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“Nope.”
“Snuff porn?”
He laughs. “Porn, yes. Snuff porn, no.”
The closet is huge with custom drawers, rotating racks, and shelving for hats, and the back wall of the closet has built-in shelves with slotted compartments for shoes.
“I’m not gonna lie, I have a bit of closet envy,” I mutter.
“You haven’t seen anything yet.”
He lifts a pair of sneakers from one of the slots and presses a concealed button.
The shelves begin to move and split, sliding aside and exposing a door.
Weston opens it and walks forward.
“What is this wizardry?” I ask as I step through the magical doorway.
I follow him into the hidden room, and he clicks on a light. Inside is a gorgeous live-edge wooden bar, set in a nook with shelves of liquor bottles behind it. Three stools that match the wood of the bar sit in front of it. A long stained-glass light fixture hangs above. One wall has a dartboard, and an antique jukebox sits against the other. A high pub table is tucked in the opposite corner, and a foosball table and pool table occupy the center of the space.
“Shut up! You have a secret bar in your house?”
“Yep. I used to dream about one when I was little.”
“You dreamed about a bar when you were a kid?”
He laughs. “I dreamed of a closet that led to a secret space. A clubhouse for me and my brothers. Narnia-style. This is my grown-up version,” he says as he looks around.
“Very cool,” I admit as my eyes fall on the machine standing to the left of the jukebox. “Wait, is that a Pac-Man arcade game?”
He grins. “Yep.”
I run to the machine. “I loved playing this when I was little. There was an arcade at the bowling alley, and while my parents played, my friends and I would spend hours trying to beat each other’s high score.”
“You’ll have to try to beat mine,” he challenges.
“You’re on!”
I try to start the game, but it actually takes quarters.
I fish around in my purse that is still strapped around me but come up empty.
“Do you have any change?” I ask.
“Nope. But I promise next time, I’ll have a roll of quarters just for you.”
He inclines his head toward the pool table. “Wanna play?”
“I’m not any good at billiards,” I tell him.
“Thank goodness. I don’t think my pride could take losing to you again tonight.”
“Oh, I have no doubt that your pride is fully intact, Weston Tuttle. Besides, you promised to feed me. I bet the grill is hot by now.”
He grins. “Fine. But next time, you’re gonna let me beat you at something.”
“We’ll see.”
