Chapter 28
CLEMENTINE
I don’t know if it was our hot night or me threatening to sneak out when he wasn’t looking, but Griffith stops insisting on bedrest. He and Carl continue to orbit me like I’m a toddler with a fork, trying to poke electrical sockets, but I find it easy to ignore them as long as I can focus on my work.
Also helps that I’m sitting in Local Brew, where other customers demand Griffith’s attention so he can’t simply stand, staring at me, waiting for me to combust, which is what he seems to think will happen if I’m left unattended for five minutes.
I press Publish on a new web page I’ve been tweaking this past hour and roll my shoulders with a sigh before taking a fortifying sip of my beer.
A little reward for a job well done. I also give my eyes a break from the screen, scanning the growing crowd.
There are friend groups, maybe a date or two, and a couple of singles hanging at the bar.
The overall tone is jovial, and a new song comes on the jukebox that gets a few people swaying.
I’m eyeing the not-quite dancing when Griffith appears across from me.
“Need a refill?”
“Yes, please.”
I grin when he leans toward me, knowing what he wants as payment. I cross the last inch to press a quick kiss to his delicious mouth. He hums a happy sound before scooping up my glass, knowing I’m going to want the vanilla-hibiscus sour. My beer.
The one he named Snarky Little Mermaid.
As he pours, my eyes track back to the dance floor.
“How often do you have musical acts in here?” With a tilt of my head, I gesture toward the small stage.
He shrugs. “Maybe one every other month. Not many bands come through town. There are a few locals who like to play, so if they ask, I’ll arrange it.”
My mind goes back to my conversation with Neri, the initial idea that was shoved to the back of my mind in the chaos of my wound reopening. Once again, I feel the excited anticipation of a fun challenge.
All I need is to get Griffith on board.
“Would you be interested in more music? People love a live band.”
He quirks a brow. “You got ideas?”
“Ideas and connections.” Turning my laptop so he can see the window I have open, I press Play on the bluesy country music artist whose website I’m finishing up.
“He’s going to Atlanta, then to Greenville.
I could ask if he wanted to swing by here on his way.
” We’re not directly on that path, but I’m betting a musician hustling for gigs wouldn’t mind adding an extra hour or two to his route for a chance to play. “It’d probably be a weeknight.”
Griffith braces his forearms on the bar, leaning closer to my laptop. “I like how he sounds. And a weeknight would be better anyway. Bring in more customers if we’ve got something special to offer.”
My grin is all smugness. “Exactly what I was thinking.”
The wolf’s eyes drift from the screen to my face. “You fixin’ to be Local Brews event coordinator?”
“Not until I finish my job of being your website manager. Local Brew’s online presence is pathetic.”
Griffith tries to frown, but a smile wins out in the end. “Kind of like how you’re taking over. You gonna start brewing next?”
“Nah. I’ll leave that to you.” I reclaim my laptop. Then—expertly covering up how the move sends a jab of pain through my side—I lean over the bar to give his cheek a lingering kiss. “You just let me handle your PR. I’ll make Local Brew a destination.”
We probably would have kept flirting if a group hadn’t walked up to the bar just then, looking to get served. Griffith gives my hand a quick squeeze before stepping away, and I sit in my buzzing happiness, riding the high of successfully pitching my ideas.
I was pretty sure I could get Griffith invested in the idea, but still, it’s a confidence builder that he agreed right away.
Didn’t make a single comment about my follow-through or express doubt about me being able to make good things happen.
So much different from when I first stumbled into this bar and he met me with animosity.
He’s also done a full turnaround with Shrimp.
My pup now has a massive dog bed in Griffith’s office.
Shrimp tends to wander back there on nights like this when the crowd grows large enough that he’s in danger of getting stepped on.
I make a mental note to take him out for a bathroom break in the next half hour or so.
The fiddly work of designing one of my client’s webpages distracts me so much that the world around me turns to white noise. I don’t even fully register when someone sits on the stool beside me until they talk.
“Hello, Clementine.”
I glance up from my laptop, the voice tugging on a memory that I don’t fully recall until I meet the eyes of the person who approached me.
“I really like you, Clementine.”
That’s what he said to me just before we stepped out of the concert venue. Right before we came face-to-face with his hunter buddy.
The last sentence he spoke to me before I had to run for my life.
Sitting next to me like nothing is wrong is Luke.
The hunter.
Adrenaline soaks my brain as I shove back from the bar, slide off my stool, and throw my fists up in front of me as if we were about to box.
The place is full of patrons. Magical ones. Easy pickings for a hunter.
So, why did he reveal himself to me?
I don’t know. I’ve never known why Luke interacted with me the way he did. We went on multiple dates before the night I got injured. Plenty of times he could have kidnapped me and sold me to a sorcerer for fuel.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” he says.
But I don’t believe him.