AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Well, I wish they’d die already, even if it’s a difficult end.
Because the last thing I need to do around Parker is primp my hair or coat my lips with gloss.
Once I actually fix Parker up with a match, I’ll rein my eighteen-year old self in. She’s running rampant now, but she’ll behave if I can just set Parker up on at least one date.
Maybe two dates.
Hopefully, three. Historically, three’s been the magic number for my clients. With three potential matches to choose from, clients have an excellent shot at finding Mr. or Ms. Right.
And that’s what this is all about: Finding Parker his Ms. Right.
I lean forward and decisively close my laptop.Time to get a move on.I’m not going to uncover the reason Parker was fired by sitting on my butt in this kitchen. I have to go do some field work.
For a minute, I consider heading to the tennis center.
But I’m afraid of what I might discover there.
Things must have been really bad, if he was fired. Maybe I better start with something easier.
Parker headed out of the house a little while after we visited the garage together, with his bike hanging over the bed of his pickup, the front wheel resting on a black mat that he draped over the tailgate. He was probably going for that mountain bike ride he mentioned while scarfing down oatmeal. And, who knows what he got up to after that.
Since Carly mentioned that he picked up work at the Tipsy Tavern, I’ll head there first. Either Parker will be there working, or I’ll try to ferret out info from other staff members or locals. Either way, it seems like a good place to start.
I pile into my Prius and then wind my way down the steep, curvy road, heading for downtown.
Once I reach the heart of town, I pull up GPS on my phone and get my bearings. The Tipsy Tavern isn’t far away, and soon I’m pulling into the crowded lot. Though I scan the vehicles, I don’t see Parker’s massive, black, rusted truck.
It’s 6:30 by the time I walk in, and as far as I can tell Happy Hour was a success. The place is buzzing with rosy-cheeked, smiling people, talking over the loud music and occasionally bursting out into laughter.
The big tables scattered around one side of the room—across from an empty stage and dance floor—are chunky and thick, made out of split, polished logs. The walls are paneled in honey-gold wood, and there are photos up all over the place. Even though Christmas is a long way off, colorful strings of vintage bulbs dot the ceiling like stars, creating a holiday vibe.
An elk head mounted behind the bar has more colorful lights draped over his antlers. The animal’s fur is tan, gray, and white. His eyes are black plastic, yet so real looking, I feel as though the beast is eying me as I settle onto one of the only vacant stools along the bar that lines one side wall.
Yep, that elk alone would earn the place the title of ‘gross’ in Carly’s book. She’s always been freaked out by taxidermy.
And maybe I am a little, too. I shudder as I glance up at the thing again then avert my gaze.
I peer down the bar and spot plenty of pints of beer, but little to no food except for baskets of something gray and lumpy looking. When I grab a menu I see why. The only option for food is something called Dirty Fries in small, medium, or large.
There’s a slim, tattooed woman in her twenties behind the bar slinging drinks. She smiles at me but is too hung up with pouring beer from a tap to get to me just yet.
It’s okay. I can wait to order my glass of soda water. I will not be dining on anything that starts with the word ‘dirty’, thank you very much.
The elderly man beside me gets up with a groan, says something about how he’d better “get home to the ball and chain” and then pats me on the shoulder like he knows me.
A few minutes later, his vacated stool, which is prime real estate, given how crowded it is in here, gets swooped up by a stout, gray-haired woman in overalls and giant, rubber boots. She turns, looks me over, then barks out. “You’re not from here, are ya, hon?”
“No Ma’am.”
“From the city?”
“Boston.” I unzip my white North Face fleece and hang it on the back of the high stool. Then I hook my purse over it. “How did you know?”
“For starters, never seen you before. Then there’s the way you eyed Big Ed, like he might come right down and bite ya.”
Hm. I hoped for a chatty local to pump for info about Parker, but I may be conversing with one leaning more toward insane, than chatty.
Fearing she’s actually psychotic, I make a show of studying the menu. As if I’m actually going to treat myself to a ‘dirty’ dish, and now my dilemma is whether to stick to the small, or go big.
