Chapter Five #2
“Does he know that?”
“He invited me back to Sin & Tonic tonight. I was already planning to go.”
“Then tell him.”
“I will.”
She tipped her head. “Is tonight number two?”
I looked down at my good boots.
“It might be.”
Brandi’s grin returned. “Wear clean socks.”
“The item says barefoot.”
“I know. Copper Falls doesn’t need to learn that the mayor’s daughter has a blister.”
“That’s your advice?”
“My serious advice is that you don’t need Daddy’s approval to build a business or date Titus. My practical advice is still clean socks.”
“I’m wearing clean socks.”
“Then I’ve done all I can.”
We ended the call when someone came to her door. I finished lunch, drank the water, and went back to work.
Daddy emerged twice during the afternoon. The first time, he stopped beside my desk.
“Where’s the donor list?”
“On the left side of your desk, beneath the folder marked DONORS.”
He gave me a look and returned to his office. The second time, he paused beside mine as if he might restart our argument. Instead, he set down a folder.
“Your mother wants you at dinner Sunday.”
“I’ll check my calendar.”
“She said seven.”
“I heard you.”
His mouth twitched despite himself. “You’ve always been stubborn.”
“I come from excellent stock.”
That earned the beginning of a smile.
At five, I finished the last letter, set Friday’s priorities where the front desk could find them, and shut down my computer. The canvas bag holding clean work jeans, a faded tank, safety glasses, and work boots was already in the back of my SUV.
I drove to Sin & Tonic.
***
The gravel lot was crowded enough that I had to park near the far fence. Music spilled onto the porch each time the door opened, lively fiddle over guitar and the steady beat of drums.
Two women from the garden club waved as I crossed the porch. One looked at my dress, then toward the bar, and her eyebrows rose with such purpose that she deserved a municipal appointment.
I waved back and kept walking.
Inside, amber light warmed the tables and the dance floor beyond them. The room buzzed with conversation, ice against glass, and the band finishing a fast song near the stage. I recognized half the crowd and refused to count how many people recognized me.
Titus stood behind the bar in dark jeans and a dark-blue pearl-snap shirt, his white hat tipped low on his forehead. He looked up before I reached the first table and stopped talking.
He looked me over once, from my dress to my boots and back to my face. My steps slowed.
Duane followed his gaze. “Well, that explains why he’s checked the door every four minutes.”
Titus looked at him. “Go manage something.”
“I’m managing morale.” Duane grinned at me. “Good evening, Shay.”
“Good evening.” I set my tote on the empty stool. “Is morale improving?”
“Considerably.”
Titus pointed toward the kitchen. “Duane.”
“I’m going.” He left without any visible concern for his job.
I looked at Titus. “Every four minutes?”
“Closer to six.”
“Should I be flattered by your restraint?”
“You can be flattered that I didn’t wait in the parking lot.”
The answer warmed me more than the crowded room.
“I said I’d come.”
“You did.” He reached across the bar and took my hand. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“I’m glad too.”
Titus held my fingers for one extra beat, then released them. “Have you eaten?”
“Half a turkey sandwich at noon.”
“That isn’t supper.”
“You and my lunch habits have met before.”
“They haven’t improved.”
He brought me a menu and a glass of water. I ordered grilled chicken with summer vegetables and one glass of wine. Titus returned to work while I ate at the end of the bar.
He rang up a tab, checked an order at the kitchen window, and carried another microphone cable to the stage before the next customer reached the bar.
Duane placed my plate in front of me. “He’s less grumpy tonight.”
“I can hear you,” Titus said from the register.
“That’s part of the service.”
I cut into the chicken. “Is the improvement measurable?”
Duane considered Titus. “He’s used three additional words per conversation.”
“Remarkable.”
Titus returned and set a fresh glass of water beside my wine. “Both of you have work to do.”
“I’m eating.”
“I’m improving morale,” Duane said.
Titus’s expression remained flat, but amusement pulled at one corner of his mouth. “Try it somewhere else.”
Duane left to greet a table.
I leaned closer across the bar. “Daddy called six times after I left yesterday.”
“What were the calls about?”
“Two were about chamber-breakfast name cards. Four were genuine concern.”
“Did he find the cards?”
“Eventually. They were exactly where I’d put them.”
Titus rested one forearm on the bar. “What happened when you came in?”
“I told him I wouldn’t bring you another warning based on an unsupported complaint.”
His shoulders went still. “He asked you to?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say when you refused?”
“That I sounded like a Calhoun.”
Titus took that in. “I’ve heard worse.”
“I told him I sounded like someone who read the permit.”
A slow smile crossed his face. “That sounds like you.”
The band began another song, and a customer lifted an empty glass at the other end of the bar. Titus squeezed my fingers once before walking away.
I finished my supper and stopped after the one glass of wine. Water followed while the room grew fuller and the band moved from fast songs into a slower set. Couples began filling the dance floor.
Titus returned as the guitar eased into a low country melody.
“You dance?” I asked.
“When required.”
“That’s not promising.”
“I can keep time.”
“High praise from a man who called lunch assembly.”
He glanced at the floor, then at me. “Are you asking?”
I slid from the stool.
“Almost.” I slipped off one boot, then the other, peeled away my no-show socks, and tucked them inside.
Titus watched me straighten. “You’re taking those off here?”
“The instructions were specific.”
The polished floor felt cool beneath my bare feet.
His voice lowered. “Number two.”
I held out my hand. “Are you going to make me ask twice?”
“No.”
Titus came around the bar and took my hand.
A few people watched us step onto the dance floor. I knew because I saw their heads turn. Then Titus placed one palm at my waist, drew me closer, and the rest of the room lost its importance.
He moved well. Not with practiced flourishes or anything designed to attract attention. He guided me through an easy two-step, changed direction before we reached another couple, and never missed the beat.
“You underestimated yourself,” I said.
“I said I could keep time.”
“You also said you danced when required.”
“This feels required.”
“By the list?”
“By me.”
My bare toes curled against the floor.
Titus brought our joined hands closer to his chest. “Still know who’s watching?”
“You’re not supposed to ask.”
“Why not?”
“It ruins the test.”
“What test?”
“The one where you make me forget.”
His palm spread more firmly across my back. “How am I doing?”
I looked at his mouth. “Better now that you’ve stopped talking.”
He laughed, low enough that only I heard it.
The song slowed. I slid my arm around his neck, and he drew me closer until my dress brushed his jeans with every step. His hat shadowed his eyes. The fiddle softened behind his shoulder.
Titus lowered his head. “Can I kiss you here?”
“Yes.”
His mouth met mine, warm and unhurried.
When he lifted his head, I’d lost the beat.
Titus kept us moving. “You forgot who was watching.”
“I forgot my feet.”
“That counts.”
I smiled against his shoulder and let him guide me through the rest of the song.
When it ended, applause rose for the band. Titus kissed my temple before walking me back to the bar. I pulled on my socks and boots again while he returned to work.
The garden-club women whispered over matching glasses of iced tea, but they also smiled when I passed. A man from the feed store nodded at Titus as though a Calhoun dancing with a Luttrell was worth noting but not worth interrupting his beer.
The hours passed with music. Whenever Titus came by, his shoulder brushed mine or he leaned close enough that I felt his breath near my ear. My phone vibrated with a text from Bobby.
BOBBY: Have you recovered from life on the run?
SHAY: I’m safe. Your map lacked scale and basic geography.
His reply came seconds later.
BOBBY: Art is rarely appreciated in its own time.
I laughed into my water.
“What?” Titus asked.
I showed him the message but not the photograph.
“Your brother thinks he’s an artist?”
“He thinks many things.”
“That runs in the family.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Careful.”
Titus leaned closer. “You’re the exception.”
“That was almost smooth.”
“It wasn’t an accident.”
By midnight, the crowd had thinned. The band packed its equipment, the last tables settled their checks, and Duane began the closing routine behind the bar. I stayed on my stool with water while Titus walked the final patrons to the door.
The garden-club women left together. One squeezed my shoulder on the way past.
“You looked lovely dancing, sweetheart,” she said.
“Thank you.”
She glanced toward Titus. “Your father will hear about it by breakfast.”
“He usually does.”
Her smile widened, and she followed her friend outside.
Titus locked the front door after the last patron. Duane carried a trash bag through the rear service hall, returned, and pulled on his jacket.
“Kitchen’s closed, register’s balanced, and the band’s gone,” he said. His gaze moved between us without comment. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Thanks,” Titus said.
Duane nodded to me. “Good night, Shay.”
“Good night.”
He left through the rear door. Titus locked it behind him, checked the restrooms and service hall, then returned to the darkened barroom. Only the lights above the bar and the small lamps near the walls remained on. The sudden quiet made the building feel larger.
I stood from the stool.
“Everyone’s gone?” I asked.
“Yes. The exterior doors are locked.”
“And the office?”
He looked toward the rear hall. “The office locks too.”
I walked toward him. “Show me.”
Titus didn’t move immediately. “Are you sure?”
“I’ve been sure since I took off my boots.”
“That was hours ago.”