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It was a standing table with no chairs, directly behind him and against one of the pillars. I shrugged.
“That’s my sister Lena’s section. Feel free.”
“I will,” he said, grinning.
My heart was thumping in my chest, and I could feel the streaks of heat climbing up my neck. All I could think about was how those lips had tasted when we kissed. And how they would taste with a little whiskey on them.
“Well, she will be here shortly,” I said.
“Cool,” he said. “You look great tonight, by the way.”
A dumb smile crossed my face, one so thoroughly embarrassing that when I saw my reflection in the Budweiser mirror behind him, my eyes widened and made me look like a crazy person. I turned away from him, heading to the kitchen to drop off the glasses and then head back to the bar.
Hunter seemed to be having a blast, and as Lena brought him a pint and a shot of something dark brown, he raised his glass to me before turning toward one of the large screens on the wall playingSportscenter.
He was acting so differently than he had the last six weeks that it was throwing me. He wasn’t intense or domineering. He was just being a regular guy. A regular, extraordinarily handsome guy. And this kind of attitude wasmuchmore attractive.
ChapterFourteen
Hunter
This was fun. Not like rock-climbing or playing tennis against professionals who were going easy on me kind of fun, but actual, real, honest fun.
The people in the bar were salt of the earth kind of folks. Brash and loud, but friendly, they joked and laughed and drank together, toasting their hard days and weeks and also celebrating the pub and its owners. I heard several of them give drunken lamentations about how much they missed “The Old Man,” and how wonderful he had been. It seemed like a very family atmosphere and I drank alone enjoying watching the world celebrate around me.
Then the first of the bar patrons introduced themselves. Many more would follow. By eleven-thirty, I was holding a literal roundtable with neighbors and regular customers from years of supporting this place, all who were eager to tell me the tales of the girls as they grew up and the bar and its meaning to the community.
“I think it’s a shame, now, what happened to this place,” one of the men, who had introduced himself simply as “Slim” said. “It’s only half the size it used to be, eeyup.”
“They used to have this big stage thing over there in the corner,” another regular, who had introduced herself to me as Rosa, and bore a striking resemblance to a younger Rhea Pearlman, said. “Had a mic, and a speaker set up, and they would do karaoke every Wednesday and Thursday. God, I loved that. I have a great voice. I went to school with Meghan Trainor back in North Eastham, you know. I used to get all the solos.”
“No, you didn’t,” Slim said, teasingly.
“Yes, I did!” she shouted back. “I’ll bring in my yearbook and prove it, Slim!”
“I dare ya,” he said.
“Anyway,” she said, putting her attention back on me. “The Old Man used to get up there and sing every night, too. He would close the bar by singing this old love song. It was lovely.”
“Man couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket,” another patron laughed, one who had introduced himself as Sammy.
“That wasn’t the point,” Rosa said. “It was still nice. I miss him.”
“What happened, exactly?” I asked. “The place burned down, right?”
For a moment, there seemed to be a shiftiness to the table, like everyone was looking at each other to determine what they should say. Then, Slim sighed and started flipping his silver lighter in his hand and on the table, twirling it between two fingers so the same corner kept landing on the wood.
“Well, see, no one knows exactly. But the place did burn, eeyup. Apparently, he was asleep upstairs in this little loft they kept up there. Sometimes they’d send a drunk up there to sleep it off, but on that night, he and the missus had been having a fight. No one knows about what, but probably normal marital stuff, you know.”
“And then, the place catches fire,” Rosa interrupted. “Some say it was arson, but they said it started in the kitchen and the cops wrote it off as a grease fire. Said The Old Man might have started the gas up to warm a skillet for a midnight snack and then forgot about it. I don’t know how much I believe that.”
“They said he died in his sleep, peaceful,” Slim said. “Choked out on the flames from downstairs or the gas got to him before that. But his body wasn’t burned even though the rest of the place was, or at least that half of it. This half stayed untouched, but it used to have a wall right here.” He motioned just a few feet to my side, and imitated that a wall stood blocking off most of the bar from the main seating area, which apparently had been much larger. “They said the door being closed kept this part of the bar from burning.”
“That’s wild,” I said. “And the cops never got past it being a grease fire or gas fire?”
“Nope,” Slim said. “I believe them. The coppers around here might not be all on the up and up, but everybody liked The Old Man. He took care of you, and it didn’t matter who you were. Irish, Italian, Cop, Mob, he didn’t care. He just wanted everyone to have a good sandwich and a decent pint. God bless that man.”
“Hear, hear,” the rest of the table said, raising glasses of variously filled portions. I raised my own, and dipped it back.
