by Lynn Rae
“She’s busy helping me, for one,” Grandma spoke up as she took the box of swizzle sticks and slid them to the discard side of the table. “And you’re working on that video for that nice-looking man.”
June winced as she reached in the cabinet again. Just as she’d feared, her brother went in for more teasing.
“Nice-looking? Out of your league then.”
The belittling put-down didn’t hurt as much as she’d expected it to. June considered telling Simon she was helping the man who’d broken his arm, but that was crueler than she wanted to be. As she dismissed the idea, she realized she didn’t really want to hold it against Nate anymore. Why should she? Simon could manage his own grudges, and she could enjoy her time with a funny, attractive man with no guilt. Simon could barely be bothered to remember where she worked. He’d never expend the energy on keeping track of something that had happened to her in high school.
June wished Simon would grab some empty boxes and go pack up some of his stuff so she and Grandma could work in peace, but he just lurked and glared at everything. Ignoring her brother, she pulled a heavy, paper-wrapped cylinder from the china cabinet. Hopefully, they’d be done with the dining room before lunch, and she could make arrangements for pickup.
“What’s in that?” Simon asked as he pushed himself away from the wall and leaned his elbows on the crowded dining room table.
“I don’t remember, and it’s not because I’m getting senile.” Grandma Rhonda scooted forward in her chair to watch as June stood up from her crouch on the floor and deposited the bundle on the last clear part of the table. “Better unwrap it and make sure it isn’t some treasure. Pirate booty from old Blackbeard Sinclair.”
“I get half,” Simon said. June shot him a look he didn’t notice. She pulled the paper off in a torn spiral to reveal an old beer stein filled with long-handled, silver iced tea spoons.
“What the hell, Grandma? Why the fu—why do you have all these?”
June ignored Simon and inspected the stein. It was dull and dented pewter, and the spoons filling it were of various patterns. Some even had the names of faraway-sounding hotels engraved on the handles. She pulled out a spoon, and the germ of an idea took root.
“Gran, may I have these?”
“Sure you can, Junie pie. Can’t imagine the auction place would even want them.”
“Where did you find them?”
Grandma Rhonda shifted in her chair and glanced at the chandelier. “My cousin in Columbus gave them to me years ago. His dad was a Fuller Brush man with sticky fingers.”
“How much are they worth?” Simon spoke up, and June wanted to tell him to shut up and leave them alone.
“Probably about a dollar, Simon. Here, let me reimburse you your half.” June stood up, clutching the container to her chest, and left the dining room to find her wallet. She shoved the spoons and stein down in her bag and pulled out two quarters.
Returning to the dining room, she held up the fifty cents so her brother could see. With an aggravated smack, she slapped them down on the dining room table in front of him. It felt good to push back against him. She rarely did for fear he’d retaliate, but today she’d had enough.
Pocketing the money with a smirk, Simon narrowed his eyes. “What the hell are you going to do with those anyway?”
“None of your business.”
“Children, please.” Grandma rose up from her seat, shaking her head. “I’ve done enough today. Let’s go have some iced tea.”
June followed her family out of the dining room and into the kitchen. Looking at the familiar stove, refrigerator, and cooking utensils reminded her of Nate Garner, and she wondered what he was doing at the moment.
* * * *
Where was June? Nate hadn’t heard from her all day. He’d consulted the schedule she’d given him, and although they had nothing on tap until tomorrow, it still felt as if he should have seen her or at least gotten a call or text. She was probably busy with her family. Or a boyfriend.
It was a quiet night at the bar, which was probably why he thought about her so much. His mother was in the antiquated kitchen in the back, making them bologna sandwiches, and he was scrubbing the railings in order to keep himself occupied. Bert was at his usual perch, and perfectly self-sufficient, with his bottle of beer; and the two couples at a table had ordered a pitcher, so they were likely to be occupied for a while. If things didn’t pick up, he might head home early depending on his mom’s frame of mind. It would make up for his not-so-solitary evening the night before.
Cousin Ted came out of the bathroom area with push bucket and damp mop in hand, looking put upon. They’d flipped for cleaning jobs, and Nate had won bar duty while Ted drew the short straw and had to deal with the less glamorous: patron toilets and sinks. Nate tried not to smirk as Ted plodded to the back to dump the bucket of water where he’d likely complain to his mother about how disgusting people were.
Nate’s phone rang from its hiding place under the cash register, and he snagged it up. Rather than Becky, Heather, Tiny, or any of the usual suspects, the caller was June Sinclair. It was the first time she’d ever called, and he couldn’t ignore the warmth tickling along his veins. He answered before it rang a second time.
“Hi, Nate. Are you busy? Am I interrupting?”
“Not busy at all.” Also, not hoping you’d call. Nate wondered what it was called when you lied to yourself—delusions or denial?
“I just wanted to let you know I’m about done with editing.”
Nate pulled out the well-worn shooting schedule and checked it. She’d blocked off a few hours the next day for “as needed,” which they apparently weren’t going to need after all.
“Are you sure you don’t need some more footage? I could sharpen a knife or something.”
“It actually looks pretty good.” She made an uncertain sound.
“I’m working at the bar right now. You could come down and film me pouring drinks.” Yes, he was that desperate.
“I don’t know, it’s pretty late.” June’s voice wavered.
“It’s not late, it’s barely after nine.”
“I guess I’m still thinking it’s a school night.” He detected a hint of humor in her tone, and he wondered if he had her. Well, he didn’t have her like he thought he wanted her, but maybe he was getting closer. If she’d just flirt with him a little, he’d know he could make a move.
“It’s not a school night, Jonesy. Step outside your comfort zone and come to a dive bar on a Wednesday night.”
“You have no idea what my comfort zone is.” June put some vinegar in her tone. “Do you really work in a dive bar?”
“Don’t tell my mother.” Nate smiled at the world. Bert blinked and smiled back.
“I won’t.” June made an indecisive sound. “All right, give me the address, and I’ll come by. It might be good to have another few seconds of you doing something dramatic.”
Nate wasn’t sure how dramatic pulling beers and wiping counters were, but if it got June within ten feet of him, he’d ham it up for all he was worth. He told her his location, and she sounded like she’d at least heard of the place, so he was reassured she’d get there with no problems.
While he waited, he ate half of a fried-bologna sandwich slathered in yellow mustard and carried three bins of empty bottles to the recycle bin behind the bar. When he came in from the last load, he saw her as she opened the front door. June glanced around as if she was worried she’d be caught up in debauchery as soon as she entered. He beckoned for her to come in, and she made her way over to the bar to take a seat. As she rummaged in her bag for the camera, he asked what she wanted, but she shook her head.
“Nothing for me. I’m driving.”
“I can make you some decaf, or get you a soft drink.” Nate didn’t know how someone would be able to sit at a bar and not have something liquid in front of them. It was unnatural. June propped her camera up in front of her face.
“How about you make some drin
k with a cocktail shaker and some garnish? But leave out the alcohol.”
Nate nodded and proceeded to mix up a virgin piña colada, his least favorite drink on the planet. It was an eye-catching presentation, however. He poured pineapple juice and coconut cream, added crushed ice, shook it up, and filled a curvy glass all while she filmed him. As he slid it her way along the bar top, she shifted the camera angle to the glass and focused in tight before shutting it off and lowering it.
“Try it.” Nate was curious how it would taste without rum, but he loathed coconut cream enough that he knew he’d never take a sip.
June raised her eyebrows and tilted her head away from it. “Is that a piña colada? I’m sorry, but I just can’t.”
He asked her why not, and she twitched her shoulders as she used one finger to push at the base of the glass and move it farther away. “It’s not my thing. I know you’re a chef and love everything under the sun, but-” she paused and leaned his way as she caught his gaze with her own. Nate gladly moved closer, “I don’t like coconut. I’m sorry, I know you made it for me, and it’s rude of me not to drink it, but I’m afraid of what I might do afterward.”
She swallowed as one of her hands crept to her middle. Nate very carefully moved the glass farther away before picking it up and ceremoniously dumping it down the sink. So, besides speaking English and being from Ohio, he and Jonesy had a dislike of coconut in common. June smiled with relief, and he grinned back at her, enjoying their mutual distaste.
“Did you mess up a drink or something?” His mother’s voice startled him, and he turned to find her standing behind him with her hands on her hips as she scowled while glancing between him and the dripping glass.
“No, I was just—”
“He made it perfectly, I just asked for the wrong thing. Of course I’ll pay for it since it was my mistake,” June broke in, a worried line on her forehead. She dug into her bag and pulled out a wallet as Nate reached out to halt her momentum by circling his fingers around her wrist.
“June, it’s okay. June Sinclair, meet my mom, Patty Garner.”
After gaping for a moment, June slid her wrist away from his grip and reached toward his mother to shake her hand, which the older woman did with a hint of hesitation.
“So, you’re the school secretary,” his mother said.
“She’s administrative support.” Nate broke in and watched as the corner of June’s mouth quirked up. “She does scheduling and attendance.”
His mother inclined her head as if she was unimpressed by the distinction. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here before.”
June shook her head and glanced at him. Nate realized she was probably confused by his mother’s presence behind the bar.
“This is my mom’s place; it belonged to her dad, my grandpa,” Nate explained.
“Jeez, Nate, you don’t have to explain that your mother’s father would be your grandpa.” His mother rolled her eyes. Embarrassed she’d pointed out his oversight in front of June, Nate took a deep breath and told himself to relax. These weren’t high stakes. He was just standing behind the bar of his family business, with his mother at his elbow, and June watching with her kind, caramel eyes.
Chapter 6
June wasn’t sure what to say to alleviate the tension she sensed between Nate and his mother. She’d felt bad for rejecting the drink he’d made for her, and now his mother had belittled him. June had met parents like this before. They were so accustomed to using negativity and criticism as their means of interacting with their children, that they didn’t notice how awful it made everyone else feel.
Nate’s normally expressive face was carefully blank as he gripped a bar towel and didn’t meet her eyes. His broad shoulders were tight.
“It’s a very nice place, Mrs. Garner. You’re right, I’ve never been in here, and I have no idea why I’ve waited so long.” June put on her best sincere smile. The older woman’s bright pink lips twisted. Mrs. Garner had passed on her blue eyes and thick, dark hair to her son, but Nate had somehow avoided the older woman’s sour attitude.
“I have a pretty good idea why you’re here.”
June decided not to be offended by the implication. “We just wanted to get a bit more footage for Nate’s audition. It’s turning out very well. Your son is very charismatic on camera.”
Nate finally stopped strangling the bar towel and gave her a glance from those intense blue eyes. What did she see in his expression? Appreciation? Curiosity? Confusion?
“He’s certainly charismatic enough to attract wannabe girlfriends,” Patty said, her insult as obvious as the crystal-encrusted necklace she wore. Nate narrowed his eyes and tightened his lips.
June made a show of turning on her stool and surveying the nearly empty room. She listened to parents blaming everything from the car’s dead battery, to gremlins in the alarm clock, to justify tardiness and absences. She could certainly counter the snippy comments of one woman with big hair.
“I’m sure wannabes are good for business.” Nate’s mother blinked. June didn’t want to get into a disagreement with the woman within five minutes of meeting her, but her urge to praise Nate was both compelling and confusing.
Patty glanced around the quiet bar and shrugged her shoulders. “It’s a slow night. Usually he has flashy girls lined up on all these stools.”
Nate’s mom made chopping gestures at the empty seats. June didn’t know if the other woman was bragging about her son’s appeal, denigrating women in general, or pointing out, in a not-so-subtle way, June was not at all flashy. It didn’t matter to her what the older woman was driving at. She wasn’t going along for the trip.
“Mrs. Garner, would you like to see Nate’s audition when I’ve finished it?” Nate gave her an anguished look, and she wondered what she’d said wrong. His mother just looked at her like she’d started speaking in tongues. Perhaps this was a sore subject.
“I guess.” The older woman sounded reluctant, and she even took a step back. “I’ve got to take a look over that liquor shipment that came in this afternoon. I’m sure someone at the distributorship is shorting me. Call me if you need anything.”
With that, the woman turned on her patent-leather, wedge heel and walked away. June let out a pent-up breath and glanced around the neighborhood bar. It looked like a relic from the nineteen fifties, with its bright red Naugahyde seats, maple paneling on every surface, and buzzing neon beer signs plugged into every outlet. She’d already had a stressful day packing up with her grandmother and listening to her brother’s barbs. Coming to this bar, only to end up antagonizing Nate’s mother, made her regret her impulse to get out of the house.
Nate’s shoulders slumped, and he let out a sigh, too. June watched him as he turned her way and rubbed his hand in his hair like he had a sudden and severe headache.
“I still haven’t managed to get you a drink.”
“And you call yourself a bartender.” June tried to joke. Thankfully, he didn’t take it the wrong way but simply nodded and held out his hands as if ready to work. “Could I have some juice? Whatever you have available.”
“Now you asked for it.” With a devilish grin, he grabbed a cocktail glass from the rack overhead and a shaker from below the bar. She watched him pour orange juice, pineapple juice, and peach nectar over ice, shake it, and then pour the bright gold mixture into the glass. He finished it with a shot of seltzer, a wedge of lime, and then handed it over.
June took a sip and then a drink. It was deliciously light and fruity, and the rim of foam at the top from the shaking and the seltzer was a fun touch. She gave him a thumbs-up, and he smiled wide enough to treat her to that dimple again. Something warm and fluttery shifted in her belly, and June warned herself, yet again, to ease back from him.
She was sure he had a girlfriend, because, why wouldn’t he? She was also about ninety percent sure his friend Heather was filling that role, or was close to claiming it, and June had never been the sort of woman to entice a man away fro
m someone else. Her range of enticements was rather limited, and she didn’t like to squander them. No sense becoming a wannabe, not-so-flashy girl, wasting away on a stool at this bar, or the diner, hoping for a kind glance from Nate Garner.
She watched Nate as he made his way down the bar and talked with an older man seated at the other end, before he ambled back to her, bar towel still clenched in his hand. The drink was delicious, but she wasn’t sure why she was still sitting there. She should take her footage and get home to do some more editing. Her mission to get out of the house had been accomplished.
Nate asked how she liked her drink, and she assured him it was delicious. The compliment restored his usual easy grin, and June decided to see if she could get him to really smile.
“I like it in here. This would make a great gastropub.” The stuck-in-time decor and furnishings would appeal to folks looking for something unique from a menu. “You could come up with a lot of great spins on appetizers, do sort of a tapas thing.”
Nate’s eyebrows flew up, and he let out a breath. “Really? I never thought about that before.”
He glanced around as if assessing its potential. “I’d have to totally renovate the kitchen, and space is tight back there, work out a menu, buy supplies, but…my mom would never go for it.”
June kept quiet, not willing to aggravate the situation she’d sensed between mother and son. Nate seemed to feel the same way since he shook his head once and refocused on her rather than continuing to envision menus, stoves, plates, and all the work it would take to create a restaurant.
“So, do you have any problems you’d care to tell me about?”
“Oh, that’s right, I’m supposed to confess to the friendly, neighborhood barkeep.” Oh, she had problems all right, but none she was willing to reveal.
“Absolutely. Think of me as a therapist. Or a priest.”
Looking at Nate didn’t put her in mind of either celibacy or professional restraint. “So, you’ll keep everything in confidence?”