Chapter Three

Mack locked the bathroom door and pressed her forehead against the wood. She didn’t let herself exhale until she saw the shadow under the crack in the door disappear and knew he was walking away.

What. The. Fuck.

She’d expected Connor to balk at opening a place called Mackenzie’s. But she never imagined he’d flat-out refuse. And fine dining? She’d laugh if she didn’t feel so close to crying.

She killed as much time as she could reading the graffiti on the walls, practicing her best nothing bothers me mask. Not the fight about the restaurant. Or the fact that he’d practically followed her into the bathroom. Or that he’d stood so close, she could have pulled him to her and—

And what?

What exactly did she think she was going to do with Connor Branding in the dark corridor of a dingy bar while he made fun of the very thing she’d wanted for so many years?

Nothing. That was what they were doing, and that was what Connor was going to get.

She sighed. She couldn’t camp out in the bathroom forever—and anyway, it smelled. She walked back to the table before she lost her nerve. But the guys had already left.

“What happened in there?” Abbi asked. “Connor came back all flustered and said they had to bounce.”

Mack shrugged and slid into her seat, pushing aside the now-empty chairs. “No idea.”

“I so don’t believe you.”

“What do you think happened? He wants something fancy—God only knows why—probably with some obnoxious name we’d usually make fun of. I want a laid-back place called Mackenzie’s.” She held up her palms as if to say, “Now what?”

“What about the two of you?” Claire asked.

“The two of us what?” Mack said innocently, dividing the last of the pitcher among their empty glasses.

“You must see the way Connor looks at you,” Abbi said.

Mack scrunched up her nose. “That’s not even funny.”

“He’s always looked at you that way,” Claire helpfully chimed in.

“Then that must just be his face. Do you guys want to get something to eat, or should we go somewhere else?”

Abbi laughed.

“What?”

“Look at you, changing the subject,” she said.

“It’s called not indulging your crazy.”

“You love my crazy.”

“Dearly. But not when it’s directed at me.”

“You’re both wonderfully crazy,” Claire said, and leaned out of her chair to grab a bowl of bar snacks behind her. “And I can’t stay long—I have to pick Maya up at daycare. But seriously, Mack. If you’re investing in this restaurant, what are you going to do about working with Connor?”

Mack popped a stale pretzel in her mouth and immediately regretted it. “Convince him. Obviously.”

“I can’t wait to see you in starched whites, decanting hundred-dollar bottles of Bordeaux,” Abbi teased.

Mack made a face. She loved her friends, and she’d do anything for them. But even they didn’t know where she’d come from and why this bar mattered so much. She couldn’t stand the thought of them looking at her differently, wondering what was wrong with her, tiptoeing around like she was breakable. Or worse, acting like it was no big deal and brushing her off with a shrug.

So she didn’t say anything about why it had to be Mackenzie’s. She just reiterated that she’d find a way to make it work.

“My money’s just as green as his is,” she pointed out.

…

The following weekend, she brewed a strong pot of coffee and opened her bartender’s notebook. Her friends were right. Telling Connor what she wanted wasn’t enough. She needed an idea, something solid to prove the new Mackenzie’s was the perfect addition to Gold Mountain.

As she curled up in her favorite seat in the living room, by the window where the morning light streamed in, she sipped the coffee—black, like your heart, she could hear Connor say—and flipped through the pages.

An old sketch caught her eye. She’d drawn a bar with small glass eyedropper bottles lined up across the front. Along the side of the page she’d made a list of flavors: orange, lavender, yarrow, pecan.

She stood up, reaching for a framed photograph on her bookshelf. She didn’t have any family photos. No baby pictures, smiling shots of Mom and Dad, siblings in oversize overalls and hairdos they’d once thought were cool. But she had Billy and Todd, dressed in flannel with matching beards, their arms wrapped tightly around her.

They were outside, in front of a bar with the edge of a wooden sign visible in the background. Mack was standing between them, and all three of them were beaming. The picture was taken the day Mack was officially hired as a bartender, not just a dishwasher, and she’d never been so happy in her life. This was before Billy got sick, before his bar shut down, before Mack had ever dreamed of leaving Portland. She looked at the picture as she tried to think.

The first time Mack put something on the chalkboard at Billy’s that was more than vodka plus Coke, juice, or tonic, she’d thought there’d be a stampede from everyone running for the door. It had taken time to shift people’s tastes by intervals, buttering up her regulars until they agreed to try something new. “I’ll do it for you, sweetheart,” they’d finally say, and Mack would hold her breath, hoping brandy with nutmeg wasn’t too weird, reminding herself if they made a face that it wasn’t a rejection of her…though it was hard not to feel that way.

Connor had no idea how many times Mack had reinvented herself. She knew how to resew her clothes to make it look like she had more to wear, and how to barricade a door with whatever furniture she could find in a room. For Mack, to show up at a new place with nothing more than a duffel bag and the clothes on her back wasn’t a taste of freedom and adventure. It was her life, until she aged out of the foster care system and finally had a say over where she could be.

He wanted to do something completely different, but all Mack craved was for things to finally stay the same. To create a place that felt welcoming, the way Billy’s had—not just for those with the right wallet and wardrobe, but for everyone.

It was late in the day by the time she closed the notebook and went online. Two dozen bottles ought to do it. She double-checked her list of ingredients and then clicked buy.

Connor had to know she wasn’t complacent. To settle down didn’t mean to stop striving. Sam had given her an opportunity, and she was going to take it.

No matter what he and his stupid dating profile may have done to her pulse.