Sean shakes his head but doesn’t respond, distracted by his phone again.
“Frankie doing okay?”
“She’s good.” The hard lines of his face smooth at the mention of his wife and a smile takes hold. It’s second nature, like he can’tnotsmile when it comes to his wife. I’ve never had the itch to find my person and settle down or whatever, but if anything could tempt me, it would be watching those two.
“I’m trying to talk her off the ledge,” he explains. “She seems to think our kitchen and living room need to be open concept all of a sudden, and she’s about to take a sledgehammer to our walls, by the sounds of it.”
I can picture Frankie, five-foot-nothing with almost as many tattoos as her husband, wielding a sledgehammer half her size. She’s small but mighty, and my money’s on her inflicting some real damage if she wants to.
“You want to head home and play interference?” I suggest.
“I probably should.” He slides his empty bottle across the bartop and tosses down a few bucks, even though he already tipped the bartender when he got his drink. “You headed back to the city tonight or staying in town?”
“I’m headed back.” Some people hate riding on a motorcycle at night, but I love it. Especially heading back to the city. There’s nothing like the Boston skyline lit up at night, welcoming me home.
“Drive safe, will ya?” Sean claps me on the back. “I won’t remind you again that you’re welcome to stay with Frankie and I anytime.”
“You just did,” I point out. “But thanks, man.”
The bar is a lot more crowded than when we arrived. There’s a band setting up in the corner and most of the tables are full. It’s a mix of twenty- and thirty-somethings, the usual bar crowd, but also some older folks. I’m used to the bars in cities, where different bars draw different kinds of crowds. I wouldn’t be surprised if this is the only one in town.
We say our goodbyes and I watch as Sean heads out, weaving through the crowd and saying hi to a few people as he goes. He moved back here about two years ago, just before he and Frankie got married. I thought he was crazy when he told me he was moving back to his hometown to work at a shop in Portland and wait for an opportunity to open up here, but his patience paid off. Had he still been living in Boston, he probably wouldn’t have found George’s place. It was listed in the local paper and I think that’s it. He said he wanted to keep it offline so that the only potential buyers would be from here.
I’ll say this about the town – they’re tight, and they take care of their own. Makes me wonder how they’ll handle an outsider like me, showing up to work at a brand-new business. A tattoo and piercing studio, no less. You never know how something like that will go over in a small town.
“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”
I look over my shoulder to see two women hovering near the barstool Sean just vacated. I glance down the bar, noting two empty stools toward the end they could have chosen instead.
“Nope.” I slide off my stool and grab my leather jacket off the back. “You can have this one, too.”
I note the disappointment in the blonde’s eyes, the one who asked if the seat was taken. Her lower lip pouts just slightly, and in any other place, I might be tempted to take her home and find out what that lip tastes like. But if I’m going to adjust to small-town living, first on my list is not hooking up with someone I might run into at the grocery store or the post office, or wherever the fuck.
I head toward the door and don’t look back. If there’s one thing I’m sure about, it’s that I won’t be hooking up with anyone in Port Myles.
CHAPTER 6
Elsie
“He never should have made the team in the first place.”
“Yeah, well, you wouldn’t know a baseball from a football if it smacked you in the face.”
“I can’t believe the wedding is less than four months away.”
“Did you see that new mower Hank bought last week? What a beaut.”
“Can you pass me the garlic bread, Elsie, dear?”
I hand the basket over to my mother, half tuned into the conversations happening around me. Sunday dinners at my parents’ house are never quiet, even on the evenings that it’s just my parents, the twins and I. Tonight, though, Grace and Olivia are here, the seven of us crowded around our dining room table that’s barely big enough for the six it’s supposed to seat.
Even with Georgia and Aiden away at college, the unspoken rule is that they’re expected to make the twenty-minute drive for dinner every week. Now only two months away from the end of theirjunior year, I can probably count on one hand the number of Sunday dinners either of them has missed.
“How was your day, Elsie?” Grace asks pointedly from her spot across from me, seated between Georgia and my dad. She and Olivia drop in for Sunday dinners all the time, but tonight they’re here for moral support. They know I’m nervous to tell my parents about starting my own business.Terrifiedmight actually be more accurate.
When I finally fessed up to my family about the floristry classes I’d been taking at the local college in secret, their reactions were about what I expected: lukewarm support but mostly confusion. It’s no secret that my dad always hoped us kids would want to work with him someday. He doesn’t have some big empire by any means – just two hardware stores, one in town and one closer to Portland – but he’d made it clear growing up that if any of us kids wanted a role in his business, he’d always have a spot for us.
When I double majored in business administration and finance in college, he was ecstatic. I hadn’t yet considered the idea of working as a florist, and I really didn’t have any other career goals. My biggest priority was staying in Port Myles, close to my family and everyone here that I know and love. When my dad offered me a job at Carmichael’s, it didn’t take much convincing. I’ve been doing a combination of finances, inventory and HR for his business ever since.
