by Kylie Scott
"Vegetarian for me," added Andre. "And a beer, thanks."
"Sure thing." I slightly narrowed my eyes at the bastard. Not that he noticed.
"Black widow? Virgin?" Her eyes sparkled, the lines of her face softening again.
It should be noted that the softening only happened when she looked at me. Maybe I wouldn't drop Andre's beer on him after all. We'd see.
"You got it," I said, writing up the order. "Be right back with the drinks."
I handed the food order over to the kitchen and headed for my bar. In an hour or two, Vaughan would be in for the busier night session. For now, however, the space was mine, all mine.
When we first came up with the idea to open the Dive Bar, everyone involved knew exactly what they wanted. Nell would rule the kitchen, Pat would help put up the money but otherwise stick to his tattoo parlor next door, and I'd be in charge of the bar. Of course, running the place had been a hell of a lot more work than any of us anticipated. Lydia bought out Pat and took over running the restaurant floor. A great move. But Nell still loved the kitchen, and I stuck with the bar.
It was my thing. What I was good at and where I felt I belonged.
The original long wooden surface still had the names and crap carved into it from back when the place really had been a dive bar. I grabbed a cloth and gave it a quick polish. Forget Jean and her pretty rack for a minute, time to get the bar all cleaned up before the night began. Neat lines of shining bottles, gleaming taps, and racks of glasses. Probably didn't say much about me, now that this bar felt like home. But I loved it anyway.
Over at their table, Andre and Jean maintained a steady stream of conversation. I kept a close eye on them. On a scale of one to ten, I'd give the smile on her face a six. Seven at most. It was polite, friendly. Nowhere near as warm and inviting as the ones she'd given me. Tens all the way. Thank fuck for that.
With ease, I threw Jean's cocktail together. Muddling the blackberries and squeezing the lime. Measuring the sugar syrup. It kind of killed me not to add the tequila. It was like asking Vincent van Gogh to hold off on the color blue the next time he painted the stars. To tell John Bonham to go easy on the skins next time he played "Moby Dick." Though yeah they were dead. But you know what I mean ... just wrong. I gritted my teeth and added some soda water and an extra splash of lime to try and balance the tequila's absence.
As I poured Andre's beer, I let my mind wander back to Jean. Maybe we would date. Seriously. She was hot, nice, no obvious signs of crazy. Except maybe that crack about murdering her ex-husbands. Most importantly, I was pretty damn sure the woman was into me. Come to think of it, having her living close by could be a good thing. I worked weird hours sometimes. It'd definitely save me from having to do any extra driving. I wondered what Mom would think of Jean. I'd never taken a girl home to meet Mom, but maybe with her I would. In your face, Nell.
Drinks ready, I stepped out from behind the bar. Only weirdly enough, Nell was suddenly rushing out of the kitchen.
"Jean, is that you?" she called. "My god! Why didn't you tell me you'd arrived?"
I froze. How the hell did they know each other? This was not good.
"You looked busy, I figured I'd wait." Jean glowed, happy as anything. Her smile dial had just hit eleven.
Nell waited in front of the table as my-still-maybe-but-perhaps-now-possibly-not future girlfriend got to her feet. Next came lots of hugging and happy feminine squealing noises. Damn. Wonder if Nell told her anything about me? Maybe this situation could still be salvaged.
"I'm so glad you moved to town," said Nell. "This is going to be great."
"I hope so." Jean sighed.
"It will be. You'll see. A whole fresh new start."
*
Then the two women separated, giving me a perfect profile of Nell's baby bump. But way worse was Jean's matching one. The woman was pregnant. Very much so. The martini glass slipped from my numb fingers, smashing when it hit the hard floor.
"Holy shit," I mumbled to no one.
CHAPTER TWO
I'd been tricked. Betrayed.
After Andre and Jean ate their lunch, we headed outside to deal with her stuff. The cold wind suited my mood to perfection. Talk about disappointed.
"Don't lift that, it looks heavy," I snapped.
Jean blinked. "It's a pillow."
"The world's largest pillow ever. You can't be too careful." My gaze roamed over her swollen middle. "You're..."
"Pregnant?" she asked with a voice dripping poison and sugar. "Are you having trouble with the concept?"
"Absolutely not. I was just going to say huge, that's all."
She blew out an exasperated breath. "Thanks, Eric. That makes me feel so much better."
"I just..."
"Don't bother." The woman turned back to her sensible, medium-sized SUV and got busy riffling through the contents. I was surprised she'd been able to squeeze into the driver's seat. Boxes and stuff took up almost every inch inside the vehicle. Each and every box seemed to have been neatly labeled with the contents. The woman took her organization seriously.
She looked over her shoulder. "You know, I can't help noticing that Eric-the-smooth-moving-flirt has been suddenly replaced by Eric-the-awkward-jerk."
"Well, you said you were single." I folded my arms defensively across my chest.
"I am."
And then there was an awkward silence.
"Yeah, but ... I mean, in your condition..." I fumbled to a halt.
She turned, face all scrunched up. Like I was the one with the problem.
"Just hop out of the way so I can grab some boxes," I said, voice gruff.
Still nothing from her.
"It's a second-story walk-up and you have a lot of stuff to get up there. You should be taking it easy." Hands on hips, I tapped my black leather boot against the sidewalk, waiting her out. "Jean, I'm not trying to insult you. It's the truth."
She swore quietly, going back to fussing with the contents in the vehicle. I don't think any woman has ever given me the silent treatment quite this quickly. Usually I'm good for at least a couple of hours after seeing them naked.
Man, I still couldn't believe this was happening.
God hated me or something. Pregnant women and me were enema. Anathema. Whatever. Now that I'd seen her out in the autumn light, however, she looked younger than I'd first guessed. Despite her tired eyes, her skin was smooth, soft looking. She was likely closer to her early twenties than mid.
"How old are you?" I asked.
"Why do you care?"
I shrugged one shoulder. "Just curious."
"How old are you?"
"Nearly thirty."
She sniffed. "I'm twenty-two."
Young, like I'd thought. She was probably too immature for me, anyway. "Come on, Jean. Let me get some of the boxes."
Boyd ambled out of the Dive Bar, turning his head this way and that, looking up and down the street. I raised my hand and he started over in our direction. The big cook would make short work out of moving all this stuff. Behind us, Andre and Nell came out of the tenants' entrance to the Bird Building. The place was a big brick building about a hundred years old. Just past the door was an entryway with stairs leading up to the second floor, followed by two empty shops, their windows covered in flyers about local events. Concerts and parades and shit. They'd been vacant for a while, unfortunately. Andre's Guitar Den came next, then Pat's tattoo parlor Inkaho, and the Dive Bar on the corner.
"Everything's good to go. Alex and I gave it a cleaning last week just to be sure," said Nell, smacking a kiss on Jean's cheek. "You'll meet Alex later. She's probably busy working or something now. She's sort of a shut-in."
"You two didn't have to do that," said Jean. "Thank you."
"Anytime."
Andre leaned against the SUV. "Your furniture got delivered yesterday too, so it's all good to go."
"Excellent," said Jean. "I can't wait to sleep in a decent bed again. Road trips when you're seven month
s' pregnant kind of suck."
"I bet."
"Who's minding the kitchen?" I asked.
"Lydia will text Boyd if they need something," said Nell. "We're only going to be a few feet away from the place."
I frowned.
"I own the kitchen, Eric. Not you," she said. "You're in charge of the bar, that's all."
One of Jean's eyebrows inched up slightly.
So I might have implied that I was the sole owner. Shit happened. I crossed my arms. "Fine. No need to bite my head off."
"My best online friend just moved to town. We've been texting and skyping for months. She's been an absolute rock for me through all the nerves of being pregnant again," said Nell. "Stop messing with my happy."
And then there was an awkward silence. Great. If only there was some way to get out of helping without looking like a raging asshole. The possibility of anything happening between me and Jean had been buried six feet deep, never to be spoken of again.
After rubbing his hands together enthusiastically, Andre took a step forward. "Let's get you moved in."
"Right." Jean stepped back without further argument. "Okay."
Boyd managed a shy smile. Then he grabbed about half the contents of the vehicle in one swoop and headed inside. With her pillow, a green retro-style handbag, and one small box, Jean followed. I'd wanted to take the box, which looked heavy, but couldn't think of a way to say so without inviting further wrath. Pregnant women were fragile. Nell knew that more than anyone. She should have been backing me up on this.
Andre and I loaded up next while Nell watched, making useful suggestions. Not. Her husband, Pat, must have been busy doing a tattoo, or no doubt he'd have been corralled into helping too.
The apartment Jean rented was the largest, situated directly above the Dive Bar. My brother, Joe, had been the builder in charge of the project, turning all of these old office spaces into apartments. The others were studio style. But this one had a main bedroom on the right by the door, and a separate office-type space to the left, along with the bathroom. Guess the office space would be perfect for a nursery. Down the end of the short hallway was the open kitchen/dining/living area. Joe had done a terrific job; the place looked like it belonged in a magazine.
And there stood Jean in the middle of it all, crying her goddamn eyes out, sobbing like her heart had been broken. Without thinking, I just snapped.
"What'd you do?" I yelled at a wide-eyed Boyd.
The big man cringed, gaze darting from Jean to me and back again.
"Did you say something?" Given Boyd was an elective mute, it was highly unlikely. But you never knew.
"Eric, it's all right," said Jean, wiping her face with the palms of her hands. "He didn't do anything. I just..."
I set my boxes on the ground, face tight. "You just what?"
"This place," she said.
"Hey now," I said, my voice becoming a little sterner. "It might not be exactly what you had in mind, but my brother Joe built this place and I think he did a terrific--"
"It's just perfect." She looked around the room with a quivering smile. "I love it."
"Oh-kay."
Obviously sensing that the attention was off of him, Boyd made his escape. Fair enough.
"Don't you think it's amazing?" she asked.
"Ah, yeah. Sure." My brother did good work and it was a damn nice apartment. But it wasn't the Sistine Chapel or anything. "Amazing."
"Yes," she gushed, spreading her arms wide open as if she could embrace the apartment. "It already feels like home."
"That's good ... I guess."
"It's great," amended Nell, who entered behind me just in time to offer a constructive correction. She wrapped her arm around Jean's shoulders and gave her a squeeze, while shooting me some sort of weird look. What it meant, I had no fucking clue. What, was I supposed to be a mind reader?
Andre set his load of crap down next to mine. Then he saw Jean's red eyes and his forehead wrinkled. "Something wrong?"
"No, nothing," I said. "She loves the place."
He nodded as if in understanding. Show-off.
"How embarrassing," said Jean. She fished a Kleenex out of her jeans pocket and blew her nose. Cheeks pink, she studied the hardwood floor, not meeting any of our eyes.
"Baby hormones," said Nell. "Best fun ever."
"I cried yesterday because a grocery store was out of chocolate milk."
Nell cocked her head. "That, however, might be taking it a little too far."
"Jean's allowed to feel whatever the hell she wants to feel," I said, a little pissed. Nell should be more careful. The last thing we needed was for Jean to start crying again. I stood tall, body rigid. "And chocolate milk is pretty great. You know, if you're into that sort of thing."
Jean just kind of gave me a blank look. But at least she wasn't crying. Absolute silence followed. Nobody said anything, though Nell was gazing at me all weird again.
Eventually, Andre coughed into his fist.
"I was joking, Eric," said Nell slowly.
"Oh." I swallowed. "How was I supposed to know that?"
Ever so slowly, the edges of Jean's lips crept upward. It was kind of sly, that smile. Secretive. I liked it. Except then she placed her hands on her scarily large belly, rubbing in small circles.
Still pregnant. Right.
What the hell was I doing here? Apart from making an ass of myself. It was all Jean's fault. Something about her messed with my head. I was all strung out, my throat tight and raw. I needed fresh air, pronto. "Anyway, can't stand around yapping all day. These boxes okay here?"
"Yes, thank you," said Jean. "I'll get everything sorted how I like it later."
Good enough. I made for the door, Andre close behind me. My feet moved faster and faster, needing to get away from that woman and her whole knocked-up situation. Coeur d'Alene had plenty of female residents. Not all of them could have heard bad stuff about me. If, on the off chance that I couldn't find a girlfriend in town, well, there was always Spokane.
I quickened my pace, seized by a new sense of direction. I had a plan. One that did not include Jean Antal. In the future, I'd just stay the hell away from the woman. Problem solved.
"Smooth," said Andre as we were jogging down the stairs.
"What?"
Smirking, he just shook his head.
"Fuck off," I grumbled.
The idiot roared with laughter.
Nell came charging down the steps, red ponytail swinging and fury burning bright in her eyes. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"Helping to move Jean in."
"I saw the way you were looking at her." Her finger jabbed me in the chest.
Andre turned and kept walking. Coward.
"What are you talking about?"
Nell put her hands on her hips. "That woman has had enough crap in her life. This is a fresh start for her and you are not going to ruin it."
I had nothing.
"Only you would hit up a heavily pregnant woman for a fling," she said, voice heavy with disgust. "Like she doesn't have enough to deal with already."
"I've got no interest in the woman," I lied.
"You better not." Her shoulders lowered a little. "Stay away from her, Eric. Or else."
CHAPTER THREE
"Why the pout?"
I put down the glass I'd been polishing and not very successfully smothered a yawn because it'd been one hell of a busy night. I was beat. "Huh?"
"You've been cleaning that same glass for ten minutes and pouting the entire time," said Alex, watching me over the top of her laptop. "I want to know why."
"Men don't pout."
She blinked. "Sure they do."
I frowned, turning to my brother, who'd just finished serving someone at the other end of the bar. We didn't look much alike, Joe and me. I was more GQ, he was more lumberjack. I might have been lean, but he just looked plain mean with the beard and bulging muscles. Happily, he was more of a teddy bear than an actual grizzly.
"Set your woman straight," I said. "She just accused me of pouting."
Joe strolled closer. "Men don't pout. It just isn't done."
"Oh really?" The pretty little brunette narrowed her eyes. She wasn't my type, but she and my brother were happy together. Despite a rocky start, which I maybe unfortunately had something to do with. Long story, but completely not my fault. Alex cleared her throat, sitting up straight on the stool. "And yet, your brother's been pouting since I got here an hour ago. Please explain."
"You're wrong." Joe shrugged.
"How so?"
My brother crossed his big arms over his chest and gave a mighty sigh. "It's like this, Little Miss. Men don't pout ... we brood."
"That's right," I said.
"To even suggest that we would pout is an affront to our masculinity."
"Yeah." I nodded. "What he said."
"Everyone knows brooding is very manly. Lots of testosterone involved."
"Especially when I do it," I added. "The word you were looking for was probably 'smoldering.'"
Arcade Fire played over the sound system while Rosie and Taka finished clearing the tables. Lydia was busy at the front desk; Boyd and the kitchen kid tidied up out back. Nell had gone home around nine once things started to slow. A party of eight and some couples were the only customers left this close to midnight.
"You're both full of shit." Alex bit back a smile. "You know that, right?"
"Now then, no need to get all cranky just because you were wrong," I said. "I accept your apology. You obviously didn't know better."
"Apology." She snorted. "Yeah right. So why were you doing this manly brooding--sorry, smoldering, Eric?"
My turn to sigh. "No reason," I said, and turned the conversation toward Joe. "Hey bro, something I wanted to ask you. That new tenant, Jean, is basically right above us. Now I know you said you soundproofed it all, but the thing is that she's pregnant, and I was wondering if we should be easing up on the music volume, at least when it gets late on weeknights."
Joe shook his head. "I guarantee you she cannot hear a thing, except what's drifting through the window."
"Just because she's pregnant doesn't mean she needs to be wrapped in cotton wool, you know," Alex chimed in.
"I know that." I scowled at her.
"See, pouting!" she said, pointing her finger at me in glee.
"Gee, babe, you're right," agreed Joe, the jerk, his voice thick with mock concern. "That actually does look like pouting."
