With the fresh smell of pine and lemons lingering, I make three small circles against the hardwood top, worn down from years of doing its job, and whisper, “Make it shine,” with the last swirl.
I’ve spent long days and even longer nights in this bar. It used to only be the weekends but now it’s every day for almost three years now when the bar got passed to me. It should never have been mine at the young age of twenty-two, but life throws all sorts of things at you, and you just have to do your best to catch them. Yet another piece of advice from my grandma.
“You good wrapping this up?” Andy asks me on his way out. With his worn leather jacket in one hand, its creases matching the ones around his eyes, and his car keys in the other, the old man waits for me to tell him what I always tell him at 2 am.
“Darn right I am. Have a good night, Andy.” His gray beard leads the way as he gives me a smile. I’ve nearly turned away when I hear a sound of surprise come from him.
“You may have company,” he informs me with a raised brow and I’m already saying, “We’re closed,” from across the bar to the heavy front doors but then I get a peek of who it is on the other side.
Flip, twist, a little somersault happens inside my chest. His blue eyes meet mine first, even though he’s nodding a thanks to Andy as he takes his baseball cap off. His stature is dominating, as are his broad shoulders, when the man walks in, his boot steps taking their time and thumping right along with my heart.
Tall, dark and handsome, with a slight southern charm on his tanned skin. Jeans that look broken into, boots made for working, and a simple dark gray Henley stretched across his shoulders fit his frame and spell out my kryptonite. The man of my dreams is a real thing.
“It’s alright Andy… I think I can serve up one more drink.” Pulling out a bottle of beer from the fridge underneath the bar, I keep my eyes on the man who just walked in. In a deft motion I uncap it, the piece of tin falling into the bucket beneath the bottle opener screwed into the bar top and place the glass bottle down onto the bar, listening to it fizz. “As in I can open a bottle of beer. I’m not washing any more glasses tonight.”
I’ve made a number of mistakes in my life and one time my father said they could all lead back to my attitude. He laughed when I reminded him that it’s his attitude I inherited so technically they could all lead back to him.
Maybe I am no-nonsense, but when you grow up in a bar you learn not to take any shit and to know your limits. I’ll be damned if I’m cleaning anything else tonight. Besides, the man of my dreams is an IPA kind of man.
“Thanks,” his voice is deep and has a draw to it that I love. It echoes down into the hollow of my chest and I find myself raising my hand to meet the vibrations.
“Have a long night?” I make small talk with him as I tidy up the place. Technically we’re closed, technically I’m not working anymore, technically Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome shouldn’t be here.
In my periphery, I watch him fiddle with the torn edge of his hat before tossing it down onto the bar and taking his seat. “Long week,” he finally tells me with a heavy sigh. “Just got a lot better though.”
I pay his compliment back with a small chuckle that warms me from the inside and ask back, “Oh, did it now? A beer can turn it all around for you.”
I stare at him, letting his gaze sink into mine and feeling the longing and the heat there.
He only offers a boyish grin, answering, “Something like that,” with the bottle neck of his beer at his lips before taking a long swig.
“How about you?”
“How about me what?” I ask him, blowing a stray stand of hair out of my face. I note that his is long on top, just long enough to make it look like he doesn’t care. Like he’s just rough around the edges. I like that.
“Long night?” he asks.
“Always,” I answer, finally taking a seat behind the counter. My back hurts, my body’s sore, but we did good this week. I put everything I have into this bar. Keeping it alive and just like it was in every way that I can remember. It’s my constant, my life really. Everyone I ever loved has memories in this bar. So it can have all of me. I’m fine with that.
“You ready to go home? I don’t want to keep you up.”
Home for me is just a walk next door. My dogs outside stay in the back behind the bar and the German Shepherds walk me down the stone path to my little raised ranch. They’re my babies and the only family I have left.
The second that house next to the bar went up for sale, I bought it. I was only twenty and my dad had to help me, but it’s mine and it’s the perfect set up. I have my dogs, the bar, I have my house, and I have the people who have been here all my life in this small town. And then there’s this man right here.
I try to ease his conscious, “You aren’t keeping me up.”
“You look tired.”
“Hmmm,” I hum and lean back so I can get a good look at him.
“I don’t mind walking you home and helping you get to sleep,” he offers with that smile I love.
“Dean Andrews, you are the biggest mistake I ever made.” I love saying his name. Dean Andrews. Grandma loved it too. She always shooed the guys away, but never Dean. I could curse her out for that with the way he’s played with my heart. But then she’d slap me silly and I was always taught to respect my elders anyhow.
“Made as in past tense?” he offers me a charming asymmetric smile. “I was hoping you weren’t done with me yet.” That smile is one that knows how to bring heat to my cheeks, a blush rising up my temples. No man has ever made me feel like he does. Maybe that’s why I just can’t say no.
I don’t answer him, wiping down the rest of the liquor bottles, even though I’ve already wiped them down once, with my back to him. Very well aware that my hips sway just slightly with every movement I make. Let him watch. Let him want me even though he’s not able to have me. It’s only fair.
“You come into town once a month for a weekend, maybe twice a month at most… and you think you aren’t a mistake for a girl like me?” I question him, peeking over my shoulder just in time to see him gaze shift from my ass up to my stern gaze. He knows I’m all his. He knows I’ll bring him home and my bed will be filled with both of us tonight. This push and pull is just a game.
A game that’s going to break my heart one day. Since I gave it to Dean Andrews and he doesn’t even know. Shoot, I didn’t even know I’d done it until it was too late.
DEAN
It’s been at least four years since I first saw Lysa Hart. My father was showing me “a hole in the wall” bar he’d found. Since I was a little kid, every summer I’d gone with him in his truck for the rides during the summer. My dad’s a truck driver, my uncle, my brother. So it just made sense to me that I would be too.
I was twenty-three and I’d had my own truck for a while when my dad brought me in here four years ago. Craft beers, football games, a pool table and a small town vibe that made you feel at home. That’s what he told me it was like, but when I walked through those doors, there was only one thing that felt like home to me.