Chapter 18
A few days later, after finishing up her writing for the day, Harper texted Mary from a bar on Main Street.
“Found a cute spot. Come meet me. The Sin Bin. Next to the coffee shop.”
Mary closed her laptop. She’d spent hours reviewing briefs for a class action lawsuit that was brought against a banking client. She was way ahead of schedule, so she could bang out a short brief of her own in the morning before the lead partner in New York even got to the office.
Mary threw her hair in a messy bun and touched up her makeup. She stood in her closet and considered what to wear to a place called the Sin Bin. It had warmed up to twenty-five degrees and hadn’t snowed in a week. Almost felt like a heat wave.
Feeling casual, she chose a navy blue silk shirt, an olive-green suede blazer, dark blue jeans, and black high heels. She threw on a long emerald brushed cashmere coat, grabbed her black sling bag and keys, and headed downtown. It took just five minutes to get there and park.
Harper was set up in the corner against the far wall, under a giant TV screen. She had on light blue wide-leg jeans, a navy turtleneck, and a hot pink puffy vest with ruffled sleeves that she’d found in a local shop called Vintage Vibes.
Harp’s eyes lit up when she saw Mary. She cleared a space, putting her notebook and laptop into a giant cloth tote bag.
Mary gave her a hug and took a stool opposite her. “So, this is a Sin Bin? It looks like a sports bar to me. I was expecting something a little more . . . dangerous?”
“Ha! The Sin Bin is where hockey players sit when they get in trouble. It’s like being sent to your room to think about what you did.”
“I didn’t know you knew so much about hockey.”
“My dad took my brother and me to Rangers games a few times a year,” Harper said and looked around the bar. “He’d love this—especially all the memorabilia. When he was growing up in Canada they watched hockey every Saturday night. He said it was a national obsession.”
She pointed out the vintage hockey sticks that hung down between the exposed beams on the ceiling, the framed jerseys on the wall, and some of the most iconic moments in hockey captured in a large hand-painted mural opposite the bar.
A huge mirror in a gorgeous wood frame was mounted behind the bottles of booze.
“Love that. My dad and I used to go to games together, too, but he was a Mets fan. His favorite player was Mike Piazza. We met him once at a pizza place near our house. My dad never stopped talking about it.”
“Maybe in the spring the three of us can go to a game in Milwaukee. Big weekend out.”
“I feel like we’re putting a lot of to-do items in the spring bucket,” Mary said. She pointed at Harper’s laptop. “Get very far today?”
“A solid chapter and a half. I think. I keep second-guessing myself.”
“Sounds like normal novelist neurosis.” She reached for Harper’s hand and gave it a squeeze.
A busboy walked by, and Harper flagged him down.
“Hi, could we order?”
A couple of minutes later, a tall man in a tucked-in flannel shirt, well-worn jeans, Harley Davidson boots, and with a white bar towel thrown over one of his sturdy shoulders came to their table.
He had medium-brown hair pulled into a small ponytail at the base of his neck.
He smiled, showing a small dimple in his left cheek.
Though she’d never met him before, he looked vaguely familiar to Mary.
“Hi, I’m Tommy. This is my place. Was glad to see you working here this afternoon, but didn’t want to bother you. Everything good?”
“All good. Loved the Coldplay mix from earlier.”
“Bar standard. Everyone seems mildly okay with Coldplay. Where’s that accent from?”
“East of here,” Harper said, then fearing that was rude, quickly added, “Brooklyn, actually.”
“Well, welcome to Cedar Falls,” Tommy said. “What can I get you two?”
“What do you recommend?” Mary asked, looking over the menu.
“Do you like beer?”
“Not really,” Harper said. “How about vodka soda with lime?”
“Tito’s okay?”
She gave him a thumbs-up.
“Do you have a local beer?” Mary asked.
“Try the Spotted Cow. Only sold in Wisconsin.”
“Really? Why?”
“Gotta keep enough stock for the locals. We drink a lot of beer.”
“Well, how can I resist with a recommendation like that. I’ll take a Spotted Cow.” Now she was curious.
He rapped his knuckles on their table. “Coming right up, ladies.”
“He was cute, right?” Mary raised her eyebrows at Harper. “You were flirting.”
“I was not! Besides, remember . . . I’m swearing off cute!” Harper was sticking to her plan.
“Whatever you have to tell yourself,” Mary said as she looked around the bar. “Guys are different here than back home, don’t you think?”
“For sure. Do you think that’s for the better?”
“Maybe.” She saw a few potentials in the bar. “Jury’s still out!”
“Do you think they’re all Republicans?” Harper asked as she observed the patrons. She assumed they were.
“I don’t know. Maybe. But I’m not interested in how they vote, Harp. They’re kind of cute. In, like, a rustic way.”
“They don’t seem too into politics, anyway, going by their hats. They’re more into the Packers and whatever animal those antlers belong to. Lots of camo going on around here.”
Just then they heard shouting near their end of the bar. Turning, they saw two guys push their chairs away, toppling them onto the floor. They stood chest-to-chest, arguing about something. A couple of young women pleaded with them to chill out, but they shook them off.
Harper saw Tommy pick up his phone while coming to stand between the fighters, but the guys started shoving each other harder.
Mary pushed her stool back to get a better view, and Harper strained to see.
While Tommy jumped out of the way and spoke into his phone, the bartender hurdled over the bar and pushed his way between them to break it up. But then he got hit in the jaw and held his hand to his face, scrunching his eyes in pain.
The yelling got louder, and their girlfriends begged the men to stop. The taller of the two fighters got the other one in a headlock and was asking his opponent if he’d had enough. Several customers started moving away from the melee and two of them crouched behind the bar.
Finally, a couple of cops came in. “Knock it off. Now!” one said with authority. Each of them held one of the guys while the fighters caught their breath and glared at each other.
That’s who Tommy must have called—the cops.
“Is my brother with you?” he yelled over to them.
“He’s right behind us.”
“Thanks. I don’t know these guys. And I don’t want this kind of reputation. We just opened!”
“You got it, Tommy.”
Mary grabbed her keys and eased off the stool. “Let’s get out of here, before another hockey fight breaks out,” she said. She had to admit she loved watching the drama of a good bar fight as long as no one got seriously hurt. “We can call Dot and go get a pizza.”
Seeing them preparing to leave, Tommy rushed over. “I’m so sorry. I swear this has never happened!” He looked disappointed they were going.
“Oh, it’s okay—we just . . . well, we’ll come back another time,” Harper said. She wanted to stay but followed Mary’s lead.
“What were they fighting about—run out of Spotted Cow?” Mary asked, throwing her coat over her arm.
“Had to be about a girl. They looked like a couple of bucks in rutting season,” he said.
“Does that happen in here, too?” Mary asked.
“Not yet. But the night is young.”
“Something to look forward to then.” Mary started toward the door.
“It was nice to meet you, Tommy. I’m Harper.” She stuck out her hand to shake his. “And that was Mary.”
He shook her hand as he ran his left hand over his hair.
“Promise you’ll come back? Drinks on me next time.”
“Deal,” Harper said.
As the girls walked out, a policeman was pulling open the door and bumped into Mary.
He instantly recognized her and smiled. There was that dimple again.
“New York! Fancy seeing you here. I should have figured you’d cause trouble again. They throw you out of the bar?”
“Hardly! And I never even got my beer,” Mary said cooly. “But I’m glad you finally showed up. Maybe you can focus on the real troublemakers for a change.”
“Oh, you’re a troublemaker. I could tell that the moment I set eyes on you.”
“Well now you can watch me walk away.”
Harper had no idea what was going on. Mary grabbed her hand, looked both ways, and dashed across the street.
“That’s jaywalking, New York! I could write you a ticket for that.”
Mary gestured with her right hand. And she wasn’t saying goodbye.