Page 57 of Keeping Zita

Zita nodded. “I agree. I’ve worked with a lot of directors, and he’s definitely one of the best. I’ve heard it was his idea to have base camp here in Fallport, and he was the one who insisted on using the local motel instead of the chain hotel out by the highway.”

“And we appreciate the business,” a gruff-looking man said as he neared their table. He had a rag in one hand and a stack of empty glasses in another. He had black hair that was a little too long, stubble on his cheeks and chin, and a hard look in his eyes. He also had a scar that disappeared into the collar of the plain black T-shirt he was wearing.

Obi-Wan held out his hand and introduced himself.

The man put the stack of glasses on their table, wiped his palm on his jeans, then shook Obi-Wan’s hand. “Whip Johansen. I own The Cellar.”

“You do? We love it!” Zita said with a huge grin.

Whip glanced at her and nodded his head respectfully. “Thanks. Honestly, it hasn’t always been this way.”

“Really? Because it seems extremely popular,” Zita told him.

“Yeah, well, that’s because of my wife.” Whip looked back toward the bar, and Obi-Wan followed his gaze to see a tiny slip of a woman behind the bar. She looked like an actual fairy—not that he knew what the hell fairies looked like, but she had hair so blond it was almost white. She was slender and petite, and she wore a long-sleeve pink shirt with a scoop neck that showed off her collarbones. She seemed almost fragile, and he wasn’t surprised a man like Whip kept her behind the bar. It was probably the safest place for her.

“That’s your wife behind the bar? She’s beautiful,” Zita said, sounding sincere in her compliment.

Maybe that was why Whip continued to stand at their table and chat. Because Zita had a way of drawing people in. Encouraging them to tell her all of their secrets.

“She is. And I have no idea why she’s with me, but I’ll fuckin’ kill anyone who dares put their hands on her or look at her sideways. I can deal with a lot of shit, but two things I will not tolerate is abuse of animals or women.”

“Oh, you must’ve put the cat boxes out back,” Zita said with a huge smile.

“I did. We’ve got a bit of a stray cat problem, but the vets in the area are doing their best to help with that. They spay and neuter them for free.”

“Cool.”

“I met Angelica here at The Cellar. Back when it was a hangout for the not-so-good citizens of Fallport. I admit, this place was a shithole, but I honestly didn’t care at the time. I was angry at the world, and I actually liked when fights broke out, because I could take out my aggression on the assholes who thought it was perfectly okay to pull out knives and fight right here in the middle of the joint. Honestly, I didn’t care for Fallport either, or for the people who live here. I just wanted their money.”

“What happened? How did The Cellar change so much?” Zita asked, leaning forward, totally sucked into Whip’s story.

“It’s too long to go into before your meals arrive, but suffice it to say, Angel changed my life and made me see things in a different light. Without her, I’d still be the same asshole I used to be.”

Zita was clearly extremely curious about how a man like Whip got together with his wife. Obi-Wan had to admit…so was he. Something big had to have happened for him to change so drastically.

“He still doesn’t like people though,” said the very woman Whip had been talking about, as she cuddled up next to him and wrapped her arm around his waist. She was tiny next to the giant bar owner, and the love in his eyes when he looked down at her was easy to see.

“I keep trying to get him to sponsor Pickleport and to be more social, but he’d rather stay in here and serve beer than mingle with the Fallportians…what we call people who live around here.”

“Prefer cats. They’re assholes, but they’re honest about what they want. Sunlight, food, and to be left alone.”

Angel giggled. “Pretty much. Which is why we have about twelve scratching posts in our house, along with at least a hundred and two empty boxes for them to nest in, and about half as many little cat beds.”

Obi-Wan chuckled, along with Zita.

“How many cats do you have?”

“Officially, three. But we take care of as many stray ones as we can.”

“Now that we have vets in town who give a shit, it’s easier to help them when necessary,” Whip started.

“That’s a story for another time,” Angel told him. “I’m out of Clyde’s moonshine. Need you to go to the storage room and get me some more.”

“Won’t let her go in there on her own,” Whip mumbled. “It’s dark and secluded, and horny assholes think it’s a great place to get sucked off.”

Surprised, Obi-Wan and Zita both burst out laughing, while Angel rolled her eyes. “The last time I walked in on something like that was ages ago.”

“Don’t care. You doing okay? Need me to call in Bart to help you behind the bar?”