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“It’s so different heretonight,” Jake observed scanning the bar as he drank a pint of Stella. “So quiet, even though there’s more people.”
“It’s book club night, Sparky,” Katie said, sitting on her usual throne. She’d started calling him Sparky as soon as he’d sat down. At first, he glared at her each time, but now, on his second pint, he seemed to have decided it wasn’t worth the trouble to be pissed.
“Book club night?” His tone and his accompanying grin were derisive, to put it mildly. “Lesbians really know how to party.”
Petra rolled her eyes at him and carried a newly poured Fat Tire down to a newbie at the other end of the bar. Dre had had the presence of mind to ask Lindsay, one of the two servers on shift tonight, to watch the bar when they’d come back to make a scene. But really, book club night was pretty mellow, and chock full of regulars. They could have handled things on the honor system for a while.
“You’d be surprised.” Katie’s voice carried. “What do rednecks do for fun, besides punch down?”
When Petra turned around, Katie was leaning toward Jake, and Petra hurried her step a little to make sure trouble wasn’t brewing.
Jake’s expression had gone serious, but not necessarily aggressive. “I’m no redneck, and I don’t punch down,Krusty.”
Petra couldn’t hold back a surprised laugh. That was a not-bad clapback to the Sparky thing.
And Katie hooted and clapped her hands. “Nice. Simpsons reference, maybe a little riff on my name, afrissonof insult in the comparison. I score it a 9.2.”
Jake grinned bright and wide, like he was honestly pleased with his score. It was cute as hell.
She brought him a fresh pint—and a glass of water to slow him down a little. “You want something to eat? Max is agreatcook. The special tonight issooogood.”
He glanced up at the chalkboard:Alice Recommends. “Chicken cordon bleu? What is that? And blue is spelled wrong.”
Katie answered before Petra did. Petra clenched a little; Katie loved to give shit, and her filter had big holes in it. She could come off harshly if you didn’t know her.
“Well, it’s chicken.” Jake’s grin started to become a scowl, but Katie continued, “Also it’s French, and that’s how they spell blue in Gay Paree. Max beats a chicken breast until it’s thin as paper, then wraps it around French ham and Swiss cheese, then dips it in egg and breading—her breading, you can’t even believe that shit—and fried. It’ll roll your eyes back, Sparky.”
Jake turned a grin on Petra. “I guess I’ll try that, then. Can I get it with fries or rings or something?”
“Sure. We serve it with fries.”
As she wrote up the ticket and sent it back, she kept her eye on Katie and Jake. They were striking up an actual conversation.
Then, as she poured herself a glass of rosé, she saw him turn the other direction, and Katie look that way, too. Maude was seated at her usual place, the very last stool, around the corner and on the short side of the bar, a book in her wrinkled hands and a teacup on the bar before her, as usual. She was saying something, but she spoke so softly, Petra couldn’t make it out.
But Jake leaned in like he was really listening. Then he nodded and answered. Whatever he said made Katie laugh and Maude smile. Jake was smiling, too.
Was he finding a way tofit inhere? Every moment she spent with this guy showed more substance beneath his swagger.
And she liked him more and more.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Bright light searedinto Jake’s eyeballs, and he woke with a groan, grabbing for a pillow to bury his head in.
