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She nods but clearly doesn’t believe me. “Unfortunately, he’s the heartbreaker. No surprise. He’s too good-looking, and when they’re too good-looking you can’t trust ’em.”
“Honestly, I’m not upset over Rowan.”
“Rowan, is it?” She takes me in again, then waves me toward the bar with a dated sign above it that says Peeper’s Alley. “Come in. I own the place, and I’m not open, but I have some coffee brewing.”
I look at my phone and see that there’s nothing from Rowan yet, and it’s already been a half hour. I should leave and go home, face my mother, but I’m not ready yet.
So I follow her in.
She turns around right when we get to the door. “Ruby, by the way.”
“Hi, Ruby…Leigh.” I continue the lie of my name since she seems to know the guys who live here. I see a for sale sign on the window right before we walk in. “You’re selling the business?”
The bar is, for lack of a nicer word, old. It’s a classic bar with seating around the bar and a few small tables sprinkled through the room.
Ruby rounds the bar and grabs the old-school coffeepot, pulling out a mug. “Cream or sugar?”
“Actually, do you have some ice?”
Her lips tip down, and she sighs dramatically, grumbling about how young people ruin everything sacred and holy, even coffee.
I’m ready to say never mind, but she grabs a beer mug and fills it with ice, dumping the coffee over the ice. Not exactly like my favorite cold brew, but I’m not going to complain since she’s nice enough to get me off the sidewalk where I look like one of the Falcons’ puck bunnies.
“Are you in the market?” she asks, and I look behind me, unsure if I missed something in our conversation.
“For?”
“A bar.” Her tone is filled with annoyance. I’m pretty sure it doesn’t take much to earn her ire.
“Oh, no, I’m a fashion designer,” I say, but as the words leave my mouth, I wish I could take them back. I don’t want to design shit right now. Sure as hell not a wedding dress, which is the craft I’ve been perfecting under my mom’s guidance for the past five years. I’m not even sure I believe in the sanctity of marriage right now. How can I work with brides and look them in the eyes, feeling as though I’m setting them up for disappointment?
She hems again, which I realize is something she does when she’s trying not to outright judge.
“Why are you selling?” I ask.
She pours herself a cup of coffee and rests it in front of her. Her movements are smooth as though she’s spent the majority of her life behind the bar.
“I don’t like change.” She shrugs. “And everything around here is changing. Becoming something I don’t want. I have no interest in slinging fancy cocktails and catering to an uppity crowd, but that’s what you have to do these days to survive.”
I nod, understanding how much things have changed over the years.
My phone vibrates in my purse, and I pull it out to see that my brother is calling me. I send him to voicemail. My mom has probably called him and involved him in this. As if he’s going to calm me down or try to convince me I didn’t see what I did. She just needs to tell my dad. Until she does that, I don’t want anything to do with her.
“Dodging someone?” Ruby asks before sipping her coffee.
I shake my head. “Just my brother.”
She nods. “He’s probably ready to kick Landry’s ass, huh?”
“No. I told you, it’s not like that.”
She grabs a stool from under the cash register and pulls it closer to sit across the bar from me. “You look like a good girl. Don’t get involved with those egos up there.” She nods toward the ceiling. “More than half the women are looking for Landry when they come in here.”
“Can I tell you a secret, Ruby?” I figure I’ll just tell her because I need her to get off this whole Rowan-is-breaking-my-heart thing.
“Sweetie, I was born to hold people’s secrets. Bartender oath number one.”
I sip my iced coffee. “We’re not romantically involved.”
