Unconditional
Page 12
That girl’s a mystery I just can’t seem to figure out. One minute she’s playing the society bitch, sneering down her nose at me, and the next, it’s like she’s someone else completely. The mask slips, and suddenly, I see a different girl underneath it all: someone raw, fragile, and achingly real.
Which girl is she? The one who sneers down her nose at me, or the girl who watches the shore with shadows on her face, and demons hiding behind her smile?
The girl who can’t hide the desire in her eyes when she looks at me. A glimpse of a passion that could take my breath away.
Forget it, I tell myself harshly. That girl is none of your business. And even if she could be, it’s no use.
You swore you’d never try that again.
I pull into the parking lot at Jimmy’s and head inside. I unlock the back entrance and flip on the lights, heading down the hall past the stock room and office to the main bar floor. Right away, I feel my tension melt away.
It’s home.
I know, some folks might find it strange that this dingy, disheveled dive is the closest thing to a home I’ve found, but as I look around the room at the long bar, the mismatched tables, the old pool table, and the vintage jukebox back in the corner, I feel a stab of pride. It’s not much to look at, but it’s all mine.
Emerson sold it to me, piece by piece, until I made the final payment in the new year and got the title deeds. He’s planning on opening a restaurant out in the city and needed the cash. It took every last cent I own—and a hefty loan too—but I went through hell and high water to make it work. I didn’t care that the roof leaks in winter, or that the apartment over the bar has busted plumbing and a bad smell. This is the first thing I’ve got to hold onto in what feels like forever.
No more drifting, trying to find a place in the world. No more running, packing up and hitting the next town because it was easier than building something lasting.
It’s time to put the past behind me for good, and make a new life, starting here.
I set about my usual morning tasks: checking stock, ordering more beers, wiping down the long, polished bar. I open up around noon, but only a couple of people stop by for lunch, usually out-of-towners passing through wanting a quick bite and directions down the coast. This time of year, it’s still quiet, nothing but locals around at nights and weekends. The summer season won’t kick off until May, and then it’s nonstop through the fall with tourists. Emerson says he makes enough in that summer season to cover the low intake the rest of the year, but I’m not so sure.…I spend a couple hours in the office with the books, trying to make the figures add up, and it’s not pretty. It’s going to be close, making ends meet until those rich summer crowds start flooding in again.
“Hellooo?” A voice echoes through my thoughts. “I need a whiskey, barkeep, and stat!”
I emerge from the office to find Brit collapsing on a stool on the other side of the bar. She’s Emerson’s sister, and the closest thing to a best friend I’ve got in this town. She heaves a huge portfolio onto the weathered wood and sighs, her dark hair falling in a sheet around her face. “Straight up,” she orders. “Get to it.”
“It’s two p.m.,” I laugh, and grab her a Coke from the fridge instead.
“But I’m dying.” Brit slumps lower. “I have, like, fifty sketches still to do and the big pitch meeting is in a week!”
“So quit your bellyaching and start drawing.” I slide her the drink with a smile. Brit’s fashion design business is just taking off, but to look at her, you’d think it was the worst thing in the world.
She glares. “I can’t just magic the designs out of thin air!”
“Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?” I point out. “You’re the genius designer, after all.”
“Not you too,” Brit complains, but I catch a glimmer of a smile.
“What did that newspaper article say?” I tease her, “‘The hottest new voice in women’s wear, Brittany Ray is the one to watch.’”
“To watch crash and burn, you mean,” Brit retorts, but I can tell she’s still proud. After designing for private clients, she’s got a big pitch with a national store that wants to carry her designs. It’s a big break, the biggest, and clearly, Brit isn’t coping with the pressure too well.
“You’ll be fine,” I try to reassure her. “You’ve got this.”
“I’ve got nothing!” Brit whimpers. “Nothing but some half-finished sketches. I’m never going to be done in time. I thought I had it under control,” she adds, looking overwhelmed. “How is it the nineteenth already?”
My blood runs cold.
“The nineteenth?” I repeat, checking my phone. But she’s right, it’s there on the screen.
The day I lost everything I ever loved, the one day I wish I could take back.
“And Hunter’s no use,” Brit adds, oblivious to my shock. “He’s all, ‘you can do it, I believe in you.’” She rolls her eyes affectionately. “How am I supposed to get anything done with him being so supportive? I work best in the grip of total fear!”
“Uh huh,” I murmur, my head spinning. How could I not have realized that today was the day? It’s only been two years, nowhere near long enough to slip my mind. The dark shadows of the memory haunt me almost every day of my life, so how come today I barely thought of it, when I should have most of all? The one date I swore I’d never forget.
Which girl is she? The one who sneers down her nose at me, or the girl who watches the shore with shadows on her face, and demons hiding behind her smile?
The girl who can’t hide the desire in her eyes when she looks at me. A glimpse of a passion that could take my breath away.
Forget it, I tell myself harshly. That girl is none of your business. And even if she could be, it’s no use.
You swore you’d never try that again.
I pull into the parking lot at Jimmy’s and head inside. I unlock the back entrance and flip on the lights, heading down the hall past the stock room and office to the main bar floor. Right away, I feel my tension melt away.
It’s home.
I know, some folks might find it strange that this dingy, disheveled dive is the closest thing to a home I’ve found, but as I look around the room at the long bar, the mismatched tables, the old pool table, and the vintage jukebox back in the corner, I feel a stab of pride. It’s not much to look at, but it’s all mine.
Emerson sold it to me, piece by piece, until I made the final payment in the new year and got the title deeds. He’s planning on opening a restaurant out in the city and needed the cash. It took every last cent I own—and a hefty loan too—but I went through hell and high water to make it work. I didn’t care that the roof leaks in winter, or that the apartment over the bar has busted plumbing and a bad smell. This is the first thing I’ve got to hold onto in what feels like forever.
No more drifting, trying to find a place in the world. No more running, packing up and hitting the next town because it was easier than building something lasting.
It’s time to put the past behind me for good, and make a new life, starting here.
I set about my usual morning tasks: checking stock, ordering more beers, wiping down the long, polished bar. I open up around noon, but only a couple of people stop by for lunch, usually out-of-towners passing through wanting a quick bite and directions down the coast. This time of year, it’s still quiet, nothing but locals around at nights and weekends. The summer season won’t kick off until May, and then it’s nonstop through the fall with tourists. Emerson says he makes enough in that summer season to cover the low intake the rest of the year, but I’m not so sure.…I spend a couple hours in the office with the books, trying to make the figures add up, and it’s not pretty. It’s going to be close, making ends meet until those rich summer crowds start flooding in again.
“Hellooo?” A voice echoes through my thoughts. “I need a whiskey, barkeep, and stat!”
I emerge from the office to find Brit collapsing on a stool on the other side of the bar. She’s Emerson’s sister, and the closest thing to a best friend I’ve got in this town. She heaves a huge portfolio onto the weathered wood and sighs, her dark hair falling in a sheet around her face. “Straight up,” she orders. “Get to it.”
“It’s two p.m.,” I laugh, and grab her a Coke from the fridge instead.
“But I’m dying.” Brit slumps lower. “I have, like, fifty sketches still to do and the big pitch meeting is in a week!”
“So quit your bellyaching and start drawing.” I slide her the drink with a smile. Brit’s fashion design business is just taking off, but to look at her, you’d think it was the worst thing in the world.
She glares. “I can’t just magic the designs out of thin air!”
“Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?” I point out. “You’re the genius designer, after all.”
“Not you too,” Brit complains, but I catch a glimmer of a smile.
“What did that newspaper article say?” I tease her, “‘The hottest new voice in women’s wear, Brittany Ray is the one to watch.’”
“To watch crash and burn, you mean,” Brit retorts, but I can tell she’s still proud. After designing for private clients, she’s got a big pitch with a national store that wants to carry her designs. It’s a big break, the biggest, and clearly, Brit isn’t coping with the pressure too well.
“You’ll be fine,” I try to reassure her. “You’ve got this.”
“I’ve got nothing!” Brit whimpers. “Nothing but some half-finished sketches. I’m never going to be done in time. I thought I had it under control,” she adds, looking overwhelmed. “How is it the nineteenth already?”
My blood runs cold.
“The nineteenth?” I repeat, checking my phone. But she’s right, it’s there on the screen.
The day I lost everything I ever loved, the one day I wish I could take back.
“And Hunter’s no use,” Brit adds, oblivious to my shock. “He’s all, ‘you can do it, I believe in you.’” She rolls her eyes affectionately. “How am I supposed to get anything done with him being so supportive? I work best in the grip of total fear!”
“Uh huh,” I murmur, my head spinning. How could I not have realized that today was the day? It’s only been two years, nowhere near long enough to slip my mind. The dark shadows of the memory haunt me almost every day of my life, so how come today I barely thought of it, when I should have most of all? The one date I swore I’d never forget.
