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ALESSANDRA
My jaw drops as I stare at the screen.
Seven unread messages from user beh0103.
Social media isn’t really my jam, but I have accounts on a couple platforms for the shop. In the beginning, I posted live each day. Now, Willow or Mandi schedules posts through a website. They snap perfectly laid-out pictures and edit them so the vibe is cohesive in the feed. Using the site, they also respond to comments. No one logs into the actual account on the app except me, and I typically do that once or twice a month.
Of course, there are other notifications. Customers sharing pictures of Java and Teas Me, their coffee, tea or breakfast, the fun names on the menu board.
There is one other message.
ReDh0t8: I remember.
“Creepy.” I swipe left and press the delete button.
My finger is hovering over the unread messages from beh0103 when Lena knocks my shoulder with hers. “Put it away.” She lifts a brown bottle to her lips. “Whoever it is, they can wait.”
“You’re right.” I lock my phone and stash it in my back pocket. I pick up my own beer and point the neck of the bottle at the makeshift stage. “Who is this?”
Lena leans in as the guy behind the mic strums his guitar. “Some garage rock band from Stone Bay. Don’t remember the name.”
Bone-rattling booms fill the room as the bassist and drummer join in. “They’re good.”
Since girls’ night at Mags’s house, the ladies have been adamant about taking me out every other night. The first two nights, I complained. Swore it would mess with my sleep schedule—which was already a hot mess—or throw me off at work.
They weren’t having it.
After getting the best night’s sleep in weeks that night, Mags all but packed my bags and had me temporarily staying at her house until the construction finished. I didn’t fight her. Since the construction was estimated to last a month, maybe a little longer, I said yes in a heartbeat. Dust and dysfunction, I could handle. Not getting enough sleep and dealing with those things, plus the day-to-day tasks, I’d scare everyone away with my growly temperament.
On my second night at Mags’s, she and Lena declared the three of us—and maybe the guys every once in a while—would be going out every other night. Not like we do on Fridays, but just for a drink or dinner. I put my foot down and said no. Going to work hungover is worse than going in without enough sleep.
Obviously, I did not win the battle. And I am happy I didn’t. Because the past two weeks have been a little lighter. A little easier. And I have my two favorite people in the world to thank for that.
“Onion rings and chicken wings, ladies.” The server deposits two large baskets on the table.
“Thanks, Denny.”
He tosses me a wink. “Any time, beautiful.” He deposits a stack of napkins and wet wipes between the baskets. “Let me know if you need anything else.” And then he heads back to the bar.
We dive into our fried bar food while the band transitions from one song to the next. Muffled by the music, patrons continue to chatter and whistle for the band. The bar is dimly lit except near the stage where bright lights shine down on the two guys and one woman on stage. Sweat and hops mingle in the air with fryer oil. And this invisible energy vibrates around the crowd—something only the excitement of live music creates.
My cheeks sting as warmth hugs my heart. In this moment, I am happy. Thanks to the two most remarkable women in my life, I feel free.
“Evening, ladies,” an unfamiliar man says as he steps up to our table. He sets down a pint glass and leans over the tall top, resting his arms on the table. “Enjoying the music?”
None of us say a word. We simply eye the man invading our personal space.
He is older—not quite my dad’s age, but definitely older. His salt-and-pepper hair is shaggy and pointing in every other direction. Eyes dark and glassy. Facial hair thick and unkempt. A light-colored flannel covers his weathered skin. If he cleaned up a little and found a better approach, he’d be ten times more attractive. As is, he has a slight wobble when he’s not leaning on the table.
Great, a drunk.
Mags shrinks into my side. I bet she wishes the guys were with us tonight. Not that she is afraid, she just doesn’t like to deal with hasslers. Lena does her damnedest to ignore him—eating wings and watching the band.
Guess that leaves me to reject the guy.Joy.
“We were.” I purse my lips and give him what I hope is aplease leavelook.
He straightens and I do a mental victory fist pump. Taking a step back, a lopsided smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. Then he steps around the table and my eyes go wide.
