skin, connecting like ink soaking paper.
I follow a line, lifting my eyes to his face, which is growing taller, craning my neck at the antlers that are now sprouting.
His hand is on the tree, pushing me into its rough bark. My heart is in my throat, and once again, instead of wanting to run, I desperately need this big body pressed into mine.
“I said, explain.” He repeats.
“You needed help,” I say defensively.
“You had no right.”
It’s my turn to narrow my eyes at him. “No right? What does that even mean? I’m trapped here until my car gets fixed.
I was supposed to be in Canada tonight looking for work.
But now I have a hotel bill and a car repair bill.
” I poke his chest, leaning into his face so he has to back away from me.
“You didn’t even have the decency to tell me you own this place and to offer me some shifts!
You should be thanking me for even coming here and helping you out! ”
His jaw is tight and clenched, and it’s right then I notice that his eyes are even looking at mine, they are trained on my mouth. Mrs. Ames’ words from earlier float into my brain: “He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, could he?”
Once again, my body acts before it thinks, but so does Sylvain’s, because we crash into each other at the same time, lips crushed together, moaning and panting. His body is a torch against mine, and I’m thankful for the cool night air surrounding us.
I turn us around somehow, pushing him into the tree and pawing at his pants, desperate to feel him, to own him.
“You’re not very nice,” I say through his lips pressed to mine, just as my hand grazes his cock.
He freezes. “Not really, no.” He groans.
My fingertips explore every ridge of him, the soft velvety skin, the juxtaposition of the softness over the hard.
His breathing is strained as my hand smooths over him, never quite getting a firm grip, but just enough to cause delicious friction.
My whole body is pressing him into the tree, as though trapped, knowing full well he could push me off at any moment.
“Are you going to let me finish this shift or not?” I whisper, my fingers working over his stiff cock.
His throat bobs as he swallows. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?” I grip him firmly, letting the sensation pull a sweet moan from his throat.
“Yes, will you please stay to help out at the bar?” He groans into my ear.
I step back, releasing him from my hand and the tree.
The look on his face is pure torture, and I can’t tell if he wants me to stay or if he’s still mad, but I don’t wait to find out.
I leave him in his true form and start marching back towards the kitchen door, ignoring the wetness in my underwear.
“And I’ll see you tomorrow as well!” I shout over my shoulder, smiling to myself.
I’m back where I started, slinging drinks at a bar, but at least this place is interesting and my boss is hot.