Page 7 of Last Call at the Doghouse

Stella had a fabulous voice, but she might not be exactly great for business. Was this… natural? Or did Stella have a touch of Springer blood, maybe from way back?

Her second set was just over when fisherman Carlton walked in. He was alone and he wasn’t drunk, at least not that Armi could tell. His eyes scanned the room and landed on her with… trepidation? Fear? He took a deep breath as if to steel himself for something unpleasant, and walked toward her.

“I owe you an apology,” he said.

Armi lifted one hand, palm outward, and said sincerely, “You really don’t. We’re fine.”

He didn’t turn to Mary and order a drink, or claim a table, or walk back out the door—which would’ve been her preference. Instead he nodded, glanced down, then looked up again. “That’s not the only reason I’m here.”

Well, shit.

“That night I… I hallucinated or something. When you got mad, I could’ve sworn there was fire in your eyes. Not just anger, but literal red and orange flames I was sure would jump out and set me on fire. I know,” he said quickly, when Armi opened her mouth to interrupt. “It’s ridiculous, a drunk’s imagination, but I’ve dreamed about it all week. I’ll be sitting in front of my computer at work, and the memory will just pop into my head.” He stared into her eyes. “It’s been more than a week and I haven’t had a single drop of alcohol. Not a beer during a baseball game or an after-work shot with the guys. Nada.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing.” Some people could handle their liquor. Some… not. “What do you see now?” she asked.

“Perfectly ordinary green eyes that are just a little bit peeved with me.”

“No fire.”

“Not a lick.”

Armi couldn’t help herself. She smiled. Stella was back in place behind the bar so Armi ordered two glasses of sweet iced tea, one for her and one for Carlton, who should probably stay on the wagon. At the last minute, she added, “And a bowl of kibble.”

He laughed at that. “Kibble. Cute.”

“We thought so.” He should’ve heard their name for the snack mix last time he was here, but apparently he’d forgotten. He hadn’t forgotten her, though, or his weird hallucination.

Carlton took a long swig of iced tea and tossed a small pretzel from the shared bowl of snack mix into his mouth. He seemed to unwind a bit; maybe he was relieved that she wasn’t shooting flames from her eyes. Probably not as relieved as she was, still…

“Why The Doghouse?” he asked. “Do you like dogs? Is it supposed to be a place for husbands who are in trouble to hide out?”

Armi took a drink of her own tea. She thought of the big dog she’d seen around the place a handful of times since she’d moved in. Goliath didn’t act like a wild dog; he seemed tame. Huge, but tame. “I do like dogs, but I don’t have one at the moment.” Andrew hadn’t wanted pets, not even when the boys were growing up. He didn’t like dogs, and said they didn’t like him, either. She should’ve known then that there was something wrong with him. “Someone else named the place. I have no idea who. The sign needed to be repaired but that was cheaper than buying a new one, so I kept the name.”

Carlton shook his head. “I was hoping for a more interesting story.”

“Sorry. I’m not all that interesting.” No, she’d spent all her adult life in a boring world, fitting in, being careful not to make waves.

He looked at her then; he was no longer afraid. “Somehow I don’t believe that.”

Armi was taken aback. Carlton was no longer drunk, but he was flirting with her. He had to be fifteen years younger than she was, and while he didn’t turn her crank at all, he was hardly a troll. She should be flattered, but instead she was just annoyed. This was a complication she didn’t need. She couldn’t allow it to become a complication! She had to make him go away.

Instead of snapping at him, she remembered what the designated driver had said. This man, who wasn’t that much older than her oldest child, had just been through a divorce. Had it been nasty? Weren’t they all?

“You’re a nice guy when you’re sober,” she said in a calm voice. “But I’m not interested. I’m not looking for a man, and I’m sure as hell not looking for a good time.”

The poor guy lost his cool, and for a moment looked entirely frustrated. “What am I doing wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said. “I’m the wrong part of the equation here.” She patted his forearm in a maternal way. “You’ll find someone else when the time is right.”

Poor Carlton, he was the picture of dejection.

She could just walk away. Hadn’t she been running away from any and all unpleasantness lately? Lately, hell. She’d been running all her life. But she didn’t move, didn’t even turn her head. “If you’re looking for a woman, maybe try someplace other than a bar. You’re a sloppy drunk, Carlton. You’re not at your best in a place like this one.”

“Great,” he mumbled.

“Try taking a yoga class or hang out at a weekend farmer’s market. There are a lot of fall activities in the area. Check a couple of them out. Find a woman who likes fishing in a local tackle and bait shop. Hell, online dating would be better than looking for the love of your life or even a meaningless hookup in a bar. You blow off steam and relax a bit in The Doghouse. Don’t look for anything deeper than that here, or in any other bar.”

The front door opened and a man walked in. It didn’t take Armi two seconds to recognize him. He was taller than she remembered, her door frame destroyer. Just as wide-shouldered, just as rugged, just as manly. He looked to be about her age, with that salt and pepper hair and gray scruff and the few oddly attractive lines on his face.