Page 41 of Hot Under the Collar

She shuffled out the door.

Leo sat there, torn, as the music died down, and Ruby went around telling the stragglers they were about to close. All except Leo. She noticed him alone, sauntered over, and put a hand on his shoulder. “Happy birthday, kid. I’m headed out. Not closing tonight. Nice costume, by the way. Simple. I like it. You get your cherries?”

He lifted the bow-covered jar between them to show her.

“And your girl to walk you home?” she asked.

Leo chuckled. “She’s not my girl, Ruby. You know that.”

A mischievous grin swept across her face. “Well, maybe this year will be different, despite Dale still recovering from surgery. Don’t let the black t-shirt and jeans fool you. It’s like Lynne’s got a Wonder Woman outfit underneath. I don’t think I could run this place and be a caretaker, too. Sometimes she asks if I can open or close for her, but that’s about it.”

Leo flinched, his heart aching at the idea Lynne might be worse off than she’d let on. “Yeah, I thought he’d have been back to work by now, from what Lynne told me about his surgery.”

“So did we.” Ruby sighed and wrapped her other hand around him for a goodbye hug. “Hey, kid. Chin up,” she told him. “When Lynne’s not talking about the bar or her dad, all she talks about is you. That book club you all go to and that cat of yours. It’s been nice having you around here a little more often. Our unofficial bouncer,” she laughed, “and trivia night host.”

“Well, it’s nice seeing more of you, too, Ruby. The crew at the station really appreciates those lunches you keep bringing by each week. Best sandwiches and wings in town.”

“All her idea,” Ruby confessed, nodding toward Lynne. “She’s been the one packing everything up and sending me out the door. And all for you, if I’m being honest. Just give her time, Leo. I’m still rooting for you two.”

She winked and waved on her way out the back door, leaving Leo alone in the bar. After a few moments, Lynne appeared from the back room.

“I’ve got a memory about your dad,” she told him, ready before he even had a chance to ask her. “In his wallet, he kept a photo of you two on your first fishing trip to the lake. It made Mike so jealous,” she said. “He hazed him about playing favorites.”

She lowered her gaze and wiped a towel across the bar then placed a photo on top of it. The color was yellowed, the paper crinkled at the edges. But there they were—Leo and his dad. He was so young. Hat and vest and fishing pole too big for him. And his dad. He was just like Leo remembered him being.

Lynne swallowed hard. “You remember when you talked about fishing with your dad a few weeks ago, after book club?” Leo nodded, still unable to pull his eyes from the image of his father. “Well, I asked my dad what he remembered, and suddenly he’s talking about this photo and how he found it after the fire, just tucked away somewhere, untouched, like it refused to be destroyed.” She worried the edge of the towel between her fingers. “I hope you’re not mad he kept it. He just needed something to cling to. It’s yours now if you want it. Seems like it should’ve been yours this whole time.”

Leo’s eyes shone as he reached for the photo and flipped it over. On the back were inked words: “Jake + Leo.” It looked like his mom’s handwriting.

His throat tightened. He ran his thumb over the worn paper, over the outline of his father’s hand on his small shoulder. “This is the best birthday present anyone’s ever given me, Lynne.”

She smiled and pulled a nervous hand through her red hair. “Good. I’m glad,” she said softly. “So … give me ten minutes, okay? I have to start some dishes. Then I’ll walk you home.”

He nodded.

She disappeared into a narrow back room and flicked on a dim, single pendant light above her head. He watched as she pulled her hair into a messy bun that left her long, pale neck exposed. A strand fell, and his brain returned to that first night together, the soft curls against her collarbone. He dragged in a breath. As she twisted the elastic into place, the light skimmed over her left hand. No ring. No faint band where one had been.

He walked over to the jukebox and fed it a coin, searched for a song and pressed the button. The haunting guitar slides of Chris Isaak’s “Wicked Game” filled the bar like a bleeding heart. He tucked the photo into his back pocket, took off his cowboy hat, and rolled up his sleeves as he walked through the corridor toward Lynne. His boots were nearly silent on the old floor, but the heat rolling off him wasn’t. The smell of lemon soap filled the small room where she stood at the deep industrial sink, hands plunged in the sudsy water with a sponge.

When he stepped up behind her, she inhaled too sharply, like she hadn’t meant for him to hear it. “I keep telling Ruby we should get rid of that track,” she said, still not glancing back. “It rarely gets played. But she insists it’s the best song in the whole jukebox.”

“I’m with Ruby,” Leo said. “And it’s playing now. That should buy it another year at least.”

Lynne glanced over her shoulder. “Come help me,” she said.

He slipped into the narrow workstation behind her. One of his arms slid past her waist to grab the sink rim. The other reached over her shoulder for the sprayer and stopped mid-air. “There’s barely enough room for one back here,” he whispered. “Too close?”

She teasingly flicked warm water over her shoulder at him, and he ducked. But then she repositioned his arms tighter around her. “More like never close enough,” she said.

His breath stalled. For Lynne, that was practically a declaration. He nuzzled his chin against her cheek, and she relaxed under his touch, a smile creeping across her face. A sudden, electric pull tightened deep in his abdomen.

“Better,” she said. “Rinse, please.”

Leo pulled down the sprayer nozzle as Lynne lifted the plate she’d been scrubbing from the water and handed it to him to rinse off. Then she pointed at the hot water pedal below them and asked him to press down with his foot. He practically had to wrap himself around her just to make this work. He didn’t mind. A slow heat coiled beneath his ribs.

They found their rhythm, bodies pressed together, her washing and him rinsing, placing each plate and cup on the rack beside them to dry when he finished. Isaak’s voice crooned in the background. Leo’s hands kept moving, but he lost himself in the feel of her heartbeat and her warm curves hugged against him.

Then Lynne dropped a glass before he could grab it from her. Both of them plunged hands into the sudsy water after it, searching blindly. Then their fingers touched, entwined and released, skin gliding across skin. He couldn’t tell who reached for whom first. But she stopped washing, and both of them stilled. He caressed her hand with more care than he’d held any of the dishes, and she caressed his back.