Page 76 of Saison for Love


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He intended to serve everybody tequila shots on the house come Saturday night. Stanton could pay for something. Besides, the tequila they were serving was probably too low-class for Antero Steaks. He started walking across Main, heading toward his block.

But the nearer he got, the more reluctant he was to go home. He wanted to talk to someone, needed to tell somebody about Stanton and the dirty trick he’d pulled on his staff, to say nothing of his long-time customers. The whole thing still burned in his gut. He needed to get it out where he could think about it rationally.

Bec might be up. She’d been known to work late, particularly if she had something brewing that she wanted to check out or if she was coming up with a new beer. He could walk to the brewery and see if any lights were on. She could probably even provide him with some alcohol. At this point, he could use some.

He couldn’t seem to turn his feet in the right direction, though. Instead, he found himself heading in the opposite direction, toward the right place at the wrong time.

Ruth’s house was dark, but that wasn’t surprising. It was after midnight, and she had to get up early for her breakfast deliveries. He thought of her in her bed, her dark hair feathered around her face, eyelashes like shadows across her cheeks. His body tightened accordingly. He might be tired and pissed-off, but he wasn’t dead.

Ruth would listen. Ruth might even have something to say. And Ruth was the one he wanted to talk to.

Maybe he could toss some pebbles at her window. If he was quiet, he wouldn’t wake the neighbors. Ruth could let him in the back door.

Except… Carol was home. And he had a feeling Ruth wouldn’t be big on late night visitors when her daughter was upstairs.

He stood staring at the house, wanting her so badly he could taste it. Remembering her scent, her feel, her savor.

You don’t have the right to go to her. Not when you’re taking off in a couple of weeks. Not when you still haven’t figured out what’s going on between you.

He turned and headed for the brewery. Time to be a grown-up, no matter how much it hurt.

Bec was up, so at least his trip wasn’t entirely in vain. “I wanted to work on that coffee stout I’ve been thinking about. It’s almost there, but not quite. I’ll see if I can fit in some more time tomorrow to get it right. We’ll need to do another red ale run soon. Maybe we can do it between shifts—I get off from Ruth’s around three. If you can work tomorrow morning, we can get it up and running.”

“Yeah, well, about that.” Liam rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. “It turns out I may have a lot more time to work here starting next week. At least for a little while.”

“Oh?” She paused, then pulled out a chair to sit across from him. “What’s up?”

“Stanton’s closing the tavern. After Saturday, everybody’s out of a job.”

Bec frowned. “Why would he do that? I thought the tavern was a profitable joint.”

“It was. Once upon a time it was a great place, and I loved working there. But Stanton was just leasing the building—he took over when Garrett Wilhelm had his heart attack. The new place he’s opening, Antero Steaks, he owns himself. I think that made him decide to get rid of the business he didn’t control. He kept it going until his lease ran out, but he kept the costs at rock bottom so that he could maximize profits with minimal effort.”

Bec grimaced. “I guess that explains why he let the place go downhill. Hire a third-rate cook for peanuts and give him free rein—you can still make money. But it’s a shitty thing to do. Hell, when Ruth had to deal with her third-rate cook, she paid even more attention to the kitchen. Now that Peaches is there, Ruth just lets her alone. Which is fine.”

Liam shrugged. “Stanton didn’t care. Why should he? He already had one foot out the door. All he wanted to do was keep costs down and profits up until the lease ran out. And whatever else you can say about McCullough’s cooking, it was cheap. As long as Stanton was making some money off the deal—even if it wasn’t as much money as he used to make—he was satisfied. He knew the bar was going to close and he didn’t feel like putting any extra cash into it.”

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