Chapter 1
Paige
Closing time meant two things: the jukebox skipping an old eighties Bon Jovi track and me swearing at my margarita machine, as if it had personally betrayed me.
“Stupid,” I muttered as I plugged the cord back in. “You have one freaking job.”
The neon sign above the door buzzed softly, casting purple light across the worn floorboards and high-top tables. Twilight Tavern glowed like a magical lavender mirage—magical if you squinted, because it was mostly held together by twinkle lights, duct tape, and spite, kind of like me.
The jukebox warbled, and the margarita machine finally hummed to life like it knew I was seconds from slapping a FOR SALE sign on its face or just straight up tossing it into the dumpster. I started its cleaning cycle and sighed, looking out over the empty bar. Chairs were flipped onto the tables, the floors were mopped, the tip jars had been counted, and the money dispersed. I’d been shutting the bar down by myself and letting everyone go home at closing time the last few months to save money for repairs and improvements. Then once I had this place sparkling from top to bottom, I would throw the biggest grand reopening party Honeybrook Hollow had ever seen.
Most people got a house or a car when they got divorced. I got the Twilight Tavern, formerly known as Bubba’s Bar—my ex handed this ramshackle, neon-lit bar over with a signed divorce decree and a smirk that said, “Good luck, hope you know what you’re doing.” The bar wasn’t just an asset on the settlement papers. It was the only thing I’d fought to keep, the one place that felt like mine after years of living in his shadow.
Every battered countertop, leaky tap, and flickering light was proof I’d survived something. Even on nights when the register was low but the overhead felt sky-high, I would walk from room to room, thinking that this place was my pride and joy—the stubborn dream I refused to let anyone else define.
Technically, I was a stay-at-home mom before my divorce. Over the years, Eli made a point of reminding me how little money I earned. During our marriage, he opened this bar, a sandwich shop, and a laundromat, but this place was always my favorite. Somehow, the fact that I managed our books, handled payroll, and placed orders didn’t matter to him. I also paid the taxes and took care of our licensing. But most of all, I was a fool. It was so damn stupid to trust him—on paper, it looked like he’d done all the work. Fortunately, I found a mean ass divorce attorney who saw the truth and made sure I got what I deserved. No, what I hadearned.
So I took this bar and changed it from Bubba’s Bar, named after Eli’s dad, and into The Twilight Tavern, named for the mountain mist and the way the sky turned purple before the sun set behind the trees.
From the window at the end of Sycamore Street, just a bit out of town, I could see the empty parking lot stretching out under the glow of the old-fashioned black iron lamp poles. Beyond the lot, the land sloped away to the edge of Honeybrook Hollow, where a thick mist curled around the base of the mountain. The peaks loomed above, shrouded in lavender twilight and wreathed in fog, with only the faint outline visible against the deepening night. The silence outside was broken only by the wind sweeping through the lot, carrying with it the promise of another cold, quiet evening at the edge of the world.
It was the kind of blustery fall night in Honeybrook Hollow, Oregon, that made you crave a hot cup of coffee and some peace and quiet curled up in a comfy chair with a good book. But I was okay with this kind of quiet I had found in my bar—where the lights buzzed, the air smelled like lemons and beer, and the weight of everything I’d ever regretted hung in the air like smoke to blow away in the mist outside.
I grabbed my bag and turned toward the rear storage room to check the door and turn out the lights. I was late getting out of here, but it didn’t matter. I still had to get up early, as usual. My high school junior daughter, Lark, had an honors chemistry test coming up that she was worried about, and I had promised to help her study for it. And my eighth-grader, Briar, needed a ride to her dance class bright and early. I made a mental note to send Noah a text when I woke up. My oldest was living in Portland now for culinary school, and he actually liked getting updates. Even if it was just, “Your sister stole my eyeliner again.”
I passed through the swinging door into the back room, flinching when the outside door creaked. Then the freezer let out a low groan, and my heart skipped a beat as I whirled first toward the freezer, then to the door, then back to the freezer again, hoping it would shut up so I could hear better. The freezer let out a low groan, and I spun toward it like I was about to face down a ghost.
“Shh,” I hissed at it because that was normal—scolding appliances instead of people.
A voice—rough, amused, and far too familiar—floated out of the shadows.
“Do you talk to everything in here, or just the lucky freezer?”
I froze. Literally froze, like the freezer had won.
“Depends,” I shot back without turning around. “Do you sneak into bars often, or am I just that irresistible?”
Hunter’s chuckle rolled through the room, low and warm. “I’ll let you decide which answer makes me look better.”
My pulse jumped, though I tried to smooth it over with sarcasm. “Either way, you’re still trespassing.”
He strolled in like he owned the place, boots steady on the floor. “Then it’s a good thing you don’t press charges for charming repeat offenders.”
I finally turned toward him, arching a brow. “Charming? That’s a bold word choice.”
A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Well, you haven’t kicked me out yet.”
I narrowed my eyes, reaching toward the corner. “That’s only because my bat is over there.”
Hunter leaned one shoulder against the wall, arms crossed like he had all night. “Pretty sure you’d miss on purpose.”
“Don’t test me, Cassidy.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Darlington.”
I tucked a loose strand of hair behind one ear, trying to pretend my pulse wasn’t thumping from the fright he had given me.
Note to self: remember to make sure that freaking door was always locked. I didn’t need this kind of jump scare in my life. Though I could have sworn I’d already locked it and had already double-checked it. I’d chalk this mistake up to my perpetual exhaustion.
