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Nash McKendrick
I’M POLISHING THE SHOTglass in my hand and shaking my head at my old man telling the worst joke in history.
When I roll my eyes, Brandon McKendrick, my esteemed father, slants a look at me and points to his cup for a coffee refill.
“Whatever, Pops.” I pour more coffee. I wave the pot at one of my dad's oldest friends. “More coffee, Jake?”
“Sure, son.”
The comforting sounds of ESPN pour from the TV above the bar, and I continue polishing glasses while listening to my dad and Jake talk. They don’t come to the bar much at night, but they come every morning for coffee. Ironwing, my bar, is named for my dad's rock band from the '80s. Jake played bass, and Pops was lead singer. Man, the sight of my dad wearing Spandex in that damn one-hit wonder video makes me shudder whenever I think about it. Judging by the way women love my old man, he could probably still get away with tight pants, but he’s a Levi’s kind of guy these days.
“Maybe you should spend less time worrying about my jokes and find a nice girl and settle down. One you can bring home to your old pops.”
I roll my eyes. My dad is anything but an “old pops.” Ironwing may have only had one album, but they were legendary. At least in Brazen Bay. And maybe the state. Probably the county at the very least. “Old Pops” still gets laid on the regular.
“I told you I'm not settling down, Dad. I like being single.”
“What about Stella?”
I catch Jake, Stella’s father, frowning at my dad and laugh at his pinched expression. “I love Stella. As a friend. You've heard of those, right?” Stella calls me a “kindred spirit” which has something to do with some girl book she read in middle school about Anne in a green house or something. But there is no heat, no flash between us, and we are both content to let the town assume we will get together eventually because it means they leave us alone more. They give us space to “sow our oats.”
I haven’t sown with anyone in a while, but my reputation precedes me, helped along by my dad's reputation, which is also more bark than bite. But the McKendricks are the town heartbreakers, despite lack of hearts actually broken.
“Besides, if I start dating Stella, she’ll take it as permission to pay her rent late or get a dog or something.” She’s my upstairs tenant, mostly so I can keep an eye on her. Just not in the way my dad thinks. I’m more of a protective brother. She has one of those already, but if you ask anyone in town, they’ll tell you Stella needs more than one.
“I guess I’m never getting grandkids, Jake,” Pops laments.
“Heaven help us all when Stella has kids. Her mini-mes are going to terrorize this town,” Jake adds ruefully. He’s probably going to be a grandpa soon, though. Stella’s brother, Leo, is engaged to a librarian most of us didn’t even know until recently. Which is saying a lot for Brazen Bay. People here know if you change toilet paper brands.
I take a quick inventory of anything I might be out of on the shelves while I talk. “I’m not marrying Stella, and I’m not having kids, Pops.”
I’m saved when my cleaning woman, who’s cute but nearly jailbait, comes bounding through the door that separates Ironwing from the stairs to the two apartments.
She has an interesting bounce as she waves and lets herself out. A bounce that all three of us admire for a quiet moment. “How about her?” my dad interrupts my non-thoughts.
“She's a little young, don't you think?” Jake answers before I can, thankfully. Jake has daughters. Consequently, he always sees things a little differently than my dad does.
“She's legal,” my horndog dad answers.
“Dad,” I warn. “She's still a teenager.”
I’m going to harass him some more when I catch sight of a woman pacing the sidewalk outside, the same woman I saw ten minutes ago. She’s dressed in the kind of clothes you know are expensive even if you know nothing about women's clothes.
She is obviously lost. And confused. But I have a feeling that she is bad news, and I always trust my gut.
I fold my arms across my chest and watch her pace. There is something I like about her profile as she marches by the window again. The button nose maybe. But still, she’s trouble.
I should listen to my gut and sneak out the back door. Let my dad deal with the little miss. For the life of me, I don’t understand why I find myself walking to the front door instead.
Maybe what I need is a little bit of trouble.
