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Chapter two
Peeping Toms and Divine Intervention
Georgie
Do I wait inside? Or outside? I ask myself these big questions while loitering on the sidewalk outside of the bar called Why, Johnny?. Because if I wait outside, is that weird? Will I look awkward standing by myself, like I’m scared to go in on my own.
But if I go inside, what if he can’t find me or, worse, he waits outside all night for me, thinking I would meet him outside!
This is why the logical thing to do when asking someone out is to not only pick a time and place but ask for their number. A simple “I’m here” text would solve everything.
Maybe I should hide across the street and wait for him to arrive and casually walk up like I’ve just arrived. I wonder if I could even pull that off, but trying to act cool and casual usually doesn’t work out for me.
Dear God, what if he sees me crouching behind a bush like a peeping Tom?
It’s not even hot out, a pleasant spring night, but I feel a bead of sweat drip down my spine under my sundress. My cheeks and chest have burned pink all day just from thinking about tonight. I’ve never felt this nervous before a date. And for the life of me, I can’t explain why.
I’ve always been an overthinker, but this is absolutely ridiculous. I scoff at myself and am about to march into the bar like a bloody, normal person when I hear my name being shouted.
I spin around and see Alfie walking toward me with the biggest, brightest smile that instantly melts all my anxieties. He’s wearing the same fun patterned shirt as earlier but has a jean jacket slung over his shoulder.
As he approaches, his eyes crawl up and down my body. He shakes his head with a “Mm, mm, mm.”
He tips an imaginary hat and says, “You really are just the finest thing I’ve ever seen.”
My lips twitch with a smile, and I stand a little taller. “Well, thank you. Let’s see if you still think that after watching me try to play pool.” I laugh.
He offers me the crook of his elbow, and I loop my arm in his. “Good thing I’m a billiards master champion,” he says as we head inside.
The place has always reminded me of a mix between an old, Wild West saloon and an arcade from the ‘80s. Except for the embossed tin tile ceiling, everything is made of wood with the main feature being a huge wooden bar. Posters on the walls have a vintage cowboy style but are of things like Pac-Man and Back to the Future. In the back corner, there is a pool table and two pinball machines.
Two guys are hovering between the pinball and billiards. Alfie nods toward them. “How about you grab our table and I’ll get us drinks—what are ya drinking?”
“Any pilsner is fine, thank you.”
As he pulls away, his hand trails slowly down my forearm and pauses ever so briefly, like he doesn’t want to let me go. He gives me a shy smile when I look up from where he’s touching me.
“I don’t,” he says, and suddenly it feels like a bucket of ice water was dumped on me.
Dreading his answer, I stutter, “You don’t what?”
His hand slides down and he wraps his fingers lightly around mine. “Want to let you go.”
“Oh, bollocks.” My stomach drops. “I said that out loud, did I?”
“You certainly did, m’lady,” he says in his American accent with a cheeky smile and dusts his lips over my knuckles before spinning around and practically skipping to the bar.
Alfie
I’m in love. I’m in love. I’m in fucking love!
I have to force myself not to swing my arms and whistle while I head to get drinks. I wonder how Cash would respond if I quit over text. Working for the Foxes, one of the most powerful crime families, doesn’t exactly seem like something that would require a formal email and two-weeks notice.
Can I even quit? Honestly, I’ve never thought of my role as a job. It’s part of who I am. My father and uncles worked under the late Aiden Fox. I grew up with Cash and his three brothers and “working” for them was just a natural progression of life. Like getting my first zit or taking over scheduling my own dentist appointments from my dear ma.
I know I’m not the sharpest spoon in the drawer, but I’m loyal as hell and, if I can brag a little, think I’m pretty fun to have around. Somehow that combination was enough for me to work my way up the ranks to where I am now: security for Harlow and Niamh, Cash’s wife and daughter.
This is actually the first vacation I’ve taken without them in . . . well, since I was seven years old. Which is how I ended up here in the first place. It somehow came up that I hadn’t traveled anywhere in two decades that wasn’t a trip with the Foxes in some professional capacity.
Harlow was shaken, but it had never even occurred to me. I love my life and job. I don't need anything else. And growing up in the life, I always knew this would never be a regular nine-to-five gig. She insisted I take a vacation while she’s holed up with morning sickness.
In fact, her exact words were, “I’m not going anywhere other than the toilet, so why shouldn’t he?”
I had no destination in mind or dream travel location, so I packed a bag, hopped in my car, and just drove.
Until, by some divine intervention, I took a highway exit to a little beachside town with a coffee trailer called Flicky D’s Beans and met my future wife.
