Waiting on You

by Kristan Higgins

"Hallo, Tom," she returned. Loved that accent. "How are the wedding plans?"

  "I've no idea, really. Girly stuff, don't you think? I'll just be glad to be married."

  "I don't know. Levi here obsessed over napkin colors for his wedding, didn't you, bub?" Levi gave her a tolerant look, and she messed up his hair fondly. "What can I get you, boys?"

  "I'll have a beer," Levi said.

  "We have seventeen different microbrews," she said. "You'll have to be more specific."

  "Dazzle me."

  "Will do. Whiskey for you, mate?" She winked at Tom.

  "I'll have a beer as well, Colleen, and you've already dazzled me."

  "Oh!" she said, putting her hands over her heart. "Levi, why can't you be more like Tom?"

  "I'm more the strong, silent type. Also, I'm about to kill myself over these plans," he said.

  "Oh, are those the blueprints for the thing?" she asked, tilting her head so she could see better.

  "The public safety building, Coll," Levi said. "Your tax dollars at work."

  "I voted against that," she murmured, then smiled at him. "I didn't. Faith would've killed me. I'm a huge supporter of all of you goofballs, right, Gerard?"

  "Anything you say, Colleen," he said, smiling at her.

  "I say you should go out with Lorelei, that's what I say. She's an amazing baker, she's nice and she could reform you. And you know how much you need reforming, Gerard."

  "Yes, master," he said.

  "That's what I like to hear." She pulled Tom and Levi their beers (Empire Cream Ale for Tom, Blue Point Toasted Lager for Levi), and slid them down the bar, where they stopped two inches from Levi's elbow. A life skill to be sure. "You treating my friend well, Chief?" she asked.

  "Very well," he answered.

  "Would you say multiply well? If you know what I'm saying?"

  "I think we all know what you're saying, Colleen." He gave her his famed crinkling forehead look. "And yes."

  "And you, Tom?" she asked. "Is Honor multiply happy? Hmm?"

  "What do you think, darling?" he answered, his grin widening.

  "I like your confidence. Just don't get smug."

  "Colleen," Connor yelled from the kitchen. "Stop harassing the customers."

  "Is anyone feeling harassed?" she asked the bar at large.

  A chorus of denials went up from her peeps.

  Slipping under the bar, she went into the kitchen, where Brother Dear was hard at work. "What bug is up your ass this time?" she asked.

  "Did you know Mom was at the hospital the other night?" he said, flipping the vegetable tempura around in the basket.

  "What? Oh, that. Singles Nude Modeling. Yeah, I was there."

  "Jesus, Coll. Nude modeling? Did Mom--"

  "Listen. She needs a hobby."

  "She sent some guy to the E.R. with a heart attack."

  "Happens to the best of us."

  He gave her a long-suffering look, which she happily returned until Hannah came into the kitchen. "Cheeseburger, medium rare, blue cheese, bacon, mayo--"

  "Speaking of heart attacks," Colleen murmured.

  "Sweet potato fries, Caesar salad with chicken, nachos grande, salmon cakes and the pasta special," Hannah continued, then bustled back out. Connor's memory was the stuff of legend.

  "Out of my kitchen," he said.

  "You'll miss me," she answered, pushing through the doors. She slid back behind the bar, got Lorena Iskin another Manhattan without being asked, smiled at Cathy and Louise, who always only had one drink, refilled Jessica Dunn's Chardonnay (on the house, Jess was nice) and turned to check on Tom and Levi.

  Lucas was sitting two stools down from them.

  Damn. She didn't need this. He'd gotten her all...stirred up at the hospital the other day, being all holier-than-thou. So irritating, so judgmental. So...hot...gorgeous...delicious... Crikey. White oxford shirts were so underrated. His sleeves were rolled up a few times, and his olive skin made her want to take a bite. Those hands...oh, she remembered those hands, yessirree. Those were gifted hands, hard and strong and yet so gentle...and so smart, always knowing exactly where to--

  He was looking at her. A corner of his mouth lifted, as if knowing just how tight her special places were becoming.

  Time to bring him down a little. She flashed Tom a smile and leaned down in front of him, giving him a view of her magnificent boobage. "How's that beer, Tommy?"

  "Cover the goods, please," he said, shielding his eyes. "Engaged to another, hate to break your heart."

  Shit, yes, what was she thinking? She jolted upright. "Sorry. So, how are things, you...um, you handsome Irishman?"

  Tom flinched. "British, darling. Please."

  "Yeah, I knew that," she muttered, glancing at Lucas. "And, Levi, you big strong, gun-toting lawman, you." Ack.

  "Don't say that ever again," he said mildly.

  "Oh, shush. I'm trying to flirt."

  "Why?"

  "Life skill."

  "Is it, though?" His forehead crinkled at her.

  "Bite me, Levi. You guys need some food?"

  "I need another architect is what I need," Levi muttered, rustling the blueprints.

  "Mind if I take a look?" Lucas asked.

  Levi looked over. "Oh, hey," he said. "You went to school with us for a while, didn't you? I'm Levi Cooper. Chief of police here in Manningsport."

  Lucas shook his hand. "Lucas Campbell. Bryce Campbell's cousin."

  "Right, right. Good to see you. This is my brother-in-law, Tom. Well, almost my brother-in-law. He's marrying my wife's sister in a few weeks."

  "Hallo, mate," Tom said, shaking hands, as well. Lucas moved down to look at the blueprints.

  Great. Three beautiful men, all in a row. Two spoken for, one...not.

  "Are you an architect?" Levi asked.

  Lucas shook his head. "A building projects manager out in Chicago."

  "Oh, yeah? What kind of buildings?"

  "Skyscrapers, hospitals, that kind of thing."

  Annie, one of the new summer hires, came behind the bar with a menu for Lucas, her pad in her other hand. "Hi," she breathed, and Colleen envisioned the girl's ovaries exploding. "Can I get you anything?"

  Lucas smiled. Annie staggered.

  "Go clean the bathroom, Annie," Colleen said sweetly. "I'll take care of Lucas. He and I are old friends." She folded her arms under her chest. "Lucas, can I get you something to drink? Would you like to see a menu? Or are you meeting someone?" Yes. Pretend he was just another customer, as unthreatening as Reverend Fisk, who was eighty-nine years old.

  "I'm meeting Bryce," he said. "But I'll have a beer."

  "Absolutely. What kind, hon? We have Sixpoint Harbinger, Southern Tier IPA, Sly Fox O'Reilly's Stout, Empire Cream Ale, Naked Dove Bock, Blue Point Toasted Lager, Cooper's Cave IPA, Victory Donnybrook Irish Stout, Stone Vertical Epic, Captain Lawrence Brink Brown, Ithaca Flower Power IPA, Dogfish Head Immort Ale, Sly Fox Maibock, Bud, Bud Light, Miller, Miller Lite, Coors, Coors Light, Corona, Stella, and, in honor of our New York heritage, Genesee."

  Her regulars applauded, as they always did, when she recited the beer list in one breath.

  "I'll take the Dogfish," he said.

  "Coming up."

  She went over to the beer taps and filled the glass halfway, then filled the rest with 7Up.

  "Enjoy," she said, putting it in front of him.

  He took a sip, choked a little, then swallowed. "You like it?" she asked. "Limited release."

  He raised an eyebrow. His phone beeped with a text, and he glanced at it and sighed. "Bryce ditch you?" she guessed.

  "As a matter of fact, yes," he said.

  "Well, then. Don't let me keep you. Nighty-night." She gave him her best smile.

  His eyes narrowed. "Actually, I may as well stay for dinner."

  "Join us, mate," Tom said, the traitor. Just couldn't trust those Brits; had the War of 1812 taught nothing?

  Fine. That was fine. Colleen slapped a menu on the bar. "No nee
d," Lucas said, nodding at the chalkboard (which she'd written out that very afternoon, complete with an adorable stick figure lifting a pint). "I'll take the burger special."

  It was pretty fantastic--an all-Angus beef burger with herbed goat cheese from the Mennonite farm up the Hill, native tomatoes and Vidalia onion on an English muffin and served with an arugula salad and Con's famed sweet-potato fries. As her brother's guinea pig with all house specials, Colleen had it for lunch. It was almost as good as sex.

  "I'll have that as well, please, Colleen," Tom said.

  "Make it three," Levi added.

  She smiled oh so pleasantly. "Coming up, boys."

  She went into the kitchen. "Three house burgers, Con. Medium on two--" Tom and Levi were regulars, and she well knew their preferences "--and petrify the third."

  "Really?" Connor asked.

  "Yeah."

  She went out again. Time to schmooze. "Hey, lovebirds, happy anniversary!" she said to the Wheelers, who were celebrating their thirty-second. The Murrays were in with their beautiful, red-haired daughters, and Colleen asked the older one how trumpet was going, and the younger one about their new kitten. Bill and Laura Clemson were fighting, but that was nothing new; it was a Friday night tradition. Louis Hudson and Amy Bates, however, were cooing at each other in a dark booth, and Colleen told Hannah to bring them out a creme brulee, two spoons, on the house. They were engaged, thanks to one Colleen Margaret Mary O'Rourke.

  By the time she got back, the three burger specials were just about ready; the two medium burgers were on yellow Fiesta ware; the well-done order was on blue. Colleen lifted the bun to check it. It was dark, all right. Just not dark enough.

  "What are you doing?" Connor asked as she put the burger back on the grill.

  "It's not well-done enough," she said.

  "You said well-done. It's well-done."

  "I said petrify. Where's that Chinese sauce?"

  "Which Chinese sauce?"

  "The fire sauce."

  "It's over the sink. Go easy on that. It's vicious. Two drops will bring a grown man to his knees." He turned back to the chicken marsala he was making.

  Colleen rummaged through Connor's salt collection; honestly, did a person need seven different kinds? Rock, kosher, sea, truffle, black... Aha! Here it was, the strange little bottle with the dragon on the label and some mysterious Chinese characters. She took it out, checked to ensure that the burger was a hardened, dry, hockey puck of meat, then put it back on the bun. Doused it with fire sauce, then added a splash more on the fries.

  She brought the plates out to the bar and set them in front of their respective orders. "Enjoy, gentlemen," she said.

  Levi folded up the blueprint of the public safety building. "Lucas will be helping us out," he said. "Project manager."

  "That's great," Colleen said easily. "Glad you found someone to help you."

  Lucas gave her a long look, picked up his burger and took a bite.

  Colleen smiled. Happiness was being in charge.

  His eyes began to tear. Sweat broke out on his forehead. He raised an eyebrow, then, she had to give it to him, chewed and swallowed. With great effort. He took his doctored up beer and drank it down. Rested the cold glass against his forehead.

  "All right, mate?" Tom asked.

  "I'm fine," he wheezed, as the fire sauce had paralyzed his vocal cords a li'l tiny bit.

  "How's that burger, hon?" Colleen said.

  "Perfect." He wiped his face with a napkin, and Colleen leaned her elbows on the bar and just enjoyed the sight of him, sweating, red-faced, maybe a little closer to death than he had been a few minutes ago.

  "I made it special just for you." She smiled sweetly.

  "I guessed that."

  Then he stood up, slid his hand around her neck and pulled her in for a kiss.

  She didn't see that coming.

  Didn't pull away, either.

  It was a hard, authoritative kiss that seared through her. Good God, the Spaniard could kiss. His five-o'clock shadow scraped her just the right amount, and his mouth, oh, yes, that mouth of his, that fallen-angel mouth...and then it was over, and he stood in front of her, dark and sure and steady when she was lucky to be standing, her legs suddenly warm and wonderfully weak, her special places bursting into song. Also, her lips were burning, thanks to the fire sauce, but hey. Worth it.

  Then Lucas smiled that pirate's grin full of secrets and fun and cockiness, and her heart was rolling and shaking like a hyperactive puppy.

  Oh, man. She was in trouble.

  The bar was completely still.

  "We should get that dinner sometime," he said calmly, his voice normal now.

  "I thought this would count."

  "It doesn't."

  "Oh. Okay, then," she said, then cleared her throat.

  "Thank you for the wonderful meal."

  "You're very welcome," she said. "My pleasure."

  Then the kitchen door banged open, and Connor tapped Lucas on the shoulder, and punched him in the face.

  *

  "I'M NOT SEEING him," Colleen said three hours later. "Rufus, tell your uncle Connor he's got his head up his butt." Unfortunately, Rufus was engrossed in a documentary about Yellowstone National Park and couldn't drag his doggy eyes off the family of wolverines on screen. It was ten past midnight, and Connor had demanded an audience to discuss her love life. Which was a joke because there was no love life, of course.

  Not yet.

  Lucas had taken Connor's anger like a boss; a Southie from Chicago wouldn't be bothered by one punch, no matter how enraged the brother who'd thrown it. Levi, being a cop and all, jumped to his feet, and Tom did, too, but Lucas just said, "It's fine. I earned that." He slid a twenty under his plate, nodded at Colleen and left calmly. Connor glared at his retreating back, then at her, then at Levi, then at the bar in general, then stomped back into the kitchen, where he banged around for the rest of the night before coming for Big Brother Lecture. He'd always taken those three minutes very seriously.

  "Colleen, I saw how you were looking at him."

  "Yeah, okay, he kissed me. Look. He's back in town because Joe Campbell is dying. Of course I'm going to see him from time to time."

  "You know what you are? You're one mattress fire away from becoming our mother."

  "I'm not like Mom," she said calmly. "How dare you and all that. Want some ice cream?"

  Connor folded his arms and tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling (and pray for patience, Colleen knew). "If you're not dating him, why were you flirting with him?"

  "I wasn't." Rufus put his head on her foot, then licked her ankle with his giant tongue.

  "Yeah? What was that game with the fire sauce, then?"

  "Oh, just a little...signal. A shot across the bar."

  "It was flirting. And then you let him kiss you."

  She pulled a face. "Yeah. That might've been dumb."

  "He's divorced."

  "I know."

  "Do you want to get back together with him? You gonna move to Chicago? Is he dating anyone back there?"

  "I don't know. Look. It was one kiss." Well, then, there was that other kiss, down by the lake. Two kisses.

  "One kiss? This wasn't the first time, was it?"

  "Look, Long Island Medium, he took me by surprise, okay?"

  "Just remember what he did to you last time. I don't think he deserves a second chance, personally. But I'm just your brother. I'm just the one who's been watching you avoid a serious relationship this past decade."

  "Where's your wife, huh? Do you have three beautiful children stashed somewhere? No? So don't throw stones. You won't even be seen in public with this mystery woman of yours."

  "Don't change the subject." He sat on the floor; Rufus, the whore, rolled onto his back and presented his stomach (and other parts) for admiration. Connor flinched. "You should get this dog neutered."

  "He is neutered."

  The twins were quiet for a moment. They didn't figh
t often; well, they bickered constantly, and Mom still complained about it, but they hardly ever really disagreed. "You shouldn't have punched him," she said.

  "He broke your stupid heart," Connor grumbled.

  There was no lying to her brother.

  She'd done her best to hide her feelings last time. She certainly didn't want to be like Mom. Didn't want people to know she'd been dumped. She was supposed to be smarter than that.

  But Connor knew anyway. Despite her playing it lightly with most people--You know how fickle young love is. Hardly ever lasts--Connor knew.

  "I don't want you to get hurt, Collie Dog Face," her brother said now.

  "Me, neither."

  "Be careful."

  She swallowed. "Yeah."

  Connor scratched Rufus's tummy another minute, then stood up and gave her shoulder a squeeze. "See you."

  "Wait. Who's your girlfriend? Do I know her? Is she a prostitute? I won't judge either of you. Please tell me," she said.

  "Good night," he called from the door. Tossed her a grin and left, his feet thumping on the stairs.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE CHICKEN KING lived in a beautiful old Victorian house that had once belonged to Mark Twain's wife's aunt, legend had it. Colleen was here to go over the planned encounter with Bryce. And just to hang out a little because, let's face it, she really liked Paulie.

  The blue-and-cream-painted house sat high on a hill in a heavily wooded neighborhood overlooking Keuka Lake. Their driveway was long and shaded, and the house had to have at least twenty rooms.

  However, the yard--grounds, really--were littered with giant metal chicken statues in lurid colors, like a terrifying dream you might have as a kid when you're running a very high fever. As the breeze blew, it made a strange whistling sound through the, uh, artwork, making it sound like the chickens were moaning. And those beaks looked mighty sharp.

  "Dad collects these from all over the world," Paulie said. "They're beautiful, aren't they?"

  "Yes," Colleen said, trying not to look. She'd always been a little afraid of chickens, personally. The polka-dotted statue seemed especially hostile.

  Inside, the house was just as beautiful, carefully restored and extremely elegant. Not what you'd picture for the Chicken King; well, no, there were a lot of paintings of chickens on the walls, as well as Mr. Petrosinsky dressed in chicken garb standing next to various local celebrities...and some national celebrities, too. "Is that Meryl Streep?" Colleen asked.

  "Oh, her. She's so nice. Loves the Sweet Home Alabama Triple Batter Honey Dijon," Paulie said.

  "And Vladimir Putin?" Perhaps the Russian Mob rumors were true, after all.