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“Hey yourself, beautiful. I can’t believe you’re here!”
“Surprise?” she says, still sounding nervous. I drop down into a crouch outside her open window and reach my hand in to rest on hers.
“The best surprise. I thought you weren’t coming till next month.”
She nods, chewing on her lip. “Well, yeah, but then I got a virtual interview for a society in Westport, and it went well, so they asked me to come and meet them in person, and…” Her voice trails off.
“Westport? Babe, that’s amazing! You’re gonna be working in Westport?”
“I am,” she replies softly, and when I see the smile creeping over her face, I decide to say fuck it and not hold back my response any longer. I open her door and reach in carefully to wrap my arms around her.
“That’s the best news ever. I’m really fucking happy you came to find me at the bar to tell me. So happy that I’ll look past the whole part about not telling me you were coming to town early,” I say teasingly.
“What bar?” she says, her brows furrowing in confusion.
I fight back a grin. She did say she was terrible at directions. “My bar.” I gesture at the sign reading “Hastings Bar” in what Ihadthought were pretty big letters.
Her eyes widen a comical amount. “Uh, wow. I didn’t even notice that.”
“Hopefully, the fact that you didn’t notice it is more about you being lost than it is about my marketing efforts.”
Riley ducks her head, blushing adorably. “Oops. Sorry. I promise, it’s me, not the sign. I was so distracted thinking about the new job I forgot to set my GPS and got all turned around trying to get back to Mila’s house. I wish I could claim I came here on purpose, but it’s really just my terrible sense of direction.”
“Babe, I don’t care about the sign. I’m just happy to see you. And I’m really fucking glad your shitty sense of direction landed you here. It’s the perfect coincidence.”
I can visibly see the tension leave her, and finally her lips curve upward into the perfect smile I’ve only seen on a phone screen. It’s so much more blindingly beautiful in person.
“That’s good. That you’re happy, I mean. Because, umm, I might have also neglected to mention that I, umm, I moved here for good last night.”
I almost topple over from the surprise of her statement but manage to recover at the last second. “What? That’s great, Ri. But why didn’t you tell me?” My knees, aching from being in this position for too long start to give me grief, so I reluctantly straighten up. “Look, do you have somewhere to be, or can you come inside for a minute and catch up?” I gesture to the bar behind us. “I don’t have food, but I’ve got beer.”
“Yeah. I’d like that,” she says softly, and that smile I think I’m addicted to grows even bigger.
“Perfect. Just park right out front and I’ll unlock the door.”
I jog back over to the front door to my bar, my head running a mile a minute with excitement and questions. So many questions. But I know the most important one I’ll be asking her.
I want to ask Riley out on a date. Right after I find out why she didn’t tell me she was moving here.
Turning on the lights, I flip over two chairs at one of the low tables close to the bar, cursing silently that I didn’t think about accessibility when I designed this space. Riley would never be able to reach the top of the bar counter, and that’s something I’ll have to fix quickly. Not just for her, but for anyone who needs a lower surface.
Heading back to the bar, I grab a couple of glasses just as I realize I probably need to go and open the door for her. What an asshole I am not to think of that sooner.
But before I can take a step, it opens easily and Riley wheels on through. Damn, that girl must have some muscles on her.
Framed by the light from outside, she looks like an angel with her hair exploding everywhere. My hands itch to run through it, to see if the curls are as soft as they look. I want to tangle my fingers in it, mess it up, and spread it out over my pillow.
Fuck. That’s a train of thought I need to halt right-the-hell now.
“Want a drink? I do have more than just beer if you would rather a soda or water,” I call out as she easily weaves her way around the tables and over to the bar.
“A small beer would be great, actually. I do drink sometimes, you know,” she replies, and I can’t help but tease her.
“Oh, I know you do, beautiful. I haven’t forgotten that night you finished the bottle of red wine and then called me.”
“It was a bad day at work,” she cries out indignantly, her arms folding across her petite chest. I just chuckle as I round the end of the bar and sit down, waiting for her to make her way to the table before passing her a glass of a fruity lager I think she’ll enjoy.
“So, this is your bar,” she says after taking a sip.
