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ABI
“You comehere?”
My gaze roams the tiny bar, pausing on the talking fish on the wall and a framed photo by the entrance of a sweet old couple dressed up as Sonny and Cher. There are a few people, one man and two women, sitting together at the bar, and a gray-haired man who I’m guessing is Sonny leans over the bartop talking to them. A few guys hang around a pool table, and a couple lounge by a jukebox in the back.
Colter chuckles. “Are you surprised?”
“It doesn’t seem to suit you.”
“You don’t know me very well then.” He slides the jacket he lent me off my shoulders and places it on a hook by the door. I shiver and the skin his fingers graze sparks with an electric current.
“You’re still cold?” he asks, his eyes focusing on my shoulders that just shook. I can see why he’d be confused. Unlike Colter’s arctic temperature preference, they keep this place a little too warm.
“No, I’m—”
“Colter?”
Colter looks over his shoulder, and a grin spreads across his face. He spins and holds his arms out to the woman who called his name—Cher.
Her face lights up, and she throws her arms around him. “My goodness, I thought we’d seen the last of you.”
“You say that every time,” Colter says.
“And I mean it every time. Where the hell have ya been?”
The woman pulls back, brushes a stand of gray hair from her face and looks him up and down with her hands on his shoulders.
“I’ve been busy.”
“Riiight, I remember. Mr. Councilman,” she teases, giving him a wink.
“Not councilman yet,” Sonny says, coming up behind Cher and pressing a hand to her back. “But you bet I’ll be voting for you, son.”
I startle at the word son, but quickly remember Colter’s father is deceased. The funeral was the last time he saw his family.
So who are these people?
“Thanks, Ron, I appreciate it.” Colter takes a step back so that we’re side by side, and he slides a hand around my lower back to cup my waist. He guides me closer to the group. “This is my friend, Abi. Abi, this is Margie and Ron.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say, shaking both their hands.
Margie’s wrinkles grow more pronounced with her giddy smile, and she holds onto my hand. “It’s a pleasure, dear.” She pulls my hand to guide me farther into the bar and waves toward an empty stool. “You two sit here, we’ll get the drinks.”
“Thank you,” I say, climbing up onto the high barstool. “I’d love a vodka tonic, please.” I look up to see Margie’s back as she walks through a swinging door, while Ron is striding toward the other end. Both look like they’re in a hurry.
“Don’t bother.” Colter sits on the stool next to mine and removes a cufflink, tucking it into his pocket. “They’ll only bring you something different.”
“What is this place?” I ask, raising a brow at him and watching as he removes the other cufflink. My eyes glue to the gold insignia and the lion head carved into the metal. There’s lettering on the side, but I can’t read what it says. He tucks it into his pocket, along with the first, and rolls up his sleeves.
Margie bursts through the swinging door before Colter has a chance to speak. She’s carrying two beer mugs covered in frost, and she slams them on the counter behind the bar. She sprays beer into them and then slides one to each of us.
“This one’s new,” she says, looking at Colter. “Ron met a guy when he was in New Orleans last month who said this brew was the best around.”
“Thanks, Margie,” Colter says, lifting the mug to his lips.
“You betcha, hon.”
I watch in utter fascination as his Adam’s apple bobs with each long pull. When he’s downed a quarter of the beer, he sets it back onto the bar, wiping foam from his lips with the back of his hand.
