The usual barflies were out, and Malcolm allowed himself to be pulled onto the dance floor a couple of times, which burned off the beer as fast as he could drink it. At ten, Iggy took a shortbreak, and he invited Malcolm to sit in Howie’s office with him while Iggy ate a protein bar and guzzled water. Malcolm issued Melissa’s invitation to brunch.
“You guys have brunch?” Iggy asked.
“No, Sunday is typically a fend-for-yourself breakfast deal, because some of them go to church, while us heathens sleep in. Usually, we’ll all get together at lunchtime, but not always. I think Melissa just wants to show we can be as civilized out here in the sticks as they are in the big cities.”
Iggy frowned. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.”
“No, I know. Honestly, I think she saw how big I smile when you’re around, so she’s crazy curious about you. Prepare for questions, but also feel free to tell her to butt out.”
“I have no problem telling people to butt out of my business. But yes, I accept. Brunch at ten-thirty. Should I bring something? I don’t think I have anything at the house, but I can swing by the store in the morning.”
“Nah, just bring yourself and a lot of patience. Sofia just discoveredBar Rescuecompilation clips on YouTube, so she’ll probably wanna talk, see if you’re anything like John Pfeffer.”
“Taffer, and no, I’m not. Nosy teenager awareness, got it.”
“Thank you. A little home-cooked meal’s gotta be a nice break from eating out all the time.”
“It is. It’s…been quite a while since I’ve sat down in someone’s dining room for a meal. I’m genuinely looking forward to it.”
“Me too.”
Iggy finished his protein bar and his break time. At the office door, Iggy snagged his wrist and said, “If you don’t feel like staying here all evening, but you’d like to, ah, talk more later…I left a spare key on the rear passenger tire of the wagon. You don’t have to wait on the porch.”
The absolute trust shining in Iggy’s eyes sent Malcolm’s heart soaring into the heavens. Allowing Malcolm into his private space, around his personal things (his suitcase, his laptop, everything he brought) without supervision communicated so much without words.
Malcolm grinned. “I’ll make sure the porchlight’s on for you.”
Chapter
Ten
“Don’t you dare think about coming in and working tomorrow,” Laurel said as she locked the saloon’s back door. “Paddy’s on the schedule, and maybe he can’t toss a bottle and catch it behind his back, but he makes a mean Rusty Nail that patrons love. Take a damn day off.”
Iggy chuckled softly at the big-sisterly way she issued orders. Patrick “Paddy” Silvero was a part-time bartender who was taking business classes at CSU, and he typically worked Sunday through Tuesday, to give Laurel and Uncle Howie rotating days off. He’d never met Paddy, but Uncle Howie had hired him and worked around his college schedule, so he had to be decent people.
“Okay, fine, I’ll take the day off,” Iggy relented. “I need to make sure the trailer is clean and ready for if Uncle Howie comes home Monday. Not that it’ll take a whole day. It’s a single-wide, not a McMansion, but I bet the place hasn’t been thoroughly scrubbed in years.”
“Probably not.” She headed for her car. “Take it easy, Iggy. Give Howie a hug for me, if he’ll let you.”
“Night, Laurel.”
He waited until her vehicle turned the corner of the saloon and the sound of the engine faded. The porchlight shined, and Iggy walked toward it like a moth, positive he’d seen a Malcolm-shaped shadow move behind the window curtain. Desire and anxiety clashed in Iggy’s gut, and left him off-balance as he ascended the ramp.
The storm door opened before he could reach for the screen door. Malcolm grinned at him. “Hi, honey, how was your day?”
Iggy rolled his eyes but amusement helped dispel some of his nerves, and he went inside. Malcolm immediately held out a glass with dark red wine in it. Iggy took it and sniffed. Bitter and strong. “Where did you find wine?”
“I bought a bottle from Laurel earlier. Howie keeps a basic stock of house red and white to appease the fussy drinkers.”
“Yeah, appease is doing a lot of work in that sentence.” He took a polite sip. Drinkable but—“Well, it’s better than a fruit wine.”
“Herb Ertlinger would be offended by that.”
“Who—oh. Wait, you’ve seenSchitt’s Creek?”
“Several times. Melissa and Amy are obsessed with the show, and last year they insisted I join them for their bi-annual re-watch. Kind of gives you hope, huh?”
“That you have good taste in Canadian TV shows?”
