After I got to San Francisco, I called Christiano and told him I’d bought an old bar that had been closed down for a year, thanks to the horrifying recession taking it under. I explained to him that the loan went through and now all I had to do was paint it to renovate, and get a new sign. He didn’t say anything at first. I waited until he finally whispered, “So permanent.”
“No, it’s an investment. Remember what I told you? It’s easy to sell a thriving business for a profit. And I’ll have the experience under my belt and can open up a place in Italy if I come back.”
“When you come back,” he corrected.
We sat in silence, as we did so often when we talked on the phone. “I need to do something on my own. Why can’t you understand that?”
“I let you go, didn’t I?” His voice was tired. “I miss you, bella.”
With a heavy heart, I admitted, “I miss you, too.”
That was six months ago.
Tonight, I give two glasses of Sam Adams to a nice couple on a date, and take their cash. This is definitely their first date, and she hates beer but isn’t telling him that, yet. I can see it in her eyes when I hand it to her.
This is my bar, and even though it hasn’t found its stride… it’s mine. All mine. I did it. Now I’m just praying I can make it successful.
Smiling to myself, I head back to refill Barbara’s already empty glass. Hell, she might be able to keep this place afloat on her own. “You want another, Barb?”
“Do kids love cake?”
I chuckle and pour as she holds out her hand, bracelets jingling.
“Let me see a picture of this Italian boy of yours.”
I pull up his photo on my phone, the one I took the weekend we went to Venice. “Here he is.”
“Ooooooo. Look at him!”
I smile, leaning in to look at it, too. “Yeah. He’s not hard on the eyes.”
“How long have you been dating him?” Her eyes stay glued to the screen taking in his olive skin, dark hair and deep brown eyes. She starts to scroll for more pictures, but I grab it from her before she finds something naked.
“I met him right after I got there. He took me in. So, four and half years? Yeah.” I lean on the counter to make way for Manny loading up the refrigerator with more bottles of beer. “But we’re not dating anymore. I told him while I’m gone, he should date other people.” It hurts just saying it.
Her perfectly-lined eyebrows go up. “And here I thought you were smart.”
I stare at her. She’s mirroring exactly the same thing I’ve been thinking, and it’s unnerving to have your doubts stare back at you. Or is it just the nerves of financial uncertainty that has me doubting?
And if I really want to see Brendan, then why haven’t I contacted him yet? I know where he works. It’s pretty much common knowledge that Brendan is the Creative Director for the biggest advertising agency in the city. But what am I going to do, call up his assistant and say, hi. I think I’m in love with your boss. Is he in?
But thinking of him now, the memory of his eyes looking into mine, makes me feel more certain that I have to find out. This feeling hasn’t gone away in five long years. I have to make it go away, even if that means getting hurt all over again.
Chapter Eighteen
Brendan
Mark: heartbroken. Me: Over it.
I look at Mark’s sad sack of a face and shake my head. “We’ve gotta get you out of the house.” He doesn’t move off the couch. He looks up at me like I’m saying it’s time for your colonoscopy now.
“I’m fine,” he mutters, unconvincingly looking away.
I walk to the coat rack and grab his jacket, walk back and toss it at his long face. “Seriously. Get up. We’re getting drunk.”
Mark grabs the jacket and holds it to his lap. He and I have been roommates ever since he asked me to move in, after we graduated college. I have never seen him like this over some woman. It’s pathetic. He reaches for the clicker, but I lean down and grab it first.
“Oh no you don’t.” I hold it in the air. “I’m not watching Real Housewives of Alaska one more time.”
This draws a smile out of him. He jokes, “But I want to see if Alice was able to ice fish with her husband still banging the maid.” As if he’d ever watch that show.
“We’ll record it. And then we’ll get you some lipstick and a bra.” I chuckle. “Now come on.”
I grab my own jacket while Mark slides his arms through his, following. I don’t know how you can get so hung up on a woman who’s all the way in New York. Secretly, I think that’s why he’s this gone over her – because of the distance. It can’t be because he’s in love. He just met her. That doesn’t happen.
Mark locks up and we head for the street, taking the stairs down from the penthouse. We moved into this loft a year ago, as soon as the contractors put the finishing touches on it with walls that separate the bedrooms, and an office for me. “Hey, have you ever taken the elevator?” I ask him, throwing a questioning look his way as I shove my hands inside my jacket pockets to keep warm. It’s gotten chilly now that fall is descending into winter.
His voice echoes as our steps noisily clamor down the stairs. “Only when we moved the furniture in.”
“Oh yeah. That was a good day.” I open the staircase exit and step out into The Mission District, our neighborhood.
“Yeah,” he mutters, his thoughts still somewhere else. I toss him a glance, but he doesn’t catch the worried look behind my sneer. “Don’t say it.”
“You’re going soft of me.”
“You said it.”
“I did.”
We walk side by side, looking ahead, but I’m the only one who’s really here. He’s three thousand miles away, as he has been for the past month and change. The bite of the wind nips at my face and I hold back a shiver. I don’t know where we’re headed, but we’ll probably find one of the old haunts. The second I think that, I feel irritated, like I need something new.
I’m tired of running into the same old faces and we’ve gotten too comfortable, just like everybody else. The routine has become… routine. I’m not happy. I haven’t been in a long time, but it’s only begun to sneak into my consciousness. This feeling has been pulling at me, like something is missing from my life.
I need something. And I don’t know what it is.
If I’m going to get my heartbroken buddy back on track, I’m going to have to change the scenery… turn this train around to a different route. As we pass by Mission Bar, he says nothing, but when I pass Knockout, he turns to go in and double-takes when he sees me not following.
His eyebrows aren’t any more shoved together than they have been for the past four weeks, but there’s confusion in his eyes now. “Where you headed? What’s up?” He stands by the door with his hand on the handle.
I stop and look up at the sign, so familiar. I can even see Teri inside smiling at one of her friends. Teri’s always a great time and can your mind off anything. I’m very tempted to just say Fuck it. Open the door. But something inside, stops me. I step back instead, pulled by an urge I can’t quite put my finger on. “Let’s go someplace new. We need to change things up.”
Mark’s eyebrows go up and I think I see relief. He releases the door and walks back in line with me, moving away from same old same old, with less weight in his stride. “Where dya wanna go?” he asks.
I look around. “I don’t know. Let’s walk until we find a place. Anything to get that ugly mug of yours to stop looking so damned pathetic.”
He scoffs, replacing relief with frustration. “You don’t get it, Brendan.”
“I don’t get what? That you think you’re in love? Oh, I get it! You think walking around like this is the way to handle being dumped? Let me tell you, there is no woman so amazing that you throw away a month of your time dragging your feet around when the best thing that’s ever happened to you is finally here.”
“What?” He looks at me like he doesn’t know what I’m
talking about.
“Unbelievable!” I stare at him. Still nothing. I smack him in the shoulder. “Hello! You’ve got investors financing your app! Or they’re interested, at least. You’re sitting on a gold mine. You’re going to be able to quit your job and be self-sustaining! I mean, COME ON! I’m sorry, but I would be pretty fucking stoked right about now.”
He looks everywhere else but at me. He’s listening though. And he must hear the sense I’m making, because if he didn’t, he’d just tell me to shut the fuck up. We walk awhile in silence until he says, “How about that place?”
I follow the jut of his chin to see a small lounge bar, painted black, with a big window that runs floor to ceiling. I check out the metal sign. “Le Barré? Huh. Must be new.”
He nods. “They used Atlas. I like it.”
I step into the street. “Please tell me you’re not talking about fonts again.” He smirks and I mutter, shaking my head, “Dweeb.”
We cross the street and I hold open the door for him. “Since you’re being such a girl, allow me.”
“Shut it,” he mutters.
“If it’ll make you happy, dear.” I close the door and follow him in. A new place. Huh. I don’t know why, but my blood quickens as soon as we walk into the dark room.
It feels like something is about to happen…
Chapter Nineteen
Annie
Mind: relaxed. Body: same. Foot: tapping to the song Can’t Hold Us by Macklemore and & Ryan Lewis. Hips: bouncing.
With his hands soapy and wet from the sink, Manny gives me another glass to dry. I take it, smoothing the cloth napkin around it, lost in my own world, boppin’ to the beat. It’s the little things that make me feel good doing my job – the simple act of washing glasses, wiping tables after we’re closed, placing the order for more liquor with my suppliers. It’s an amazing feeling to have opened my own business… to not have to work for anyone else. I have no idea how I’m going to get it in the black, but hopefully something will happen soon.
I wish I were better at social media. I didn’t spend a lot of time on a computer in Italy, that’s for sure. There’s too much beauty outside to be stuck staring at a screen indoors. Now I’m kicking myself for not making time for it. It just never came up. Why would it? People actually get together in person there. With the friends we had, we didn’t keep in touch over the Internet. Instead, we had dinner parties. Met people in town for espresso and lively conversation. Took day trips to surrounding towns. It was nice. Who am I kidding? It was more than nice.
Still, I’m glad I came back. Aside from my secret desire to find Brendan Clark, I really needed to do something on my own. It had been eating at me for a while. Christiano’s life became my life. His friends became my friends.
Who am I without him? I still don’t know. But moments like these help, where I’m tending to my own thing… even if that’s expressed simply by shining a glass, I’m defining life for myself. Going where I want to go. Creating something that’s of value to me. Learning how to stand on my own without leaning on anyone.
Manny hands me another glass as the front door opens. I’m busy humming to myself and shining away spots. Barb, sitting on the other side of the bar from us, turns around to see. She’s eternally up for drama, narrating people often as they walk through the door. Miss Congeniality Club coming atcha! Get the vodka cranberries ready. Soccer must be missing a couple moms. Break out the expensive white wine! College kids ready to flunk out. Make sure the kegs are full because these guys won’t spring for bottled!
We enjoy the hell out of her.
I’m ready for the lowdown on our newest arrivals, smiling as I look down, shining the glass and waiting. Tap-tap-tapping on the bar with her long red nails, she purrs, “Ooooo. Two super hunks just strolled in like the world is their oyster. I’ve got a pearl they can discover.” She turns her head to me. “Let me tell you!”
Chuckling, I look over to see what the fuss is all about. My eyes nearly fall out of my head when I see Brendan Fucking Clark and Jerkoff Mark, all grown up and filled out, standing by the door.
CRASH.
Just before Brendan sees me, I drop to the ground, picking up the broken glass. “Oh my God oh my God oh my God!”
Manny is looking at them. “Who’s that?”
I grab his leg and start pounding on it. “Stop staring!” He kicks me off, tells me the coast is clear with a jerk of his finger. I hesitate and look at Barb who’s got one eyebrow up, curious as fuck. I mean, wow. It’s like I’ve gone back in time. The hot flush of excitement has spread into me just like it used to. My heart quickly remembers how to pound like a jackhammer on crack cocaine as if not a day has passed.
She leans in and quietly asks, “Do you really want whoever that is to see you on the ground like that?”
I rise slowly and toss the glass shards into the trash, taking the opportunity to toss a glance to the right to give him a quick inspection. His shoulders are wider now. The baby fat is gone and his face is chiseled, the lines of his cheekbones angular and pronounced. His forehead is still pressed in on itself, eternally thoughtful just like I remember. And those deep blue eyes of his are just as I remember, too. The two of them mount barstools on the far end of the bar like cowboys would horses.
Oh man. I’m in trouble.
“Give me another glass to shine.”
Manny hands one to me. He bends to pick up the rest of the broken glass.
“Wait! Go get them a drink.”
From the ground, he looks at me with surprise. “I don’t know how to make drinks.”
“They probably want beer! You know how to pour, right?!” He stands up, looking nervous. “Go! Please. Thank you!” He shrugs like here goes nothin’ and heads away to help his first customers.
Barb is eyeing me, but I don’t even know she exists until, “What’s going on with you, honey?”
“Nothing.” I turn around to hide my face. What am I going to do? I can’t run. I’m the only one tending bar tonight since it’s a slow middle-of-the-week shift. Who would serve these people? Shit! I’m trapped. Oh God.
I quickly cross to two Silicon Valley-types, but I hardly see them because my eyes keep sneaking to the right. “Have you guys decided yet?”
The one with the too long, curly blonde hair asks, “Do you use fresh mint in your Mojitos?” He’s trying to look hip and maybe like a surfer but he ain’t quite there.
“It’s not a Mojito if I don’t, now is it?”
They glance at each other. “Of course. Sorry. We’ll have those.”
The other quickly adds, “Please.”
I wince. Great way to run a business, Annie. “I’m sorry. I have a problem with sarcasm. I’m seeing a doctor about it.”
Shaking my head at my own crushed nerves, I nip tiny mint leaves off their stems into a shaker. I called Brendan an idiot the last time I saw him. And the night before that, we’d gotten into the worst fight. This will not be a happy reunion. Scooping in ice and adding rum, plus a couple packets of Sugar In The Raw, I look over again, quickly.
What if he still hates me? He’d said he wanted to stay far away from me. Then why did he run down the stairs that day I left?
Maybe I’m about to find out.
I give the shaker a good toss, staring at nothing. What is he going to say when he recognizes me? I drain the concoction into a couple glasses with a flourish, squirt in a splash of soda water from the gun, and slide limes on the rims. I can’t believe this is happening tonight. Will he leave, as soon as he recognizes me?
Handing the computer guys their drinks, I’m on autopilot. Same goes for getting the credit card - it’s all a haze. The short-haired, quieter one smiles after the first sip. “This is really good.”
“You like it?” I’m doing anything I can to postpone the inevitable. Because part of me wants to slide down the bar on my stomach stopping just in front of Brendan Clark with a grin on my face, hands cupped under my chin, my eyelashes fluttering as I ask, See
anything good?
I’m guessing that wouldn’t go over too well.
“Uh…Yeah. It’s a really good Mojito.”
“Do you need anything else? I could get you something else. Two more maybe?”
The guys stare. I stare. It is AWKWARD.
“We should probably finish these first. But then yeah, maybe.”
“Dammit,” I mutter as I leave. Their eyebrows go up.
With each step I take to Brendan, everything fades away more and more except him and the cacophonic pounding of my heart. There’s also a single, solitary voice in my head screaming, RUN.
Chapter Twenty
Brendan
Hand: closing the door to Le Barré. Eyes: adjusting to the light. Patience with Mark’s heartbreak: shot to shit.
Standing beside Mark just inside, we take it in. “Nice place. I like the décor. Simple, but enough.”
He looks around. “It’s got a fair share of people in here, too.”
“I bet the owner doesn’t think that. How many are you guessing?”
Mark does a quick head count. “Eighteen?”
I’m in marketing. Numbers are everything. And eighteen, even on a weeknight, isn’t enough to keep a new place afloat.
“He’ll need more than that if he wants to stay open.”
His tone is flat and distant. “You’re the expert.” I’ve lost him again.
Smacking him hard on the shoulder, I say, “You’re a bundle of joy to be around, you know that? You’re hurting my game with that face, by the way. You’re supposed to be my wing man!”
“The bar?”
What is up with this guy? He’s a shell of himself.
“Yeah, dufus. The bar. What… do you wanna cuddle up in a booth together? I could hold your hand.”
Lying Hearts (Hearts Series Book 1) Page 8