“I know,” I shrugged as if he could see me, trying to look nonchalant. But the reminder of what he needed from me was now weighing heavily in my veins.
We wrapped up the call, and I sank down onto the couch, staring at the blank TV screen in front of me. The house looked like a rental, with neutral walls, generic furniture, and zero signs of actual life. It was designed for families passing through town for the summer, looking for a lake view and a decent price. Not that I ever allowed it to be listed.
There had always been something about it I could never quite let go of. I only stayed a few nights at a time, and I’d thought about selling it or at least renting it out. But I hadn’t. I couldn’t.
It was the only place in Harmony Haven that gave me solitude when I needed to be close by. But escaping Atlanta wasn’t working. Not this time. Being in Harmony Haven had been nothing but a shit show.
And now, all I wanted was to escape Harmony Haven.
I would. Soon. I just had to survive Sunday dinner.
Then Monday morning would be a fresh start.
Chapter Seven
BLUE
I toldthe staff at Fiddlers that West Brooks was the new owner and I was the manager. No one was surprised. If anything, they were relieved. The Murphy brothers had been officially banned, and that alone felt like a national holiday. We should’ve had cake.
I kept my skepticism about West’s intentions to myself and let everyone else enjoy the freedom of not working under Jeff’s sticky-fingered reign of terror.
Sundays were always busy, and I worked the shift as usual. I kept my head down and poured drinks like I hadn’t just lost all of my sanity. But when I walked into the office, I got slapped in the face by a stark reminder that things weren’t exactly usual anymore.
West was sitting behind the desk with his feet propped up like he owned the place. Which, I guess, he did. He was spinning a pen between his fingers while staring at the computer screen as though he were about to buy Twitter, or some other billionaire nonsense. Fancy suit. Hair slicked back. That annoyingly sculpted jaw of his resting on a hand like he had all the time inthe world to look that stupidly hot in this disgusting little broom closet.
“Realizing what a shitty investment you made?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
“Not at all.” His smug smile made me want to slap it off and also lick it, which… wasn’t helpful. “Just keeping your seat warm.”
“I don’t have time to sit in here. I’m supposed to be behind the bar,” I snapped. “You think I have time to make the schedule too?”
“Didn’t you already do that? And the ordering? And the repairs? And basically run the place?”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “But I didn’t do it from this dank-ass closet.”
I knew I was being irrational. I knew. But I was also exhausted, and this man had the audacity to swan in here with his shiny credit card and perfect posture like he was the patron saint of dive bars.
“You handle it however you need to,” he said with a sigh. “I’m trusting you to make Fiddlers whatever it needs to be.”
He stood, heading for the door like that was that.
“Is that it? That’s all you’re here for today?”
“Yeah,” he said with a shrug. “I have dinner with the family, then go back to Atlanta.”
He handed me a card. It was jet black, of course, with just his name and a number that was supposed to mean something. So pretentious.
“My personal line,” he said. “Call if you need anything.”
Then he was gone.
I blinked. Stared at the door. Stared harder.
That’s it?
He rides into town, bans the Murphys, hands me a title, and then waltzes out as if he were some suit-wearing fairy godfather?
“You ride in on your white horse, and then just leave?” I shouted after him.
