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“No. You shouldn’t be drinking.”
“I’ll drink if I damn well want to.”
“The doctor said—”
“I don’t give a shit what the doctor said.”
Gibson strolls up to them. “If the man wants a drink, let him drink.”
Mercy glares at him. If she could spit fire from her eyes, he would be a pile of ashes. “I don’t recall asking for your opinion. In fact, I don’t know who you are.”
“Gibson Lewis.” He bows. “At your service.”
“Whatever.” She turns away from him to face Old Man Mercury again. “Uncle Mercury, you said—”
He wags a finger at her. “No, I didn’t. You assumed.”
“Excuse me.” Gibson stands in front of Mercy. “Do you not know who I am?”
Mercy plants her hands on her hips. “Do you not see I’m busy?”
“She’s awesome,” Indigo declares. “She’s going to be my next bestie.”
“Lucky woman,” I mutter.
“Leia Wilson, don’t you use your sarcastic tone with me. You love me and you know it.”
“Against my will.”
“I’m with Leia,” Virginia says. “Leave the woman be.”
Indigo laughs. “You’re hilarious.”
Jett snags Gibson’s wrist and draws him away from the woman. “Try to accept your defeat with some grace.”
Gibson’s eyes are the size of saucers as he stares at Mercy. “She didn’t know who I was.”
Fender wraps an arm around my shoulder. “Shall we go inside?”
“I’m with Fender,” Dylan says as he clasps Virginia’s hand. “Those two could argue about whether it’s dark outside or not for an hour nonstop.”
“You aren’t going to stop them?” Virginia asks.
“I’m off duty.”
Cash leads Indigo to the bar. At the door, Indigo stops to wave at Mercy. “See you later.”
Mercy stares at Indigo. She’s probably wondering if Indigo has lost her mind. I get it. I’ve wondered the same thing many times myself.
My mouth gapes open when we enter the bar. “It is a hippie haven.”
The walls are covered with memorabilia from the hippie age – posters of Janis Joplin, Joni Mitchell, and Jimi Hendrix to name a few. The chairs and tables are a mishmash with none matching each other. And the lightbulbs are all different colors giving the entire room a psychedelic feel.
“Cool, isn’t it?” Fender has to shout to be heard above the music blaring from the old-fashioned jukebox.
“I can’t believe I haven’t been in here before.”
“We’ll come more often,” he says as if it’s the most natural thing in the world for the two of us to be together. I’m not convinced yet.
