It was the first real weekend of the tourist season, so I'd planned from the get-go to help my dad with the rush.
I'd spent most of the day serving drinks and answering questions about what to do in town. "If you really want to see what this area has to offer," I told the tourists, "I recommend Lake Country Tours."
Did I neglect to mention my brother owned that touring company?
Oops.
We didn't sell food, but did a brisk business with nacho plates and fried mozzarella sticks up until nine PM. When I finally had a moment to breath, I looked over at my Dad.
He'd been at it since nine this morning. He was closing in on a twelve-hour shift, and my daughter-guilt kicked in. "Go home, Dad. The rush is over. I can handle the rest."
"Nah," he growled.
Patrick Reese was a stubborn man, but is daughter was more stubborn. I planted my hands on my hips. "Go home." I flicked my rag at him.
"You go home. I'm fine."
"You're not fine, you're old and grumpy."
"That's why I'm a good bartender." But he leaned back against the back wall and sighed.
"There's no reason for you to be working so damn hard now, Dad. I got it. Go home. You're a fucking pain in my ass."
His eyes widened. "Jumping jellybeans, child. You've got a mouth on you that you didn't get from me."
"You're the only fifty-something bartender in the world who says 'fiddlesticks' and 'jumping jellybeans.'" I grinned. "Go home, Dad. Save your energy for when I suddenly get a life and stop offering."
He raised one eyebrow. I could tell he was about to make some kind of smartass observation but his face stiffened in a suppressed yawn. He clapped his hand over his mouth, then sighed. "Okay you caught me."
I laughed as he stomped away. I listened to make sure I heard the back door close, then finished to wiping the glasses as they came out of the dishwasher. As I did, I hummed busily to myself. Like I could drown out the little buzz of anxiety that sung through my veins.
I'd just bought a brand-new journal. With its beautifully thick pages, leather cover, and crisp binding, it would be the perfect place to collect my thoughts.
If I ever sat down with it. But so far it sat unopened.
No wait, I did open it. And had no idea what to do with the blank pages.
I squeaked my rag across a glass and sighed in frustration. Why did I always do this? Why did I always make sweeping pronouncements about a changing in my life, and then never follow through?
The front door opened.
My cheeks heated. Were his eyes always so green or was it just a trick of the light?
I swallowed and summoned my most casual, unaffected smile. "Hey Rett You look less terrible than last night."
He licked the corner of his mouth before sitting down right in front of me. I stared at the spot he'd licked, the way it shone in the low light. I stared so hard that I almost jumped when his mouth started moving.
"You look really pretty," he said.
The offhandedness of his remark took me aback and I tried to recover my tongue. "You using me for drinks again?"
His only response was a quiet smile, so without a word, I reached for the bottle of bourbon that he and I had gotten into yesterday.
He accepted the first drink with a raised glass, and I watched him knock it back. The way his Adam's apple bobbed up and down made my throat go dry and I downed my own drink to wet it.
The silence stretched out too long to be comfortable. I had to fill silences. It was a bad habit of mine, and this one just ached to be filled. So, without thinking, I started babbling about the first thing that came to my mind.
Why the hell was that my mother?
"I sent my dad home. He works too much, you know?" I watched my hands slice through the air as I punctuated my sentence with a flourish, then forced myself to press them flat against the bar. I studied my knuckles rather than look into Rett's calm, appraising eyes. "My dad always feels that he has to make it up to us that our mom split. I think if he could somehow asexually divide himself into two parents, he would." Mortified at the gross image I'd just conjured, I looked up.
But Rett just watched me quietly, with no judgment in his eyes. He lifted his chin upward in a slight, encouraging nod. My embarrassment my morbid babble slowly ebbed away. "He doesn't understand that we don't need her, you know? It's like... he stepped in to fill her shoes and filled them out so well that he made her unnecessary. At least as far as I'm concerned." I wondered where all this was coming from.
"Does Cal feel the same way?" Rett asked carefully.
I searched his face. "You know he does. I'm sure he's talked to you about it."
Rett shook his head. "No. Not really. Once your mom left, he stopped talking about her entirely. Like he wanted to ignore that she ever existed."
"Believe me, I felt the same way. But I don't know. Maybe it's because I'm a girl, but I can't just forget and move on. Even though I tell my dad to do that all the time." I cleared my throat. "Here I am using you as a therapist," I laughed. "You are useful. Like you say."
He looked down, tapped his knuckles on the bar and then looked back up again, "Actually, I was hoping I could use you."
I swallowed quickly, pushing away the lurid thoughts that immediately crowded my brain. "Depends."
"My work is having a thing up at the country club tomorrow night," he said slowly. "I pretty much hate every single one of my coworkers." His eyes caught mine and held them fast. "Could you come with me so I have a prayer of having a good time?"
"What? Like a date?"
He looked at me steadily. "Yes. Like a date."
"Does Cal know you're asking his sister on a date?"
"Cal had a baby with my sister. He can't say shit about what I do with his."
A bubble of nervousness trapped in my throat made my voice go funny. "So what? You want me to get all dressed up?"
"It's formal. Yes."
I leaned away from his maddening heat and bit my lip. "Like, I'm just doing you a favor? As a friend, right? Using each other and all that?"
"Whatever you want, Brynn.”
"Will there be food?"
"Good food."
"Dancing?" I teased.
He still held my gaze. "Yes."
"You want to slow dance with me Rett?"
"Whatever you want, Brynn," he repeated.
I had no idea what I wanted. So I did what I always did. I played along. "Sure," I said, trying to hide the panic in my voice. "Sounds great!"