Not sure that could have gone much worse. Could I have handled that meeting a little differently? Sure. Could I not have jumped down the dude’s throat at the first perceived transgression that, looking back on it now, probably wasn't all that much of an offense? Sure. But something about that brand of over-confident, egotistical, ass-hat douche-bag hot-shot wannabe makes me see red in an instant. I blame Aiden. And pretty much every other boyfriend I’ve had before him, maybe every boyfriend I’ve ever had… Perhaps this is a me thing. Yeah, I must have horrible taste in men… and my instant attraction to the dickwad next door not only told me he was probably bad for me, but that I’d enjoy his brand of trouble. That was not a good idea seeing my current predicament.
It wouldn't be so bad if his looks matched his mouth. You know, the type that looks like they got hit in the face with a hammer while falling down the ugly tree and hitting every branch on the way down? That would probably match that horrible personality he’s sporting… But no. He’s a god-damned Adonis wrapped around a sewer pipe for a mouth. It’s like the statue of David came to life with those high cheekbones, chiseled pecs squeezed into shirts that are probably two sizes too small, and those lips… those for sure aren’t made of stone. But no, he smashed that beauty to pieces with his verbal diarrhea of toxic masculinity. If only there was a way to plug that up…
Dammit, again… Something he said seems to have gotten through my thick skull because I keep thinking about him and I can’t stop turning over his parting gambit in my mind. It’s been hours, and it just keeps playing in my head, those full lips offering to take away something that I didn’t want in the first place and have no clue what to do with.
“If you want to sell, let me know…”
I won’t deny that in the week since Aiden left, I have gone back and forth so many times about what to do with this building. I don’t know if I have the answer yet. I won’t deny there is a certain draw to staying and seeing this crazy thing out. I have more years under my belt as a bartender than most. I’m sure I could do it. With all those years working in bars of different styles and themes, I could write a three-part novel on what to do and what not to do when setting up a bar.
If I am honest, Aiden leaving the way he did wasn’t all that much of a loss. It’s not like I have a life I’m missing horribly back in San Francisco. Not to mention the fact I was an idiot and left my phone in the rental when that dickhead drove off, so I haven’t exactly been able to check in with anyone in a few weeks.
And while that may all be true, I can’t shake the little voice in the back of my head that keeps whispering that I just am not cut out for something like this, that I'm a little girl playing grown-up and just don't want to admit I'm not strong enough for this hurdle. I have never taken on a project this size, or even thought of starting my own business. Why the hell would I ever think I could handle not only the renovations this place desperately needs, but then be able to actually run the business? Like really run it, not just play manager whenever the owner doesn’t feel like showing up. No, I would be the owner. I would be the only one for things to fall back on.
Before I can get overly tangled up in the mess of thoughts, a loud banging echoes up the back stairs, breaking the heavy silence in the apartment's main room. When the sound doesn’t die out but turns into the clomping of heavy boots up the stairs, I turn to find who dares disturb me this time. I swear to god, except for Alfie at the coffee shop, every man I have encountered in this godforsaken town has been a living nightmare.
Maybe selling and getting the hell out of here isn’t looking so bad after all. The peace and quiet might be worth it.
“Knock knock!”
The overly chipper tone of whoever is headed my way has my jaw clenching and teeth grinding before they even reach the landing.
“Kendric, if that’s you or your smarmy business partner here trying to get me to sell again, I swear to god…”
My rant is cut off when a tall, lanky, heavily tattooed Viking steps into the open doorway with his arms raised. Best of all? He has a to-go cup from the coffee shop in each hand.
“Oh, I don’t know who you are, but I like you already as long as one of those is for me,” I say, waving him into the apartment.
“My brother sent me over with a gift,” the blonde-haired, blue-eyed stunner with a killer smile says by way of explanation as he closes the distance and hands me the offered coffee. “He said it was a peace offering and a bribe to keep you here longer.”
I can’t help but laugh at that. “Well, tell Tormund he is sweet, and it is much appreciated.”
“THANK YOU! I’ve been saying for years now that he looks like that damn Wildling, and none of our other brothers agree with me!”
“Wait, other brothers? There are more of you?” Dear lord, the poor women of this town don’t stand a chance if the others are even half as handsome and charming as the two I’ve already met.
“Welcome to Viking country… where Norse God genes are strong and ridiculously fertile,” he says with a lopsided grin, raising his coffee in a toast. We both take a drink before he continues. “There are five of us Larson boys running around, though only four of us are in town most of the time.”
“Your poor, brave, exhausted mother.”
“Oh, don’t take too much pity on Barbie; she’s a force and a half. Name’s Ollie, by the way, the youngest and most disappointing of the local Larson brood,” he says, giving a deep, sweeping bow that I can’t help but laugh at.
“Disappointing? I find that hard to imagine.”
“In a house full of manly, burly viking types, I popped out the twinky, emo, artist type waving a big-ass rainbow flag.” As if that sentence wasn’t enough for me to know I had finally found a kindred spirit up here in the frozen north, the mocking and overly dramatic Z-snap and hip bump he executes as he says it seals the deal.
“Did we just become best friends? Because I think we did. I want to adopt you, please, and thank you. I have been going through major withdrawals since leaving San Francisco and desperately need a queer vibes boost!”
“Oh, sweet thang, I gotchu,” Ollie says, blowing me an air kiss.
“Sweet thang? Really?”
“Yup, felt wrong even as I said it.” He laughs, tossing the long fall of his undercut from one side of his head to the other, reversing the sweep of it across his forehead. “Yes, I’m queer, no I’m not and never have been the sassy gay friend all straight girls want to collect. Just your standard, quiet, hometown tattoo artist who happens to have an iced coffee and dick addiction.”
“Hopefully not at the same time,” I tease.
“Never say never.”
“Yep, best friends. Can’t fight it. It’s happening. As long as you don't steal my coffee.” I give him a narrowed-eyed gaze. He returns it before speaking.
“Won't be stealing your coffee as long as you keep your hands off my dick.” He smirks at me.
“Yours personally, or the one you're riding?” I lift an eyebrow.
“Both.” He shrugs, and we both burst into laughter before sobering and saying in unison, “Best friends.”
With that, I offer him another toast. Is it getting ridiculous at this point? Possibly. Am I too excited to have made an honest to god friend in town to care? Absolutely.
“27 years was a good run to avoid the straight girl/gay best friend cliche, I guess.” Ollie simply shrugs before taking another swig of his coffee, clearly trying to hide his smile behind the rim.
“Not-so-straight girl. No bi-erasure welcome here, thank you very much. I am proudly equal opportunity… at least in concept. After recent events, I have zero intention of giving anyone—man, woman, or tentacled alien—any sort of opportunity if you catch my drift.”
“Amen to that, sister. I feel ya there. That was part of why I stopped by… other than being my brother's delivery bitch boy. I wanted to offer you some breakup balm in the form of ink therapy.”
God, did everyone in town see the fight earlier? Or the one a few weeks ago? I shouldn’t be surprised, but a sad, hopeful little part of me still hopes he is exaggerating. Deciding to play dumb, I try to brush past the quickly mounting awkwardness. “Breakup balm? How do you know I had a breakup?”
“Oh, Sweetheart. Still not used to the small-town effect, are you?” he asks, the purest, unadulterated look of pity in his eyes.
“Oh, god. That bad?” I ask in horror.
“Pretty much,” he says with a wince.
“Everyone?” I can’t resist cringing.
“Ever.y.one.” The sad nod he gives me, not offering any comfort. At. All. “It’s not all bad, I promise. You’re just getting a double whammy because you’re fresh meat and gave them something to drool over with that outstanding public display. Did you really beat him over the head with your guitar case?”
“Excuse me? Beat him over the head? I don’t even own a guitar!” I wish I could say I gave a nice delicate laugh at his question, but, like the trash goblin I truly am, I can hardly get through my follow-up without snort-laughing, nearly spraying my new best friend with coffee I couldn’t swallow in time.
When Ollie gets his laughter under control again, he has to wipe away a few stray tears. “Dammit, I should know better than to fall for their sensational bullshit by now. Those old biddies love to exaggerate.”
“I don’t think I will ever get used to that.” I go for another sip of my coffee to cover my bewildered head shake.
“It’s not all that bad at the end of the day. Someone will get a shitty haircut, or someone’s kid will flunk out of a class at the local college, and everyone will forget about your little shit fit.” I open my mouth to argue, but he just gives me a bitchy raised brow that has me backing down.
“That’s what I thought.”
“With bitchiness like that, I don’t buy for one second you’ve never been the sassy gay friend,” I tease.
“Never say never.”
Ollie and I spend another hour shooting the shit, and I talk him into helping me bring some of the last big pieces of junk down to the dumpster from the kitchen. By the time he has to leave for an appointment at his shop, I can’t help but feel a little closer to making my decision about this place. As someone who has bounced from place to place and job to job for most of my life, I wouldn’t have expected the feeling of making connections to mean so much. In making that connection with Ollie, my first real friend in town, I can feel the tiny tendrils of roots start to spread, tying me to this place and this new life.
Maybe most surprising of all is I don’t hate the feeling. The longer I stay, the more I work on the bar and the apartment, and the more people I meet, the more this place feels like home. A home where I can see myself finally being happy, finally finding my purpose.