by Kylie Scott
She barked out a laugh.
Boyd frowned, continuing to cook. At least I'd gotten a reaction. I stirred my drink with the straw, chasing a cube of ice around the glass.
Hands always in motion, Nell moved on to the grill, tending to thick cuts of steak. "Has he said anything more about selling the house?"
Yikes, not safe territory. "You need to ask him about that."
"He's busy. I'm asking you."
"Yes. And I'm telling you to ask him." The woman could give me all the hard-eyed looks she wanted. I wasn't giving away a damn thing Vaughan had confided.
Lightbulbs suspended from the two-story-high ceiling turned on and filled the Dive Bar with a warm glow. I could have happily settled in at a corner table and read for hours. It just felt like a nice place to be.
Until it didn't.
A slick-looking man with a man-bun marched in, face crankier than thunder, his voice louder than all hell. "What the fuck, Nell?"
Unperturbed, the petite chef smiled. "What the fuck what, Eric?"
"He isn't working here."
"He is."
"No." The man, Eric, put a hella lot of emphasis on the word. "I'm an owner here too. You need to run this kind of shit past me, and I'm telling you no."
"Eric." The other waitress, Stella, hovered behind him, waiting. "Can I have a word with you?"
"Not now."
"It's important."
Eric didn't get a chance to answer, however, with Nell on the warpath.
"We hired Joe, your brother," she said.
"We all agreed to hire my brother. Only person I see supporting this decision is you."
Eyes as cold as the arctic, Nell picked up a particularly long dangerous-looking knife. "We need help. He needs a job. It's a win for everyone."
"We're doing fine. And that asshole can rot as far as I know." He moved forward, looming over Nell. It was kind of impressive how little fear he had for his life.
"He's. My. Brother."
"My brother helped us build this place. Worked day in, day out for next to nothing. Where the fuck was yours, huh?" he asked, jaw rigid. "Off banging groupies on the West Coast."
"Please. Like you wouldn't have been doing exactly the same given half a chance."
Behind him, Stella lingered, eyes hardening by the minute. The woman was not giving me happy vibes.
"Get rid of him," Eric snarled. "Now."
"No. We need him."
"Bullshit. I'll take over the bar with Joe."
"Don't do this, Eric," said Nell. "You want me to bring Pat in on this? Really?"
Eric's lips flat-lined.
"He'll have Vaughan's back. You'll be outvoted and you know it." She drove the blade of the knife deep into the cutting board with a loud thunk. Poor board.
The two forces of will faced off in silence. There was a world war going on between them. Death and disaster, lots of imaginary blood and bomb blasts. Boyd kept his head down and stayed the hell out of it. I did too.
To think I thought Coeur d'Alene was a quiet town. Nice people, not much drama. The longer I lived, the less I knew.
Only one person dared to break the stalemate. Stella visibly braced herself, shoulder back, head held high. "Eric!"
With a growl, Eric spun. "I said not--"
The waitress slapped him in the face. The noise was shockingly loud.
"Fuck you and your 'not now,'" she said. "I'm not wasting another minute of my life waiting on you."
Eric said nothing.
"Serious about exploring something with me, were you? Did you honestly think I wouldn't hear about you taking that skank to dinner last night?" Stella asked, rubbing her probably sore hand against the side of her skinny black jeans. "Well?"
His cheek ripe red, the man stood frozen. Busted. So damn busted.
"You lying piece of shit." The woman ripped off her neat black apron, shoving it into his stomach. Her teary eyes blazed with fury. "I quit!"
Holy hell.
For a minute, nobody moved. A Jason Isbell song started playing over the sound system. Slowly, the talk and sounds of eating and drinking started up again. The Dive Bar once more came to life. I'd been so caught up in the scene, I hadn't even noticed we yet again had an audience watching. At least they weren't interested in me this time.
A hand was at my back, a solid male body standing behind me. I didn't need to turn to know it was Vaughan. The sudden happy in my hormones was evidence enough.
"Tell me you didn't fuck another employee." Nell's voice was so deadly quiet I almost couldn't hear it. Her skin seemed snow pale, apart from the twin bright spots high on her cheeks. "You wouldn't, not after you promised. Not again, on top of everything else that's going on right now."
His hands curled into tight fists. "Nell--"
"Tell me you didn't."
Obviously, the man couldn't.
Breathing hard, Nell stared down at her chopping board. "Vaughan works here as long as he wants. I don't want to hear another word about it."
Apparently Eric didn't have a death wish, so he kept his mouth shut.
"Get out of my kitchen," she ground out through clenched teeth. "I'm serious, I don't want to even look at you again tonight. Get out."
"You need me here," he said.
"No." Furiously, she shook her head. "No, what I need is people I can depend upon to run a business. Not a fuck-up who can't even keep his dick in his pants during open hours."
No one spoke, the tension thick enough to choke on.
"Shit!" Eric slammed the apron onto the nearest flat metal surface and stalked out.
The restaurant was now completely full and I could hear someone calling for service.
Crap. Poor Nell.
"We need to get back to work," she said quietly, sending the staff on their way.
I couldn't just sit there. Not when I could help. Nell had been nice to me, plus there was the debt I owed her brother. So I picked up the apron Eric had just abused and shook it out. "I waitressed my way through college."
Nell just looked at me, mystified. She had the same beautiful blue eyes as Vaughan. Like a clear blue summer sky or your favorite jeans, which you'd washed a hundred times. But right now, those eyes seemed shaken, and her white face was a stark contrast to her bright red hair. She was a woman pushed to the edge, then given a little nudge over. God, did I know that feeling all too well.
While my fingers were busy with the apron ties, I took a deep breath. "Rosie can get me up to speed on the table numbering and the rest."
Vaughan's hand moved to the back of my neck, giving it a gentle squeeze. His thumb stroked over my skin, giving me goose bumps. It was impossible not to lean into him, to take a little more of what he was giving. All that heat and strength. The truth was, I liked his touch far more than I should have. Definitely far more than was wise. Also his smell. Man, he smelled good. Soap and him and sex. Though the sex was probably just my fevered imagination.
Then he was gone, heading back to the bar.
"You don't have to do that," said Nell.
"I know."
She blinked, frozen for a moment. Then the moment was gone. Loudly, Nell clapped her hands, getting back in the game. "We got a full house, people. Let's go. Boyd, how many times do I have to tell you to stop standing around gabbing? Work. Work!"
CHAPTER TEN
"Don't move an inch. I'm just going to run inside and grab my camera."
Looking amused, Vaughan straightened. He had been leaning over the front of the Mustang, doing deep and meaningful things to the vehicle's engine. I had to admit, the position did amazing things to his jean-clad ass. And the fact that he was sans T-shirt got me all a-tingle. The ink work on his arms made for an amazing display. The man was living art.
"Good morning, Lydia."
"Morning, Vaughan." I passed him one of the cups of coffee I'd made from the supplies Nell shoved at me the night before. Coffee, sugar, creamer, and containers full of restaurant leftovers, god bless her.
"What?"
"You," he said. "Smirking and giving me crap. It's like you've freed your inner happy smart-ass self. Let it loose to run wild."
"Nah." I leaned a hip against the driver's side door. "That's just me complimenting your rear and practicing my come-on lines now that I'm swinging single again."
"I'm glad you felt my ass worthy of your attentions."
"No problem."
"And I want you to know, minute you give me the signal and lift-up your shirt I'll be more than happy to give your breasts all the best lines I've got."
"That's sweet." I took a sip of my coffee, trying to keep a straight face. In my infinite wisdom, I'd raised the subject of sex. Now here we were, my pulse speeding, heading straight toward a panic attack over the way he looked at me. How insane. I both wanted, and didn't want, his attention with all of my heart. "I'll give some thought to your shirt suggestion."
"Wish you would," he said. Oh, that sly little smile of his. It made my everything go weak.
I laughed, a little unnerved.
"Will you be falling for my flirting sometime soon?"
Whoa. I stopped, thrown.
"Not that I mind hitting on you, Lydia. Just curious," he said. "And I'm not being kind or trying to boost your self-confidence."
Ugh. "Am I that obviously neurotic and needy?"
He took another sip of coffee. "To be fair, the crap you've been through lately would make anyone doubt themselves."
Overhead, a bird flew by. How nice to just be able to up and disappear so easily. I wanted wings. Awkward conversation, shitty situation, I'd be out of here, suckers. Poof! Gone. They didn't even have to be pretty, any old pigeon wings would do.
"I guess so," I said, watching the bird disappear out of sight. "We're always hardest on ourselves, right?"
A shrug.
Right. As if this guy would be swimming in a sea of inner doubt. Beautiful. Talented. Loved by his family and friends. Imagine having the bravado to take to the stage in front of hundreds, no, thousands of people. It was up to schmucks like me to find their spines and get their shit together. Some people just naturally knew how to strut.
"I blame it on women's magazines and the media," I announced, setting my cup of coffee aside. "'Are you too needy? How to be more confident and look less like crap in seventy-eight simple steps! Only three hundred thousand dollars to a better you!' Well, thanks. I hadn't realized how everything about me was godawful until you pointed it out."
I gathered up my long hair, tying it into a loose knot on top of my head. "Every woman on earth should launch a class action against the mass media. Take it down."
Nothing from my friend on account of where his gaze was fixed. Yet again.
"Vaughan, I'm talking. Pay attention. My eyes aren't down there."
His gaze snapped back to my face.
"Thank you."
"That was a trap. You lifted your arms up," he grumbled, brows turned down. Never had a man looked quite so oppressed. "What was I supposed to do?"
"A trap? You think I'm trying to trap you?" I wrinkled up my forehead. "Vaughan, I'm genuinely beginning to get concerned about your breast fixation. Seriously. How can you function when any hint of tit sends your brain into a coma?"
"You were staring at my ass earlier. You don't see me telling you off." He cracked his neck. "And anyway, it's only happened with you. I'm fine around every other rack. I can discreetly appreciate and move on. Yours are different."
"Really?" I grinned, my stomach doing the strangest loop de loop.
In lieu of answering, he disappeared once more under the hood. In the distance, I could hear kids laughing and a car passing by. The wind was blowing through the pine trees and a bird was singing. Man, this place was lovely. So relaxing. If I owned this home, I'd never give it up. They could bury me in the backyard, let me turn into fertilizer.
Vaughan glanced at me around the corner of the hood, immediately snagging my attention.
"I humbly apologize for objectifying you," I said. "I'll try not to do it again."
A snort.
Fair enough.
"What a lovely day," I said.
I couldn't have asked for a prettier picture. A big old tree shaded the driveway on the side of the house where he'd popped the hood. Stray rays of sunlight lit the golden red of his hair and the colored ink on his otherwise pale skin. I guess playing in bands, enjoying the nightlife, didn't make for a great tan. But it didn't matter. He didn't need one. Tall, lean, and firm in all the right places, Vaughan Hewson was a girl's wet dream. Luckily I respected him for his mind.
"My feet hurt from last night. It's been years since I spent that much time on them." I gave my Birkenstock-clad beauties a stretch. To cover the rest of me, I'd chosen denim cut-offs and an oversize tee. Comfortable was the look I was going for. "I've been thinking about your place some more, if you're still interested in selling it."
Nothing from beneath the hood.
"I know a good agent, Wes from Brewers Real Estate. He's a nice guy, not quite as cutthroat as the rest. I could give him a call, ask him to stop by if you like?"
I waited for a response.
"Up to you, of course."
The sound he made was far from happy. "Thought we were going to talk about this again when I was ready."
"I haven't heard from the Delaneys yet, but they're not going to waste time getting rid of me," I said, tone wry. "I don't know how much longer I'll be here and I don't want you getting ripped off."
He stopped, stared. "Thanks. If you could give him a call, that'd be good."
"Okay," I said quietly.
"It's just ... it's hard to let it go."
"Yeah."
Wiping his greasy hands on a cloth, he turned to look at the house. "Always figured they'd be here. I'd come back for holidays and shit, and nothing would change. Dad would still be screwing up the Christmas lights and Mom would be going berserk over the pumpkins each Halloween. Nell and Pat would have a kid and it'd all be good."
"Sounds nice."
"Mm." He paused. "After I was over touring and had made some money, I was going to buy one of those places on the lake. Settle down."
"Here? Not out on in California?"
"Nah. In my head, it was always here." His hands twisted the cloth up into a tight ball. "I had everything figured out."
"You know," I said, trying to speak gently, "I've heard most people have three different careers over their lifetime."
"Do they?"
"Maybe playing in the band was just your first one."
"Are you serious? You want me to just give it up?" he asked, the volume of his voice rising. "Hock the guitars and what, get a job at Burger King making fries?"
"I don't want--"
"Because I can really see that working out fucking great, Lydia." He chucked the cloth aside, furious. "Good idea. Awesome."
"Vaughan." The muscles in my jaw ached.
"Want to know the difference between me and you, babe?"
I kept my mouth shut. Pretty damn sure he was going to tell me.
"Your dream was marrying some douche with a nice big bank account and hiding out behind the white picket fence for the rest of your life." The jerk towered over me, looming.
"That so?"
"Christ. You know it is." He laughed, spitefully.
Wow. Yeah. I had nothing to say in response.
"But my dream ... mine." His thumb hit him squarely in the center of his chest. "It was a little bigger."
I had no words. None.
For a good minute I just stared up at him, amazed by his outburst, more than anything. There was no real reason why I should have been. He and I had now known each other for what ... a bit under forty-eight hours? I'd known Chris for four months and been clueless. My track record for reading people was, after all, shitty.
"Okay. I'm sorry for saying something that upset you." I paused, taking a deep breath. "That was obvi
ously insensitive of me, given everything you're going through."
Nothing.
"What I meant to say was that there might be other jobs in music that would work for you. That you might love as much."
Still nothing.
"I am not your enemy, Vaughan. I care a hell of a lot about you." My hands hung stiff by my sides. It was all I could do to resist strangling the idiot. "The way you just spoke to me is not okay. How dare you say that my hopes for the future are less important than yours. That I'm some money-grubbing bitch ready to spread her legs for a big house to play trophy wife."
"Lydia--"
"I'm not finished, you asshat."
The man looked down at me, eyes full of surprise, or bewilderment. His face was drawn, lips shut tight. Just as they should be. I stared at him, memorizing every detail for a later date, when I didn't want to burn him down or burst into tears. Stupid female emotions, always getting me into trouble when I wanted to be a hard ass. My butt wobbled, it always had and always would. Time to accept myself and all my flaws and move on.
"Actually, I am finished."
"'kay."
"I'm going to get my stuff together," I said. "I think that would be best."
He had no comment.
I backed away, turned, and started walking toward the front door.
Most of my stuff was already packed into boxes. This shouldn't be too hard.
My foot hit the front step and I stumbled, losing my balance. I grasped at the old iron railing, fighting to catch myself before my face met the floor. Awesome. Such grace.
"I'm sorry."
I stopped cold.
Nothing more was said.
Slowly, I turned. He stood in the long grass, watching, waiting. Honestly, it was hard to look at him. The expression on his face and the way he held his body, the emotion in his eyes. My world was so colored when it came to him. Every detail so vivid and real. He shouldn't have that power. It would have been so much easier to leave him otherwise. I'd broken into his house, but he'd somehow broken into me, cracked me wide open, exposing me to so much more of life than what had existed before.
And to think I'd genuinely believed I loved Chris. What an idiot. I didn't have a fucking clue about love. I got like and lust, things along those lines. But the rest was an abyss, a big black hole, and I couldn't see the bottom. Couldn't even begin to fathom the depth of it. Inside me, there lived a big ball of emotion to do with my friend Vaughan. None of it was ready to be labeled. All I knew was, leaving him hurt.