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Things were slightly better now than right after the day her world went dark.
But it had been a long time since she’d felt joy.
And eating was just something she now had to force herself to do. Life had lost its flavor and now remained tasteless.
She’d hoped that having the bar to concentrate on, put all her energy into, would have helped.
It didn’t. It was almost as depressing as everything she’d escaped.
But would never forget. That she couldn’t do.
She pulled away from him and slid onto the stool, staring at the chicken long enough that her mouth began to water. The smell filled her nostrils as she lifted one of the thighs up and took a big bite.
Just like the bacon this morning, this had to be the best tasting fried chicken she ever had.
She knew that wasn’t true. But maybe her taste buds were finally reawakening.
Trip watched her take a few bites of the chicken, then with a nod he went back to putting the groceries away, partially filling her fridge and freezer with enough food for the week and then some, if she was careful.
When he was done, he snagged her cell phone off the counter, which had been next to her plate, and held it up to her face to unlock it by using the facial recognition feature before she could block him.
“Trip!” She was removing that method to unlock her cell as soon as she could.
Once again, he ignored her, did something on her phone and a few seconds later a phone rang in his pocket. He put hers back where he found it, and dug out his own, fiddling with it.
The man was cunning, that was for sure. Now he had her phone number, which she’d had no plans to give to him.
When he was done, he slipped the phone back into the inside pocket of his cut, leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest, making the muscles in his arms bulge.
She took a bite of the chicken before she took a bite of him. He might be a bossy asshole, but he sure was a tempting one. Those muscles, that scruff on his face, that hair. All the shit that attracted her should be negated by the cut on his back and his attitude.
Not to mention, all the crap that went along with being a woman in the MC life.
She was lucky she escaped at a young enough age, but then she turned around and ended up married to a bad boy anyway, just not of the biker variety.
She knew better than to get involved with another one.
The first one almost killed her without trying.
“Once I get you help, bar’s gonna be open on Sundays. Gettin’ large screen TVs and the NFL ticket. NHL. All the fucking sports that cause people to drink. Startin’ now, you’re doin’ daily drink specials and Happy Hour. Also, gonna start a dart league. A pool league. Anything to encourage people to come back. The bar’s a dump. So, we’re redoin’ it. New pool tables and all the shit that goes along with that. New tables, new chairs. Refinish the bar top, replace those old, torn stools. New lighting so it doesn’t look like a fuckin’ cave. New paint. New flooring.”
“I don’t have that money, Trip,” she said around another bite of chicken.
“Gonna have it.”
Sure. And pigs were going to sprout wings and fly, too. “All that work will take time.”
“Gonna get the Amish who did the barn and bunkhouse to come out and do the work. They like to start early, so that’ll work out. Get ‘em in, and then you open a bit later every day ‘til it’s all done.”
“Still need to pay them.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah? How am I going to do that?”
“We, Stella.”
“And the answer to that is?”
“Gonna hold off workin’ on the motel ‘til the bar’s self-sufficient. Then I’ll worry ‘bout it. But not ‘til then. Once you’re moved out, gonna also fix up this apartment and get one or more of the prospects to move in, or even a member. Someone to not only help at the bar but keep an eye on it.”
Hold up. “Once I’ve moved out?”
Again, he ignored her.
He tilted his head in thought. “Maybe a member, then he can keep the prospects in line. Make sure they ain’t fuckin’ up.”
“Umm. I live here, Trip. This is my home.”
“It’s a dump.”
“But it’s my dump.”
“And half of it will still be your dump, but it’s not where you’re gonna sleep.”
Stella dropped the half-eaten chicken thigh onto the plate, picked up the plate, slipped off the stool and took it to the sink. She slowly and carefully washed her hands, using that time to try to loosen the tightness that pulled at her chest.
He was suddenly next to her, in her space, holding the dish towel. She stared at it for a second, then lifted her gaze to him before taking it and drying off her hands.
