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I step inside the bar and look around. The way Charlie talks about this place, it’s clear it’s his baby, so I’m curious to see what all the fuss, and glowing reviews, are about. Two tall, narrow windows stream light in from behind the bar, so the forest green walls look warmer, inviting. The windows themselves have intricate panes like in a cathedral—either a historical salvage or a perfect replica. Mavericks feels both storied and modern, both sumptuous and sleek.
There’s also a devilishly good-looking man leaning on the bar like it’s his job. He studies me, smiling. “Looking for Charlie?”
I laugh. “Do a lot of women show up with luggage looking for Charlie?”
“With baggage, more like.” He grins, straightening up. “I’m Dash. His college roommate, friend, co-owner, better angel, et cetera.”
“Grace,” I reply. “I don’t know the name for my role. Wedding wing-woman? Defensive back for ex-girlfriends?”
He laughs. “Gotta have serious muscle for that. You two go way back, right?”
“Sort of,” I say, setting down my bag near a stool while Dash mixes some concoction behind the bar. “We were in high school together.”
Dash grins. “You must have some wild stories to tell.”
“About Charlie?” I snort. “Nope. We didn’t exactly move in the same circles,” I explain lightly. “He was the king of all he surveyed, and I was… Most definitely not. We would never have even met if I hadn’t been assigned to tutor him in class.”
“Huh.” Dash pauses. “No wonder he thinks so highly of you, helping him survive that place.”
“Survive?” I laugh, a little confused. “More like thriving.”
“Right. He’s pretty good at the act, isn’t he? Charming Charles and all that.”
“Charming Charles,” I repeat, not quite following. Does Charlie Fox have an alter-ego?
“You know, how he always works the room.” Dash yawns. “But I guess that’s the dyslexia. He had to figure out how to get by without relying on grades, flexed his people skills into a full-on superpower.”
Dyslexia?
I blink in surprise. And suddenly a whole lot about Charlie becomes clear. Like how he would always ace a presentation in class, but barely pulled a D-average on all our written reports.
“You didn’t know?” Dash asks, taking in my face.
“He didn’t exactly go around broadcasting the news,” I reply, more curious than ever.
“He doesn’t need to, these days. He’s got the business set up the way it works for him, and now we’re all reaping the benefits of his powers of persuasion.” Dash finally finishes mixing his drink, which turns out to be a truly noxious-looking green sludge. He holds it up. “Want some? It’s my grandma Zelda’s famous hangover cure.”
“Uh, no thanks,” I say politely, as Charlie emerges from the back.
“Grace, hi. How long have you been here?” His gaze bounces to Dash and back to me, like he suspects something.
Dash smirks. “Don’t worry, bro, not long enough for me to tell her about the trail of broken hearts you’ve been leaving around town.”
“Gee, thanks.” Charlie moves to grab my bag. “Don’t believe a word he says,” he warns me, ushering me towards the door.
“What’s the theme for this wedding?” Dash asks, sending me a wink.
“We’re going to a Renaissance Faire,” I reply.
Dash snorts with laughter. “What?! Tell me there are outfits.”
“There aren’t,” Charlie says, at the same time I reply, “Of course.”
Before Dash can dig into that, his phone buzzes across the bar. He declines it quickly.
“Dodging a lady friend?” Charlie smirks.
“Dodging a formidable woman,” Dash corrects, taking another gulp of his drink with a wince. “Zelda herself.”
