“The green goddess salad, please,” Tyler told the young man standing behind the register. “And can you put the dressing on the side?”
Panera is one of those places that no one dislikes. Doesn’t matter who, what, or where someone is from—Panera has something sweet or savory that isn’t going to break the bank.
“I’ll do the half, half order—macaroni and cheese and the roasted turkey and avocado BLT,” I added to Tyler’s order. “Plus, a large sweet tea and a sugar cookie.”
Tyler’s brows lifted as she looked at me. “Actually, that sounds good. I’ll do a medium iced tea—unsweetened—and maybe one cookie, too.”
He finished putting everything into the registry and then glanced up at the two of us. “Anything else?”
“That’s it,” I replied. “She’s paying.”
“I’m paying?” Tyler scoffed, and her blue eyes looked bewildered. “Since when?”
I grinned and pushed my hands into my pockets as if to reiterate I wasn’t pulling out a wallet. “You can write it off as a business expense. Lunch with a potential retail client.”
“Oh, so this is a business lunch?” That small smirk had returned to the corners of her lips, but she was already handing her credit card over to the cashier. “Good to know. Glad we set those expectations ahead of time.”
Now I wanted to walk back everything I’d just said, because business lunch sounded like second place coming out of her mouth.
She handed me the black buzzer machine that would alert us when our food is ready and then an empty cup for my tea. We both headed over to the drinks station and filled our cups with teas at opposite ends of the sugar spectrum. She chose unsweetened hibiscus iced tea, which is basically flower water and I do not understand White people sometimes.
We found a booth off to the side big enough only for two people and slid onto opposite benches.
“So, tell me about this lesbian bar plan that also does hair,” Tyler prompted, taking a slow sip of her liquid flower. “How exactly does that work? And how is it not a health code violation?”
I clapped my hands together, because despite the fact that this idea was less than an hour old, I’d already started to put together eighteen different pieces of it in my head, and the adrenaline of a new project was coursing through me more than the sugar from this sweet tea. “Okay, so picture this—bar and lounge in the front, private hair studio in the back, and a catwalk to go from one side to the other.”
Tyler gave me a deadpan expression. “I don’t get it.”
I tried not to sigh, because this was good practice. If I was going to launch this business, I needed to be able to explain it in a way that anyone could get it. “Okay, so back story—lesbian bars are safe queer spaces in a way that other bars—even gay male bars—are not. Lesbian bars are sanctuaries for trans people, nonbinary people, queer folks with disabilities, kinky folks, and literally everything else on the spectrum. Gay bars just don’t offer those same vibes.”
That made Tyler’s brows lift, and the sparkle in the irises of her eyes gave me hope. “That’s interesting.”
“Yup,” I continued. “There’s over a thousand gay bars in America marketed toward gay men and their straight female friends, and less than twenty-five lesbian and queer bars. It’s bullshit.”
She rolled her eyes. “Patriarchy.”
“Right?” I pointed at her in excitement. She was following my wavelength and it was feeding into my energy. Somehow people thought being a lesbian meant I was exempt from patriarchal bullshit, but it literally meant I was entirely under a hairy male thumb no matter what I did or who I fucked. “But that’s not all—”
She snorted a laugh, and, god, it was fucking cute. “You sound like an infomercial now.”
I waved her off and kept going. “Another issue in the queer community is safe places to get your hair done—particularly for people who are trans, nonbinary, or just struggling with the motivation to get into a salon and not feel like they are being judged by everyone there. Same with people with mental health issues—depression can be a real fucker when it comes to brushing or washing your hair and the queer community has sky-high levels of mental health issues thanks to how the rest of the world treats us. This bar is going to provide all of that in one safe place.”
The buzzer for our food went off right then, and Tyler stood up from the bench seat she was on.
“Hold that thought. I’ll be right back with our plates,” she said.
I watched her walk toward the counter and didn’t judge myself at all for letting my eyes wander the length of her body. I don’t think I’d ever seen someone with a flatter ass before, but it was working for her—and for me. Something about the way she walked with purpose felt like I wanted to be beside her, hold her hand, and go wherever she wanted to take me.
Jesus, I sounded like a corny romance novel.
She turned around and held up the platter of food, smiling at me, and I quickly tried to push away my thoughts. If this woman was about to become my new landlord, I really couldn’t be lusting over her every time I was around her.
I mean, I could…I probably would, but I really shouldn’t.
Get it together, Yas.
“So, how does the catwalk fit into all of this?” Tyler asked as she placed our plates down in front of us and slid back into the bench seat across from me.
I took a quick bite of my sandwich and swallowed. “It’ll be a fun option for those who want to show off after a cut or style. They’ll have the option of literally walking the catwalk into the bar, and everyone will be encouraged to clap and support them. But, of course, we’ll have a small side door and a back door for those who just want to come and go with no fuss or attention. That’s important, too.”
Tyler chewed on the bite of salad in her mouth before swallowing. “So, the haircuts are free then?”
I shake my head. “They are by voluntary donation. If you need free, that’s totally fine. If you can pay, great. If you want to pay ahead for the next person, even better.”
“So, kind of like a community system to help one another,” Tyler mused. “That would really add to the cohesiveness and sense of belonging for all the patrons.”
“Absolutely,” I agreed, because that was the part I was most excited about. “And outside of the catwalk, the salon part is private so people can get what they need without feeling judged or gawked at, you know? The bar side will have coffee and daytime spritzers in the afternoons, then switch to more liquor and all that in the evenings. All couches, lounge areas, community-style seating to really promote people coming together.”
“What about people who want to be alone?” Tyler asked. “Some people are introverts, you know. They might want to be around people but not actually interacting with them.”
She had a point. “Okay, so not all community-style seating. Maybe we’ll have like a workstation area to one side or little cubbies for those who want to be more in the background—kind of like how the old libraries used to do it?”
“I loved libraries as a kid,” Tyler added, her voice stretching out the word loved. “People were all around, but everyone kept to themselves and watched out for each other. Books, of course, being the glue to it all. But there was really something about just being around people who felt the same way you did and also required nothing of you.”
“Well, now I’m thinking one wall of the bar area should be a bookshelf,” I said. “Maybe like a take one, leave one kind of situation? We could even heavily feature queer reads, because God knows there aren’t enough of those stories out there.”
“But not just coming of age and coming out stories,” Tyler replied. She was rolling her eyes again, and I don’t know why it was so hard to look away from that deep blue. “Not that there is anything wrong with those, but it’s like that’s all the literary industry knows how to publish—stories of people realizing they are queer and going through some terrible tragedy to find their truth or live their truth. No happy queer stories are allowed, because that couldn’t possibly exist.”
“You’re preaching to the choir,” I agreed. “It’s so annoying that the literary—and every other—industry seems to think our trauma is the only interesting thing about us.”
Tyler’s smirk was back. “I mean, I find some other things interesting, too…”
The lilt in her voice as she said that had just a hint of flirty to it, and my senses immediately went on overdrive. “Tell me more…”
She grinned at me and I felt like I’d stumbled down a trap door. Good Lord, since when did I become so easy to pull in like that? She knew exactly what she was doing.
“I mean, let me tell you more about the bar concept,” I rushed to continue, as if I hadn’t just leaned in and flirted right back. “We obviously need a regular karaoke night.”
Tyler laughed and there was a piece of lettuce on her front tooth that for some reason did nothing to turn me off. She wiped at it quickly with a napkin, and then shook her head. “Your application is going to be a hard sell to my father. Late night noise, crowds, alcohol, sharp scissors and hair dye? It sounds like the beginning of a liability lawsuit. Don’t even get me started on the gay thing.”
I wasn’t sure what the hell that meant, but I ignored it.
“What do you think it would take to push our application to the top?” I asked, finishing the last few bites of my macaroni and cheese as I eyed her. “You’re the property manager so I’d imagine you have more than a little sway into the decision.”
“You’d think, but no,” Tyler confirmed. “Plus, I really only do it to have someone on site for the property, you know? My podcast is really where my passion is.”
“Right. The podcast.” I polished off the last of my sweet tea and cleared my throat. “Deviant and Delicious?”
She laughed again—this time no lettuce in her teeth—and shook her head. “The Deviant Devotee.”
Whoops. “Oh, sorry. What got you into true crime?”
“Besides being a millennial?” Tyler said with a grin. “Actually, I think my therapist could answer that question more than I could. Or, at least, she’s been trying to get me to answer that for the last few years.”
“They do do that, don’t they?” I said. “So, if I asked your therapist, what would she say is why you love true crime?”
“Not love necessarily…but fascinated.” Tyler held up one finger, and her tone turned more serious than the joking manner she’d just been speaking in. “And she’d probably say my childhood has a thing or two to do with it.”
Juicy. I’m in. “Your childhood?”
Tyler nodded, but her eyes stopped meeting mine as she pushed the salad around her bowl. “My ACE score is six.”
Adverse Childhood Experiences was a questionnaire from the CDC that my therapist had also given me but I’d only ever scored a two.
“Oh.” Well, damn. The pretty rich girl just got a few layers deeper, and I had a shovel ready to keep tunneling for more. “I’m sorry. Childhood can be…rough. Trauma is a bitch.”
Tyler waved a hand, but she still wasn’t meeting my gaze. If she had, she would have seen my apology was genuine and that she’d just hit close to my home as well. “It’s in the past—mostly—but there’s probably something to my desire to help rid the world of secrets and continued hurt. I kind of consider it my life’s mission to give a voice to the voiceless and a platform to people who’ve been overlooked or felt unloved.”
I shouldn’t ask more questions, but I’m going to. “Have you ever done a personal case on the podcast—like someone you know or something close to you?”
“Definitely not,” Tyler shuts me down almost immediately. “I’m a journalist, and an artist. My own life has nothing to do with any of that. I’m completely separate. My identity is completely separate.”
I swallowed hard—the wall she was putting up felt impenetrable. “Oh.”
The woman had a shield more impenetrable than I’d ever met before. It was like the moment I tapped at the door, she put up the gate.
“Sorry.” Tyler looked up at me now and there was a firmness in her expression. “We should probably wrap things up here, because I have to get back and do some edits for next week’s release.”
“Okay.” It had been a while since I’d heard my own voice sound so timid—almost submissive. Something about the way she’d shut down conversation felt like I couldn’t push back—or maybe that I wouldn’t? I wasn’t sure what I was feeling right now, except that her word was law in my mind. And yet, the weight on my chest was unmistakable.
Tyler was nothing like who my first impression had said she was, and I wasn’t even sure what that meant or who she actually was.
All I did know is that I wanted to know more.
“When do you think you’ll have a decision made on the space?” I asked, changing the topic as we both stood and began cleaning up our place settings. “You know, just so I can plan and run things by our accountant.”
Note to self—check in with the accountant.
Also, hire an accountant.
Tyler stacked her dishes at the receptacle. “He wants someone in by the first of July, even mid-June, so I can’t imagine long. I’ve got your information, so I’ll be in touch.”
“You’ll be in touch?” We were standing at the front door now, and I was holding it open for her as she walked through. “That’s…okay, well, yeah. You’ll be in touch.”
I felt like a helium balloon slowly deflating from the smallest of holes at the professionalism of it all.
“Thanks for lunch,” I added when we both got out on the sidewalk. “That was a nice change of pace from unpacking.”
“Welcome to the neighborhood.” Tyler offered me one last smile, but I’d seen her real smile already and this one was not that. This was forced and formal, and it bothered me substantially more than the lettuce-in-the-teeth smile I’d seen before.
“Thanks,” I replied, but Tyler had already turned around and was walking away, back in the direction of her penthouse.
I watched her go for a moment longer than I wanted to admit, and then pulled my cell phone out of my pocket. “I guess I really should call an accountant.”
I could already hear my father’s voice chiding this as my next failed business, but my gut was telling me something different I hadn’t felt before.
This idea had legs, and I was in this for the hike.