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“I don’t have time for gossip,” he said a bit harshly. Turning from his sister, Lawrence made his way downstairs.
“Call it what you will, Lawrence,” she called after him. “But we will talk about this later.”
Grabbing his wallet and phone from the table in the foyer, he yelled back, “Can’t wait,” and left. There was something to be said about an empty home. Had he really wished for a bit of company just a few days ago? He took it back. The mansion was large and quite empty with just him in it, but at least the silence hadn’t required him to share his feelings.
By now, he assumed Toni and her friends had long since gone home. It was too late to find her. Too late to apologize.
Confronting her had been a mistake, but Kenton’s text last night had unleashed something inside of him—like a dam being opened. It was as if every reason why he and Toni shouldn’t be together had been obliterated in one fell swoop.
Except life was more complicated than that, something he of all people should know by now.
Lawrence arrived at the building for Amendment 18, a two-story structure with a false bar on the ground floor that attracted the occasional locals, and let himself in through the back before climbing to the second floor. The owner had already opened the place up, but he was nowhere to be seen.
The barback had thankfully been prepped. He checked the jalapeno and ginger syrup and frowned when he spotted the citrus peels. The twists were supposed to be cut fresh. Jeff would fire the poor kid if he saw them. Hiding the evidence, Lawrence prepared for a long night. Unlike most other businesses in Stone Haven, Amendment 18 didn’t cater to tourists. In fact, few knew of its existence. The owner had done a good job transforming it into a true Prohibition-era throwback, complete with glass-topped cocktail tables, red lanterns, and a wall of skulls.
The rules of the house were simple: No beer. No wine. No cell phones. If a patron tips poorly, they’re banned.
When he’d come in for his interview, he and Jeff had laughed about that over a couple of drinks Lawrence had made freestyle. Jeff had hired him on the spot, not surprising given his centuries-old knowledge of cocktails.
This was his sanctuary—and as the place began to fill up, he welcomed the distraction. He needed some space from the woman with a unique ability to arouse a part of him he’d thought long since buried. Concentrating on the French 75 he was making, Lawrence put thoughts of the beautiful redhead from his mind.
