“I so don’t believe you.”
“What do you think happened? He wants something fancy—God only knows why—probably with some obnoxious name we’d usually make fun of. I want a laid-back place called Mackenzie’s.” She held up her palms as if to say, “Now what?”
“What about the two of you?” Claire asked.
“The two of us what?” Mack said innocently, dividing the last of the pitcher among their empty glasses.
“You must see the way Connor looks at you,” Abbi said.
Mack scrunched up her nose. “That’s not even funny.”
“He’s always looked at you that way,” Claire helpfully chimed in.
“Then that must just be his face. Do you guys want to get something to eat, or should we go somewhere else?”
Abbi laughed.
“What?”
“Look at you, changing the subject,” she said.
“It’s called not indulging your crazy.”
“You love my crazy.”
“Dearly. But not when it’s directed at me.”
“You’re both wonderfully crazy,” Claire said, and leaned out of her chair to grab a bowl of bar snacks behind her. “And I can’t stay long—I have to pick Maya up at daycare. But seriously, Mack. If you’re investing in this restaurant, what are you going to do about working with Connor?”
Mack popped a stale pretzel in her mouth and immediately regretted it. “Convince him. Obviously.”
“I can’t wait to see you in starched whites, decanting hundred-dollar bottles of Bordeaux,” Abbi teased.
Mack made a face. She loved her friends, and she’d do anything for them. But even they didn’t know where she’d come from and why this bar mattered so much. She couldn’t stand the thought of them looking at her differently, wondering what was wrong with her, tiptoeing around like she was breakable. Or worse, acting like it was no big deal and brushing her off with a shrug.
So she didn’t say anything about why it had to be Mackenzie’s. She just reiterated that she’d find a way to make it work.
“My money’s just as green as his is,” she pointed out.
…
The following weekend, she brewed a strong pot of coffee and opened her bartender’s notebook. Her friends were right. Telling Connor what she wanted wasn’t enough. She needed an idea, something solid to prove the new Mackenzie’s was the perfect addition to Gold Mountain.
As she curled up in her favorite seat in the living room, by the window where the morning light streamed in, she sipped the coffee—black, like your heart, she could hear Connor say—and flipped through the pages.
An old sketch caught her eye. She’d drawn a bar with small glass eyedropper bottles lined up across the front. Along the side of the page she’d made a list of flavors: orange, lavender, yarrow, pecan.
She stood up, reaching for a framed photograph on her bookshelf. She didn’t have any family photos. No baby pictures, smiling shots of Mom and Dad, siblings in oversize overalls and hairdos they’d once thought were cool. But she had Billy and Todd, dressed in flannel with matching beards, their arms wrapped tightly around her.
They were outside, in front of a bar with the edge of a wooden sign visible in the background. Mack was standing between them, and all three of them were beaming. The picture was taken the day Mack was officially hired as a bartender, not just a dishwasher, and she’d never been so happy in her life. This was before Billy got sick, before his bar shut down, before Mack had ever dreamed of leaving Portland. She looked at the picture as she tried to think.
The first time Mack put something on the chalkboard at Billy’s that was more than vodka plus Coke, juice, or tonic, she’d thought there’d be a stampede from everyone running for the door. It had taken time to shift people’s tastes by intervals, buttering up her regulars until they agreed to try something new. “I’ll do it for you, sweetheart,” they’d finally say, and Mack would hold her breath, hoping brandy with nutmeg wasn’t too weird, reminding herself if they made a face that it wasn’t a rejection of her…though it was hard not to feel that way.
Connor had no idea how many times Mack had reinvented herself. She knew how to resew her clothes to make it look like she had more to wear, and how to barricade a door with whatever furniture she could find in a room. For Mack, to show up at a new place with nothing more than a duffel bag and the clothes on her back wasn’t a taste of freedom and adventure. It was her life, until she aged out of the foster care system and finally had a say over where she could be.
He wanted to do something completely different, but all Mack craved was for things to finally stay the same. To create a place that felt welcoming, the way Billy’s had—not just for those with the right wallet and wardrobe, but for everyone.
It was late in the day by the time she closed the notebook and went online. Two dozen bottles ought to do it. She double-checked her list of ingredients and then clicked buy.
Connor had to know she wasn’t complacent. To settle down didn’t mean to stop striving. Sam had given her an opportunity, and she was going to take it.
No matter what he and his stupid dating profile may have done to her pulse.
Chapter Four
Connor checked the address on his phone and turned onto the main road that wound through Gold Mountain. He knew he should be home working on the menu, proving to Mack he was serious about what they could do. But every time he tried to focus, all he could see was Mack leaning against the bathroom door. Her eyes sparking as she told him he was the kind of guy who walked away.
So when a woman messaged him inviting him to her hotel for a drink, he knew he should ignore it. But who did Mack think she was to dismiss him? He laced up his worn leather boots and told the soon-to-be hookup he was on his way.
Outside, the sky was thick with clouds. A bad storm was coming, and the weather advisory had said to get off the roads. Already rain pelted his car, but Connor wasn’t worried. He was about to be warm and dry in a fancy hotel room, tangled in sheets.
As he drove by the Dipper, he marveled at how quickly demolition had begun. Sam had pushed to get a head start on the renovation, and a dump truck was already out front. It was a reminder that he and Mack needed to figure something out—fast. Otherwise he might as well light his father’s money on fire, because that was all it was going to be good for.
But even though the place was closed, there was a car in the parking lot. Connor could guess who it belonged to. For all he knew, Mack had been in there for hours and had no idea about the storm.
He pulled in without thinking and took out his phone. Gotta make a quick stop, he texted. I’ll be over soon. He ran inside, the cold rain soaking him to the bone.
It was dark and eerie with so much of the space emptied out. But Mack had the work lights on, and she was behind the bar, a dozen or so small bottles spread out in front of her. Trees moaned in the wind, but she was so absorbed in what she was doing she barely noticed, taking a drop of liquid from one of the bottles and rubbing it between her fingers to let the aroma bloom.
Connor had no idea where Mack had learned her tricks. He’d be the first to admit he’d had everything handed to him—the right schools, the right connections, all the privileges he’d thrown away like he thought he could just waltz back whenever he wanted and be welcomed with open arms.
As far as he knew, Mack was self-taught. When he used to ask her about it, she’d shrug and change the subject, so closed off she wouldn’t even tell him where she’d gone to school.
He watched her work, her hands quick, her focus determined. He didn’t even know why he’d come in here. It was dusty, empty, everything except the kitchen and the bar itself torn out. He should leave, head straight to the hotel, do what he usually did and not worry about things like work or responsibilities or what one sexy, obstinate bartender thought of him.
But then his phone vibrated, no doubt with a message back from the woman at the hotel, and his cover was blown. Mack looked up with a start,
nearly dropping the bottle she was holding.
“Holy shit,” she said, clutching a hand to her chest. “You scared me.”
He thought she might still be mad from the last time they’d seen each other. Or if not mad, then…weird.
But he walked over to the bar anyway.
“You’re soaking wet,” she said when he stepped into the light. “What are you doing here?”
“Escaping the rain.” He peeled off the long-sleeved shirt he was wearing.
He had on a T-shirt underneath, but it rode up along with the waffle knit. He could feel Mack staring at the line of skin exposed between the T-shirt and his low-slung jeans. Was he an asshole if he took his sweet time tugging it down?
“Seriously, Connor,” she said. “I don’t need you checking up on me.”
“I was driving by when I saw your car,” he said. “What are you doing out when this storm is getting bad?”
“I had work to do, and home wasn’t cutting it.” She held up an eyedropper and flashed him the label. Blackberry and vanilla.
“What’s that?”
“Bitters,” she said, like it should have been obvious.
“Really?”
“Yes, really. I thought it might go well on the menu. Have the drinks highlight different bitters, go through a rotating menu to draw people in. Just because I want Mackenzie’s to be down-to-earth doesn’t mean the drinks won’t stand out.”
“That’s—”
“Don’t tell me it’s not good enough before you’ve even tried it,” she interrupted.
“If you’d let me finish, I was going to say that’s a really good idea.”
He didn’t know which of them seemed more surprised by the admission. “Let me try one,” he said.
“Now?” she asked.
“You’re here, I’m here. Why not?”
His phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and glanced at the screen.
“You have somewhere to be?” she asked.
“I have a few minutes.” He slid it back in his pocket, unanswered. This would only take a second.
He leaned against the bar as Mack poured him a combination of rye, cardamom, and something called gentian. He could smell the bitterness of the root, but there was another layer, a hint of sweetness. He closed his eyes, focusing on smell, taste, the feel in his mouth as he drank.
When he opened his eyes, she was staring at him intently. “Oh,” he said. “Was I supposed to spit it out?”
Mack laughed. “Depends on how much you’re planning on drinking before you get back in the car.”
“It was a small shot.”
“And you don’t want to be wasteful.”
“Exactly.” He let the last drop coat his tongue.
“So?” Mack asked.
“Can I be honest?”
Her face crumpled. He couldn’t believe it. “I didn’t say ‘Can I be an asshole,’ did I?”
Mack wrinkled her nose. “I wasn’t aware you needed my permission for that.”
“Very funny.”
“Was I laughing?”
“It’s good,” he said, before she could keep convincing herself of whatever she imagined he was thinking. He hadn’t expected his comment to surprise her. She had the ego to name an entire restaurant after herself. Obviously she thought her drinks were good.
But there was something a little sweet about the shot, and he suggested adding a lemon twist. Mack scribbled a note to herself in her notebook and then rinsed the glasses and poured them both a different combination. The more flavors Connor tasted, the more he could picture it: the sleek design, classy lighting, the dishes that would make everyone who dismissed him after he left New York stand up and take notice.
“This is too good for a regular bar,” he said as he sipped another concoction. “It belongs somewhere so much better than the type of place you’re proposing.”
He didn’t mean it badly, but he saw Mack’s hand waver as she held the bottle.
“Come on,” he said. “Admit that I’m right.”
“Can you at least pretend to be a little less pretentious?” she said. “We’re supposed to think about what would be a hit in this area. Not what would alienate half our existing client base.”
He was about to respond that having standards didn’t make him a dick when his phone vibrated again. He was pretty sure it had been going on for a while. When he pulled it out and looked at the time, he groaned. He’d definitely lost track of how many drinks he’d had with Mack. He was supposed to have left hours ago.
“You should go,” Mack said, as if reading his mind.
He finished the last sip in his glass. “Actually, I’m running late.”
Really, really late. Asshole levels of late. Confusing, what the hell are you doing with yourself levels of late.
Mack said something that sounded like, “Figures.”
“What?” he asked.
“It’s just so typical,” she said. “You obviously have someone to fuck, so why waste another second trying to figure out the business you supposedly care so much about?”
“Jesus, Mack,” Connor sputtered. “It’s not like that.”
She raised an eyebrow. “That’s not a woman who’s been texting you all night?”
How did Mack even know? It could have been his parents, his brother, other friends…
But of course she knew. It wasn’t like he’d tried to keep secret how many women he met who were passing through town. And why should he? Just because she wasn’t getting any didn’t mean the rest of the world had to suffer.
“I’m sorry things aren’t going better for you on the app,” he said. “You sure you don’t need any pointers?”
“On how to be a dog? I don’t think so.”
Connor stood and went to pick up his long-sleeved shirt, still damp where it hung on a beam. “A pleasure talking with you, as usual.”
Mack made a noise in the back of her throat—was she laughing at him? Still hell-bent on making sure both their careers went nowhere by leaving them stuck at some backwater dive called Mackenzie’s that wouldn’t last any longer than the Dipper?
Honestly, he shouldn’t have bothered. He shouldn’t have ever thought he could work with her at all.
But just as he opened his mouth to tell her to get over herself, there came an enormous crash, and the restaurant plunged into darkness.
Chapter Five
“Fuck!” Mack cried as the lights cut out. “What was that?”
Connor ran to the window. “Electricity’s out.”
“Gee, I hadn’t noticed.”
“I mean everywhere—not just us.”
“What the hell,” she started, but she knew what had happened. She also knew she was in more trouble than she’d realized.
She should have been pounding water in between drinks, since dashing from the bar to the window had made it clear she was in no state to drive home.
Not to mention it was a lot later than she’d thought, and with everything shut down, the streets were completely dark.
Then there was the reason for the outage. The rain was incredible now, the road transformed into a stream. It must have loosened the roots of one of the tall pines lining the parking lot, because it had toppled onto the power lines, knocking everything out and blocking their exit. At least their cars had been spared.
She pressed her palm to the window; the glass was cool as the rain poured down. “You can’t drive in this,” she said.
“No shit. We can’t go anywhere until someone comes to get that tree out of the way.”
“At this hour. In the rain.” Mack held her arms tight around herself. “Fuck,” she said again. She couldn’t believe her shitty luck.
They listened to rain whip against the building, and the wind, and the strange stillness underneath it as darkness prickled their skin. Mack walked back toward the bar where it was warmer. She felt around in the darkness for the drawer where they kept candles for emergencies. Thankfully not everything h
ad been cleared out for the renovation yet.
Because this definitely counted as an emergency. An emergency requiring not only light, but extra vodka.
Connor followed her to the bar, still texting.
“Better tell her you won’t be over any time soon,” Mack said as she dripped wax onto the bar to hold the candles upright.
“Good thing there’s always tomorrow.”
“You think she’ll actually wait around after the way you ditched her tonight?”
“I didn’t mean tomorrow has to be her.”
Mack gagged as she poured them both shots.
“Don’t be jealous,” Connor said, putting his phone away. “Just because you’re not getting any doesn’t mean the rest of us have to be celibate.”
“That’s not jealousy—it’s pity.” She stuck out her lower lip in a pretend pouty face. “I feel bad for you, sweetheart.”
He laughed, a big roaring sound that bounced off the empty walls and made the candles flicker.
“I’m serious,” she said. “Every time I turn around you’re going home with someone else. From the cheap seats, it looks like after one night with you, nobody wants to come back for more. Kinda starts to make a girl wonder.”
“Wow, Mack. That really stings. Guess I’m going to go reevaluate my life now.”
“If you need any pointers, I’m here to help.”
She was joking. Completely. She didn’t even mean it like that—she was just getting back at him for his obnoxious comments about her dating profile.
But Connor tipped his shot back, never taking his eyes off her. He’d been on the other side of the bar, but when he put his glass down he slowly stepped around so he was in the narrow workspace with her, invading what had always felt like her domain.
“What are you doing?”
“You think I’m a lousy lay?” His eyes flashed in the candlelight as though she could say whatever she wanted about his cooking, his crappy business plan, his inability to commit to anyone or anything that mattered—but how dare she insult his precious dick.
She raised an eyebrow with a calm she definitely didn’t feel. “I don’t know, Connor. Are you?”
Make Me Beg (The Men of Gold Mountain) Page 3
