My phone finally decided to work it seemed. Four missed calls and two text messages. Three of the calls were from my mother and the other one was from Cordelia, who my mother probably called to “check on me.”
I opened the text messages and both were from my mother.
Call me. GMA wants to book you for a tell-all interview. It’s a good offer. Grace, please be reasonable.
I tossed the phone to the side and decided to enjoy my one weekend of freedom and anonymity. Where hopefully nobody knew who I was. Nobody would care about what I’d done and who I’d done it with. Nobody placed their expectations on who Grace Harrington was. Nope, I could be the real me. Whoever she was.
Maybe a drink and some music to cleanse my soul were exactly what I needed. I successfully connected to the bed-and-breakfast’s Wi-Fi and googled “bars”.
The first suggestion that came up was a place oddly, yet simply, named Bar.
I couldn’t decide whether it was an ingenious idea or lazy branding. Their online reviews were decent, with lots of comments about the hardworking owner and how it was a friendly environment. I tried searching for them on Instagram to get a better sense of the atmosphere and vibe but came up short. I threw on a cute outfit, swiped some lipstick on, and headed for the door.
Curious to see what the hype was about, I followed the directions from my GPS and walked toward Bar.
CHAPTER 4
Caleb
After running back homeand grabbing Noelle’s art stuff, I stopped by the bed-and-breakfast to do a repair on the garden gate for Fiona. She often refused my help, but after getting locked out of her garden, she relented and let me build her a new one. My last task was installing the lock. When I finally made it to Bar, Nicky had already stocked the coolers and wiped down the counter. School approaching meant busy nights were ahead. Everybody was trying to hold on to summer’s reign.
Fridays seemed like everybody twenty-one and over made their way to Bar. I was grateful because owning a business, especially a small business, was not for the faint of heart. Like Ms. Kenzie pointed out, I was haggard as a result.
A few of the regulars were already here, including Dirty Al, who was a retired baseball player. He was a bigshot pitcher in his prime, had million-dollar deals and his whole life ahead of him until he tore his UCL. Dirty Al refused to get Tommy John surgery and faded out of the spotlight. He blew through his money and had no family to fall back on. Apparently, all his friends from baseball didn’t want to know him once he quit the league. He retired early to Grand Haven, bought a house at theend of the hill, and now frequented my bar daily to drown his sorrows.
Nora was sitting in her corner eating a burger and fries with a soda before her night shift at one of the factories. I also waved to Mr. Jones, who swore up and down that our Bloody Marys were the only thing that cured his migraines.
“Late start today?” Nicky asked as I stepped behind the bar and grabbed a rag to wipe down the espresso machine. Dirty Al would have one after his beer, no doubt.
“Noelle forgot her paints. I also installed that lock at Fiona’s and she insisted I have coffee with her. Of course, I had to go to the coffee shop and get it, but now I’m here. I brought you a cinnamon roll.”
He smirked. “Sounds rough, CJ.”
Nicky was a taller guy with a muscular build. He had a buzz cut and always wore polos. His vibe was preppier than the rest of us. While Nicky’s face was serious, when you got to know him, you’d learn he was actually very kind, although he was still soft spoken. I always teased him about his shy demeanor.
“You have no idea.” I leaned against the bar, watching as Mr. Jones turned a page in his newspaper. “Anything I need to know?”
“Yeah, that band is coming in tonight. Remember you told them they could do a set?”
I threw my head back and groaned. “That’s tonight?”
Nicky nodded. “I don’t know why you agreed to have an amateur band play on a Friday night.”
“A group of high schoolers cornered me outside the coffee shop, asking for a chance. They are seniors. It will be like a welcome back gift.”
“Charity is more like it,” Nicky said and headed toward the walk-in.
By mid-afternoon, the bar had settled into its usual calm before the storm. The regulars nursed their drinks, the jukebox hummed along softly in the background, and I found myself falling into the familiar rhythm of wiping down glasses and making small talk.
My mother and Noelle strolled in around four, carrying a plate of food. At her insistence, my mother brought me a homemade dinner.
“Hi, honey,” she greeted, leaning to kiss me on the cheek with her peach-colored lipstick. “Noelle helped me make chicken pot pie.”
As I thanked my mother, Noelle settled into her usual corner booth, flipping through a book. Every so often, she’d glance up and watch the room like she was cataloging everything—who came in, who left at what time, what drinks they ordered. She got that from me. Always watching, always paying attention. Watching her learn the world around her was special to me. I couldn’t imagine not being there for my daughter, even if I had to give up certain experiences.
Before Noelle was conceived, I was in a master’s program on track to get a business degree. After I graduated high school, I went to Grand Haven’s Community College and worked at Bar before Owen, the previous owner and my mentor, encouraged me to try business school. He had some kind of sixth sense that I would benefit from the experience.
I was twenty-two years old and in the big city alone for the first time in my life. Not long after classes started, I met Roxy, who was also a business major. Our relationship started as friends with benefits, but we soon spent so much time together, it only made sense to use the titles boyfriend and girlfriend.
