I sniffed back tears and picked another bar stool. Then I glanced around the small bar. It was nowhere I wanted to be, but a small voice in my head reminded me Grandpa would have loved it. He would have loved the old-fashioned jukebox in the corner, the red vinyl booths, and the long brass rail along the foot of the bar. My grandfather would have rapped a complicated rhythm on the worn bar with his knuckles before ordering a whiskey neat. God, I missed him so much I couldn't breathe.
At least the bar atmosphere was relaxed. The bartender seemed to know everyone except me. He talked to the handsome man on the end stool as if they had known each other forever. I bit back a scowl. It didn't matter if that was the guy’s regular stool —I disliked him just for being there and especially for daring to smile. He looked relaxed, at home, and he made my discomfort even more obvious.
Glancing up at me, the bartender asked, "What can I get you, miss?" His dark brown eyes were soft and his thick beard couldn’t hide his friendly smile.
"A whiskey, on the rocks." Maybe the ice would keep Grandpa’s drink from being too strong for me.
"Anything else?"
I shook my head, aware I was making the tangles in my hair worse.
"If you change your mind, don't be shy. Name's Andrew," he said.
"Thanks, Andrew," I mumbled, feeling his friend's electric blue eyes on me again.
The bartender moved away and left me with an open view of my reflection in the mirror. I ran my fingers through my hair and yanked out the low ponytail that had done nothing to help. Free, the tangled mess fell across my shoulders and down the rumpled front of my linen blouse.
What are you looking at? I asked my own brown eyes in the mirror.
Not much. Not only was I stranded, but even if I had a working car, my destination was only temporary. A year after my grandfather's death and I still hadn't gotten anywhere.
"Have you seen what’s happening down at the hotels?" Andrew asked his handsome friend.
"I bet there isn't an available room within fifty miles at this point," the friend said.
I stifled a groan and ducked as both men glanced over. A search on my phone had shown me websites for two hotels about three miles from The Sand Dollar, but neither one had a vacancy. I opened the search up to a ten-mile radius, but there wasn’t another hotel. At twenty-five miles, I found a bed and breakfast for sale, but it was boarded up while it waited for new management. Within fifty miles, the town of Half Moon Bay had a wider selection of hotels, but it was useless. How could I make it that far without a car?
"You in town for the big event like my friend here?" Andrew asked me.
I blinked, surprised. "No. What event? Is that why all the hotels are booked?"
Andrew looked amazed at my ignorance. "It's a great event. A big charity gala. My friend over here could tell you all about it."
I shook my head. "I have somewhere else I have to be." I snatched up my phone and did another desperate search.
"Did you try Half Moon Bay? My buddy here is partial to the Ritz-Carlton." Andrew leaned on the back counter and watched his friend and me.
"The Ritz is probably full of the kind of guests that have private drivers to bring them up to Michel's Beach," the blue-eyed man said. "Maybe one or two of the motels might have a vacancy."
I ignored him but took his suggestion. When the internet search turned up nothing, I tossed my phone down on the bar. The handsome man cleared his throat and tried to get my attention, but I wasn’t in the mood for someone like him. I knew men like him, good-looking and well aware of it. All they cared about was having an audience, and I was sure plenty of women were content to just sit and stare at him. Instead, I turned my attention to my whiskey.
Grandpa wouldn't have cared that the nearest person to talk to was too attractive to look at. By now he would have heard the blue-eyed man's whole family history, and they would have been fast on their way to becoming friends.
I looked around again, away from the handsome man. Grandpa would have turned this unfortunate detour into a happy memory. I pressed a fist hard to my heart and wished he were sitting on the barstool next to me. I finished the last sip of the whiskey and rattled the remaining ice cubes.
The swinging door from the kitchen slammed open and a murderous-looking man with a cleaver stomped to the bar. "Andrew? A word?" he barked.
"You know, I find conversations are easier to start without the giant knife, Ruiz. What do you think?" the blue-eyed man asked with a crooked smile.
"Stay out of it, Landon. You probably know the jelly-spined excuse for a customer," Ruiz snapped. "He sent the pork chop back twice. He made his wife come into the kitchen to suggest how I might cook it better. Couldn't even face me himself."
I lowered my empty glass and swallowed my request for a refill. Andrew let out a long line of curse words as he untied his apron and marched through the kitchen with the fuming chef on his heels. The door swung shut and it dawned on me that Andrew was not only the bartender but the owner of The Sand Dollar.
"Want me to get you a refill?" The blue-eyed man jumped up from his stool and slipped behind the bar with apparent ease. "I don't know if you heard, but my name is Landon."
I gave his extended hand a short shake. "Riley. I don't think you're supposed to be back there."
"It's all right, I practically own the place." He plucked the bottle of whiskey from the array of bottles in front of the mirror and started the pour close to the lip of my glass and then pulled it high into the air.
I watched the stream of whiskey hit the glass without splashing. "Seems like you're taking advantage of your friend, Landon."
He leaned both elbows on the bar and brought his face close to mine. "Are you a reporter, Riley?"
I narrowed my eyes. "No, I'm not a reporter."
"And you're not in town for the big event?"
"I'm not here for whatever big event you're talking about. Is this place even big enough for an event?"
Landon smiled and stood up, his wavy hair brushing the hanging glassware above the bar. "So you really don't know? The gala doesn't take place in town."
"People really call this a town?" I jabbed back.
Butterflies turned in my stomach as I listened to his laugh. He slipped back around the bar and took a new seat next to me. "Just passing through, huh? On your way to, what? Searching for a new job?"
"You don't think I look like I have a job?" I snapped. I didn’t know what possessed me to push him away, but it felt necessary. "That's pretty arrogant coming from a man who clearly doesn't have a regular job himself."
The insult backfired as Landon laughed again. "You're right. I don't have a regular job, or any job for that matter. So, you don't want to talk about work. How about you tell me why you’re choking down whiskey? Doesn't seem like your drink."
I winced as I swallowed another sip of the brown liquid. "Fine. I'm drinking it to honor my grandfather's memory. He died a year ago today."
Landon grabbed the bottle he had left on the bar and poured himself a shot. "Then here's to your grandfather. Tell me about him."
I accepted the knock of his shot glass against mine and found it was easy to think of something to say after I had another bracing sip of whiskey. "He would have liked this bar."