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“This will kill Mom,” he said, lighting a cigarette pinched between his lips. “I’ll be all she has left here.”
“I know,” I said, shooting a nervous glance in the direction of the forty-ounce beer bottle in his other hand. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Is your engine light still on?” He whistled, and one of the guys loitering by an idling Ford Mustang swaggered over. Darren told him about my engine, and the guy popped the hood.
Forty-five minutes later, I was gone. He was my only goodbye, and only because a twist of fate had put him in my path.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Hope says, bringing me back to the present and misreading the expression on my face. “You said you couldn’t find people to work. I’m getting you people to work.”
“Other people would just help me post on social media. Maybe offer to read a few résumés. They wouldn’t go bar to bar poaching talent.”
“Other people have no vision.” The alcohol has turned her cheeks as pink as mine feel, and her eyes have a shine, like some of the heaviness from earlier has lifted.
My teeth worry over my bottom lip. “Is this even legal?”
“It’s definitely not not legal. Ethically and morally questionable, probably. But ethics and morals went out the window hours ago.” Hope leans so far over the bar her legs lift from the ground.
“That doesn’t make me feel better,” I say and fight the tequila-fueled urge to check out her ass. No more drinks for me. Women sabbatical.
“It’s called networking, getting the word out that the Inn is hiring. You might even be doing these guys a favor. They might hate working here and be thrilled to learn there’s a well-paying job owned by a famous TV writer just outside of Newport waiting for them.”
“Famous TV writer is a stretch.” I sweep my gaze around the bar. A band with a familiarSlogo sets up on stage, and a few people mill about the empty high-top tables. Possibility crackles in the air. Soon enough, this place will be buzzing with college kids spilling drinks.
“How about this? I’ll do all the talking so your conscience can remain clear.”
“You’ll bear the weight of moral bankruptcy for me?” I mean for the words to sound cute and cheeky, but my voice catches in a way that makes them sound vulnerable and true.
“For you, anything.” She resumes trying to get the blue-haired bartender’s attention, and maybe Hope’s had one too many drinks too. Because though I’m out of practice, I would bet money that she was just flirting.
And that I was flirting back.
Hope’s not by the bar when I return from the bathroom. In her place is a cluster of early twentysomethings who make me feel like I should apply for my AARP card. A moment later, I spot her across the bar, chatting up the second bartender.
She gives new meaning to the worddetermined.
I’m halfway back to Hope when a woman steps in my path. Her drink sloshes over the side of her glass and spills between us. Her gaze stays fixed on mine as her eyes narrow. “Look who’s back.”
My thoughts play catch-up as I try to reconcile the angry brunette in front of me with the desperate-to-fit-in blonde girl from my memories. “Natalie?”
“Hi, Will. I heard you were home.”
“I’m not—”
Natalie raises an eyebrow, and my brain stutters over all the words I owe her. “I mean, I’m home, but just for a few weeks. Helping my mom.”
“Right, your mom. I heard all about that too.”
The way she saysthat, as if my mother is little more than a piece of gossip, makes my pulse tick up. “I wouldn’t believe everything you hear.”
Heads swivel in our direction.
“Oh right. It’s only true if it’s in print.” She air quotestruefor reasons only she knows. “You can’t be bothered with small-town things like gossip and goodbyes.”
The hurt in her voice is a sucker punch. I steel myself to say the thing I should have said a long time ago. “I’m sorry, Natalie. I should have been more mature about how I handled things.”
“Which things do you mean exactly? Not having the courtesy to break up with me in person before you left town or letting rumors about me fly?”
“I didn’t—what rumors?”
