Chapter two
Dallas
“You gonna stand there and stare at her all night, or are you actually going to do some work?”
Penn, my younger brother, pushes himself off the bar and shoves me as he walks past. “I wasn’t fucking staring at anything.”
“Yeah, just keep telling yourself that,” I mutter as I wipe the counter down.
“Fucker,” he grumbles as he pushes through the door that leads to the back of the bar, leaving me out here all by myself.
Luckily, it’s not very busy yet, which gives us a little bit of time to stock the front before the rush begins, and plenty of time for me to give my brother shit for his unrequited crush.
Astrid comes over, brushing her bangs from her eyes with her forearm. “Everything okay, Dallas? What’s wrong with Penn?”
“What’s not wrong with Penn?”
She rolls her eyes. “I swear you two fight more than you get along.”
“Mostly.”
She sets her tray down on the counter and moves to the computer to input an order. “We still have fish and chips, right?”
“Yeah, plenty. Harold made quite the catch this morning, so we should be good for a few days at least.” Harold is a long-time Carrington Cove resident that brings in fresh fish for all of the local businesses, especially mine. And his luck today means more money in both of our pockets.
She nods. “Perfect.”
My eyes carry over Catch & Release, my bar and restaurant that has been prospering over the past four years, the windows in the front of the establishment offering a breathtaking view of the cove that is our town’s namesake, which draws in tourists from the beginning of spring through the end of fall.
After leaving the Marines and returning home twelve years later, I wanted something that I could pour my heart and soul into, a place that would keep me busy and leave me with little time to think since my mind loves to torment me if left to its own devices.
Bill, the former owner, was looking to sell and retire around that time, so I jumped on the opportunity.
I had no idea how to run a restaurant or bar, but I picked it up quickly and have kept this place thriving since I took over.
Although an established clientele and the booming tourism in Carrington Cove definitely helps too.
Catch & Release is the quintessential coastal bar, everything inside decorated in a nautical theme—fishnets hanging from the walls with starfish and seashells scattered throughout, old anchors mounted to the walls’ wooden slats, and navy-blue booths and padded chairs at each of the dark wooden tables.
Steel lamps hang above each table and the bar is edged in the same steel, lining the surface made of reclaimed wood.
It’s rustic and familiar, perfectly capturing the essence of our town in the décor and the hospitality we offer, an experience that keeps people coming back for more.
Penn returns from the back of the restaurant a few minutes later, carrying cases of beer and liquor.
“Is Dallas giving you shit again?” Astrid asks when she returns from her table, leaning against the bar as she smiles at my younger brother.
Penn just stares at her, much like he does any time the woman is in his view. I’m sure even a kindergartener could pick up on his crush. Thankfully, he finds his voice quickly. “When is he not?” he grunts as he moves around her.
Astrid shakes her head at us and then steps to the soda fountain to fill drinks. “You two are so much alike sometimes that it’s frightening.” She pushes glasses against the metal triggers as soda fills each one up.
“I take offense to that,” I counter, slapping my rag on the bar.
“Yeah, so do I,” Penn adds.
Astrid glares at us over her shoulder. “I do not have time to referee you two today. I have money to make, and you’re both in my way.” She stands in front of us, a tray full of beverages filled and waiting to be delivered, her eyebrow arched as she waits for us to move.
It’s a look I’ve also seen our mother give us a time or two and Astrid nails it flawlessly.
Penn and I part and let her by.
“Her children must be downright terrified of her,” I say jokingly.
“She’s a good mom,” Penn replies under his breath, restocking the bar.
I slap my hand on his shoulder. “Hey, I don’t have time for you to mope tonight, all right? We have that reservation of twenty people coming in for a birthday party, and we’re down a server. Sally called out.”
Penn shoves me off. “I’m not moping.”
“Ha. Okay.” I decide to drop it. There’s no use in poking that bear anymore, or he won’t be any use to me at the bar tonight.
It’s a Friday night and that always means business will be good.
Between people coming in for the fresh fish and chips special, celebrating the end of another work week with a drink or two, or tourists arriving for the weekend, there will be no slowing down until the bar shuts down in the wee hours of the morning.
It’s nights like this that make me grateful I live above the restaurant in the small apartment the previous owner built when he bought the building.
It’s perfect for a single guy like me and makes the commute to and from work a breeze.
However, sometimes I feel like I never leave this building, but hopefully that will change soon.
Buying a house is in my future plans—I’m just waiting for the right hand to be dealt my way.
By the time seven o’clock hits, the bar is swamped.
There’s a line of customers around the building, a waitlist a mile long, and the kitchen is pumping out food as fast as the cooks can.
My bartenders and servers are running a flipping marathon with a smile on their face, and I am filling in wherever I’m needed.
“How’s it going, gentlemen?” I set three beers on the round table in the corner, where Harold, Baron, and Thompson are seated in their usual spot as the hostess fills the empty booth beside them that I just cleaned.
These three men have probably lived in Carrington Cove as long as the town has been established, except for the time they spent serving as Marines, that is.
“Be careful who you’re calling gentlemen, Dallas. I’m about to kick their asses in darts, and that means things are about to get ugly.” Baron tips his glass in my direction before taking a sip of his beer.
“This one.” Harold juts his thumb over at Baron. “Always counting his chickens before they hatch. Everyone knows I’m the reigning champ.”
“Ha! Let me get a few more beers in you and then we’ll see who’s winning,” Thompson interjects, partaking in their usual shit talking before they take control of the dart board in the corner of the bar area.
Even before I took over ownership of the place, these three have spent every Friday night at Catch & Release challenging each other in darts. And since I don’t want to start a fight, I decide to keep the fact to myself that Harold is, in fact, the one who wins the most.
“Well, the night is young boys, and anything can happen, right?” I say as I stand back, placing my hands on my hips.
“When are you gonna play with us one of these nights, Dallas?” Baron asks.
“When you three can stay out past ten.”
They all cackle as I walk away, back to managing the increasing number of people filling the room while making sure the kitchen is staying on top of the influx of orders.
Regulars fill the tables, nodding hellos as I pass by. I recognize many veterans I’ve met over the years, whom I offer a discount—a courtesy I give to anyone for their service to our country since I know personally what that sacrifice is like.
Anyone unfamiliar is assumed to be a tourist or someone from a town nearby, but the chatter and laughter ringing out sends a wave of pride through me. It's a satisfying feeling, knowing my place brings joy to others.
It’s rare to have these moments, where everything feels right and the world is still spinning as it should.
So much has happened recently and throughout the years that the axis feels off-kilter more often than not, but nights like this help me feel like my world is slowly returning to normal, or as close to normal as it can get.
Just before nine o’clock, I find myself behind the bar helping fill drink orders.
I’m grateful for YouTube videos to add to my non-existent bartending skills, but between Penn, Tabitha, and me, we manage to fulfill any drink order that comes our way.
My brother has worked a few nights here with me ever since I bought the place, but he had prior experience tending bar while I was deployed.
During the day, though, he works at the hardware store and is known as the residential handyman around our little town.
He truly is a jack-of-all-trades, and I’m grateful for his help.
I flick my eyes in the direction of the door, the waiting area still packed with people, and that’s when my eyes land on a woman that certainly isn’t from around here, her tall stature and poised presence sticking out like a sore thumb.
She wears a white silk blouse and a black pencil skirt that hugs shapely curves. Her blonde hair is slicked back into a low bun that rests right at the base of her neck, and her pursed, plump lips are painted a cherry red, intoxicating and forbidden.
Any woman I’ve ever seen wearing red lipstick usually wears it for one of two reasons. One, because she’s feeling sexy and is ready for attention or a little danger—or two, she wears it as a shield, letting everyone know that she’s impenetrable and in need of no one else.
She’s the one in control.
Her eyes scour the room, assessing the crowd with a slight curl to her lips as if the establishment is beneath her.
Then her gaze locks onto the last empty seat at the bar, one that was just vacated moments ago, and the click of her heels rings out as she sways her hips with each step in my direction.
I spin around, not wanting to be caught staring at the woman—by her or anyone else. That’s all I need is for Penn to see me before he starts giving me the same shit I give him.