Chapter 12
Chapter twelve
MAGNOLIA
Iscooted everyone out of the bar and locked up behind them, closing earlier than I normally would on a Saturday night. But with no patrons aside from my friends, and coming off of one of the longest days I’d had in a long time, I was pretty much toast by midnight.
I had Lee shoot Ryan a text, so when he woke up in the morning with a raging hangover and no clue where he was, he wouldn’t think he’d been kidnapped and stashed in the back room of a bar. Which, technically, he kind of was, but no need for him to panic about it.
After trudging up the back staircase, washing the day off my face, and slipping into some sweats, I laid on the couch and mindlessly scrolled through my phone while watching some bogus reality show on Netflix.
Pickle jumped up and curled herself into a ball in the crook of my legs, making mashed potatoes on my calves and purring loudly.
I scratched her little calico head. “I missed you, too, my little Pickle Pie. Did you have an exciting day, too?” She yawned and dramatically plunked her head on my legs, letting her little beady, green eyes close—probably drifting off to a dreamland starring Lee Wilder himself.
I had seventeen text messages from Dane, and none of them were kind. Most of them accused me of cheating on him with his brother, and one went so far as to call me a washed up bartender who was using him to further my status in Savannah society.
I might have been washed up, but being a part of the Savannah elite was never on my radar. It was on everyone else’s but mine.
The last text message, before he passed out I had to guess, was a garbled hodgepodge of letters and numbers, but peppered in there was an ultimatum. I took a screenshot of the messages and sent them to Sutton.
SUTTON: So, he called you trash, accused you of cheating on him with his brother, and then said if you don’t move in with him, he’s breaking up with you? Am I deciphering this right?
MAGNOLIA: All translations of these drunken hieroglyphics seem to point to that conclusion, correct.
SUTTON: He was shit-faced. I know that’s not an excuse, but his behavior when he’s drinking has been really off the wall lately.
MAGNOLIA: Right. I’m off to watch shitty reality TV and forget about this day. Love you.
SUTTON: Love you more.
***
I was ripped from a deep sleep by the sound of my phone ringing obnoxiously, and a loud banging coming from downstairs in the bar.
“Hello?” I answered groggily, trying to see the clock through a mass of Pickle’s fur as she slept soundly on my head.
“Maggie, I’m on my way over,” Lee said, sounding rushed. “Ryan’s still drunk, I think, and he’s convinced he’s been kidnapped. Did you lock him in Cole’s room?”
I jumped up, knocking Pickle to the ground. She let out a wild shriek and shook her body sleepily, then shot me a dirty look and stretched herself out.
Throwing on a hoodie and sliding myself into some slippers, I flew down the back staircase and opened the door to the bar.
“Yes, of course I did,” I said breathlessly into the phone.
“Imagine waking up drunk and finding out you’re unattended in a bar.
And let’s be real. I don’t know this kid from Adam.
What if he crept up into my apartment last night and threw up in my hair? ”
Lee’s laugh came softly through the phone. “That’s what you’re worried about? Throw up in your hair?” I heard him getting into a car, shutting the door, and telling a driver where to go.
“I mean, yeah, I just had a keratin treatment.” I slowly opened the door to Cole’s bedroom. Ryan was crouched in the corner, and the smell of urine smacked me in the face. I shuddered. “Did you pee in the bed?” I bellowed, flipping on the light switch.
Ryan shrank back and threw his hands up over his face. “Don’t murder me!”
“Ryan, it’s Magnolia!” I put my phone down and flung back the sheets, checking for wet spots.
“I peed in the bucket. I’m sorry. How did I get here?”
“There’s a toilet over there in the bathroom, you idiot!
” I put my hand over my nose to cover up the smell and to hide the fact that I was about to burst out laughing in this poor man’s face.
I marched past Ryan and opened the curtains and the window to let in some fresh air.
“You were drunk last night. Very, very drunk. We let you sleep in the bedroom down here. This used to be my uncle’s room. ”
Ryan nodded and looked around. “Why did you lock me in here like a captive?”
“Because I don’t know you, aside from the fact that you like to drink in excess, and there’s a lot of booze out there.” I motioned to the barroom and saw a figure standing in the doorway, peering through the windows. “Your knight in shining armor is here. I’ll go let him in,” I called behind me.
I opened the door, and Lee, holding three delicious-smelling coffees, seemed taken aback. I was sure I looked like a swamp monster, but let’s be real, I was ripped from sleep by chaos. I still had no idea what time it was.
Lee studied me for a second, and his eyes lit up. “Nice hoodie.”
I grabbed the coffee from him and closed the door to the bar, locking it shut. I peeked down at my sleep shorts, fuzzy slippers, and my Savannah Academy hoodie.
Or, rather, Lee’s Savannah Academy hoodie.
“This old thing? No clue where it came from.” I placed the coffees down on a table in the middle of the bar and made my way to Cole’s bedroom to retrieve Ryan and my cell phone.
I shot Charlie a text and dialed Sutton, watching Ryan slump down in an old mahogany chair. He let his cheek rest on the cool, sticky table.
“We need pancakes,” I said when Sutton answered, hopping behind the bar to whip up a pitcher of Bloody Marys and some ice water. “And we need Advil. And Jesus. Charlie’s on the way—he’s grabbing candied bacon and some biscuits from Collins Quarter.”
“I’m on it,” Sutton said before clicking off the phone.
“Y’all are like the Avengers,” Ryan said, his face still smooshed into the table.
“These guys are professionals,” Lee offered, watching me move quickly behind the bar. “There’s not a hangover in town this squad can’t handle.”
I pried the lid off the coffee cup with my name on it and laughed. Light cream, no foam, sprinkle of cinnamon.
He remembered.
I dropped the waters and the pitcher of Bloodys onto the table, the sound of glass clinking against wood cutting through the low hum of conversation.
As I unlocked the door, it barely had time to swing open before Sutton came barreling through, Charlie close on her heels.
She threw a quick nod in our direction, her no-nonsense energy rippling through the room, and made a beeline for the bar.
In one fluid motion, she unpacked her portable griddle and plugged it in, her hands moving with the kind of precision that came from years of practice in the kitchen. The scent of warm oil and sizzling batter wasn’t far behind.
Meanwhile, Charlie eyed the layout of tables like a general plotting strategy.
With a low grunt, he dragged one closer, then another, until he’d transformed the mismatched arrangement into a long, sprawling table that demanded attention.
And a tablecloth. Ryan shot him a bemused look, but Lee just leaned back in his chair, smirking like he’d seen this routine a hundred times before.
“Do we need all that room?” I asked, plating the finished pancakes for Sutton.
“Jordan and Doyle are coming by. They had a long night, too. Doyle’s sister, the one that lives in New York, just found out she’s pregnant.
I guess she doesn’t even know the guy.” Charlie passed the Advil bottle down the table, then scooted into the back office and, as if having read my thoughts, reappeared with a long tablecloth.
“Did they just seriously pull off a brunch in five minutes?” Ryan finally sat up and started in on the beverage buffet before him.
“This is Savannah, we’ve been trained to throw impromptu parties since we were in the womb,” Lee answered, smiling at me from across the room.
Jordan and Doyle opened the door to the bar carrying plates of cheese, a few bottles of champagne, and two bouquets of flowers.
I pulled two pitchers down from a shelf and filled them a quarter of the way up with water.
Doyle reached over the bar and handed me the bouquets to put in the makeshift vases.
“Which one’s Lee?” he leaned in and whispered, eyeing the table suspiciously.
“The cute one,” Sutton laughed, flipping the pancakes.
I rolled my eyes. “The one in the backwards baseball cap. Who keeps staring at me.”
Jordan joined Doyle at the bar, and they both turned slowly, but not at all discreetly, toward Lee.
“He’s way cuter than Dane,” Doyle offered, and Jordan whacked his arm. “But not cuter than my husband,” he added with a wince. Jordan giggled and took the pitcher of mimosas I’d made, bringing them to the table. “But seriously, he’s super hot,” Doyle added when Jordan was out of earshot.
I ignored him, turned on the overhead speakers, and cued up a light acoustic playlist, cradling my phone in the docking station.
Sutton and I carried plates of food to the table and joined our friends.
By the time we sat down, Doyle was now in full swing telling the tale of his sister, Tally, and her New York City antics.
“So, how do y’all know each other?” Lee asked, pointing between the lot of us.
“Jordan and Doyle own the wine shop next to my studio. They own the entire building, actually, and I rent from them,” my brother shared, passing his plate of biscuits down the table.
“And we adopted them,” Sutton added. “Jordan’s from New York, and Doyle’s from Newnan, a few hours north of here.”
“Jordan supplies the bar with wine, and we work together on the Historical Holiday Tour every year,” I noted, smiling at Jordan across the table.