“Are you kidding me?” I stare at the cashier behind the counter with my jaw dropped.
“No.” He shakes his head and frowns. “I’m sorry. We have to charge a separate delivery fee for the mattress because that one comes from a different supplier.”
I groan, sliding my debit card out of my wallet. “Fine. Do you mind taking off the delivery fee for the desk and lamps? I can take those in my car.”
“Sure, but they won’t be available for pick up until the end of next week.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes at the kid. I keep calling him a kid in my head, but he’s most likely the same age as me, maybe a year or two younger. Either way, I’m thankful for the savings I’ve managed to build up the last twenty-four years. It’s now offered me the opportunity to afford new furniture.
Once I’ve paid my monstrous furniture bill, I step out onto the sidewalk of downtown Austin. The sun beats across my skin as I slide my sunglasses down from the top of my head, shielding my eyes from the bright rays. I am enjoying this weather. I can feel it deep in my soul. I feel lighter when I stand underneath it. If the sun ever wanted to swallow me whole, I’d let it, as long as it made me a promise to never allow me to go back to the cold air of Minnesota.
There is a small part of me that allows myself to feel a sense of accomplishment about my day, but I’d be lying if I didn’t acknowledge the fact that I am still thinking about my run-in with my neighbor this morning. There are so many pieces of our conversation I’ve rewound in my head, playing back the way it felt when I touched him. The way his blue eyes sparked as I stood there with my arms crossed, my breasts swelling against the pressure. Then the way his face shifted when I spoke of my mother. I’ve only been living in Texas for one week, but the only person I’ve come to know in this short time frame is him. It’s been hard for me to understand how the only person I’ve talked to here can’t stand me. It’s still driving me crazy that he couldn’t even be bothered to tell me his name.
The frustration growing inside me propels me forward. I’m still wearing the same leggings and crop top I was wearing this morning, but I don’t care. If I am going to get through another eight hours of sifting through my mother’s belongings, I need something to eat. It also wouldn’t hurt if there were a large margarita sitting next to my plate.
I drive around the city, looking at the sights before deciding to turn onto a street downtown. I’m not a fan of the traffic, but it doesn’t bother me. There is no one I have to answer to and no one to check in with. I don’t want to go home and deal with my neighbor or the enormous list of chores I have.
The midday heat beats against my skin the second I step out of my car. Trees line the streets between each of the buildings. A large group of people pour out of one of the buildings, their voices drawing my attention in their direction. Down at the corner of the street, there’s a large green neon sign hanging above the door of the bar: Dallas’ Barbecue and Brew. I find it funny and a bit odd that there’s a restaurant with the name Dallas in it located in the heart of Austin.
A small group of people exit the bar when I finally make it up to the door, their laughter and shouting carrying out to the sidewalk. I’m surprised they’re so energetic when it’s just past noon. I guess that’s part of living in a college town, especially one as big as this one. I study the outside of the building. It has a vintage feel to it, the black-painted brick on the outside contrasting with the neon sign hanging above. Music booms from inside, and when I make it to the door, the smell of barbecue immediately hits me. My stomach grumbles, and I know I’ve come to the perfect place to sit down and finally get a feel for this city.
I walk inside, and the dining area isn’t nearly as busy as I expected it to be. Nonetheless, there are quite a few people packed into the small space. A long bar stretches across the right side of the restaurant while nearly a third of the space to the left is scattered with tables. I step farther inside and decide to take a seat at the bar.
I place my wallet on top of the bar and look around while I wait for the bartender. Near the back of the room is a stage, a single microphone placed in the middle, a guitar case resting against the beige wall.
“I apologize for the long wait.”
I snap my head in the direction of the voice to find a woman smiling back at me from behind the bar. Her long brown curly hair is pulled back into a ponytail and her lips are painted a bright pink. She’s wearing a black shirt with the Dallas’ Barbecue and Brew logo on the front, a red flannel shirt tied around her waist. She tosses a coaster with the same logo in front of me.
“It’s okay. I just sat down.”
“Oh, good. This is always the busiest time of day,” she adds with a thick southern accent. “I keep tellin’ Colton he needs to hire more people.” She shakes her head, clicking her tongue against her perfectly straight white teeth.
I notice she’s already started to make me a drink, and I widen my eyes at how big the glass is. Correction—it’s not a glass, it’s a goblet.
She continues talking to me as she pours liquid from one bottle before reaching for another. My drink goes from clear to yellow to a pale green in a matter of seconds. I’m mesmerized by her movements. It’s like watching a duck swimming in water. Half the time she isn’t even looking at the bottles she’s using.
“Anyway,” she says, sliding the glass toward me. She tosses in a lime wedge followed by a bright purple straw. “I hope you like margaritas.”
“Um…” I clear my throat and stare at the enormous goblet in front of me. “This is perfect.”
“Cool.” She doesn’t move from her place behind the bar, reaching down into the sink in front of her. She washes a few glasses, placing them on a rack to dry.
I take a sip of the drink, placing the purple straw between my lips.
Wow. This margarita is fucking amazing.
The woman nods toward my drink, the corner of her mouth turning up in a smile. “It’s good, right?”
“This is the best margarita I’ve ever had.” It’s the truth. I don’t think I’ve ever had a margarita taste as smooth as this one.
“You aren’t from here, are you?” she asks me, genuine curiosity written all over her face.
I shake my head and take another sip. “No. I’m originally from Minnesota.” I wipe the corner of my mouth and slide the menu out of the plastic holder sitting in front of me on the counter. I start reading through each item. All of it sounds delicious, and I don’t know what to order.
The bartender’s hand grips the top edge of the menu. She pulls it down, diverting my gaze to hers. “If you like the drink, you’ll love our food. Here.” She pulls the menu out of my hands and places it back in the holder. “I know just what to order you.”
Her hazel-colored eyes sparkle in the light of the neon bar signs hanging on all four walls. There’s a chalkboard behind her, drink and food items scribbled from one corner to the other.
“Thank you.” I give her a large grin. It feels good to have finally met someone who doesn’t look at me with annoyance. It feels good to be sitting with someone who actually wants to talk to me.
She walks over to her register and taps on the screen a few times before she refills a drink for a man sitting at the opposite end of the bar. Afterward, she walks back over to me and reaches her hand out. “I’m Vada.”
“Sloan.” I return her gesture and shake her hand over the counter.
“Nice to meet you.” Vada then leans over and crosses her arms on the glossy wooden bar top. “Minnesota, huh? I’ve never been there.” It’s slowed down a bit since I sat down, and I guess she feels comfortable enough to stop long enough to make small talk with me. I’m thankful for her company.
I grin, glad to have walked in here. “Well, there are a lot of trees and a lot of lakes.”
She smiles back. “So you’re saying it’s quite a bit different than Texas.”
“Yep.” I laugh.
“How are you liking it so far? Living here?�
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I wince, leaning down to take another sip of my delicious margarita. It’s almost empty. Vada notices and straightens her back, ready to make another. She grabs a fresh goblet.
“Ouch. I’ll take your silence as your answer that it hasn’t gone too well so far.”
“It’s a long story, but basically my mother died a few months back and left me her house.” I scrape my fingernail across the wood and avoid looking up at Vada. I don’t want or need to go into the brutal details of how, up until her death, my mother acted as if I never existed. It’s strange for me to be sharing such personal pieces of my life with a stranger, but something about her makes me feel comfortable enough to do so.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” She sticks out her bottom lip, frowning.
“It’s okay.” I wave her off. “Living in her house has actually been great considering that I didn’t mind leaving my life back in Minnesota. But apparently, my neighbor doesn’t seem to feel the same way I do about me moving in.”
“What do you mean?”
This time I look up at Vada. She’s already placed my second drink in front of me and taken my empty. Damn, she is good.
I sigh, swirling my straw around inside my glass. “I don’t know. I’ve run into him two times since I moved here, and I don’t know how to explain it, but it feels as if he hates me. I mean, shit.” I scoff, thinking back on this morning. “He wouldn’t even tell me his name.”
“I must say this guy sounds like he’s making us Texans look bad. We’re known for being super friendly.”
“Well, apparently he’s the exception.” I roll my eyes.
“Maybe he’s into you,” Vada suggests with a casual shrug of her shoulder. She walks over to a small window opening to the kitchen and grabs a basket full of food sitting inside the pass-through. She places it in front of me.
There’s a large sandwich that looks like it’s stuffed with pulled pork and a mound of fries underneath. It smells amazing. I pick up a fry and bite into the end of it.
“Yeah, right.” I snort, baffled by her assumption as to the reason for my neighbor’s behavior.
“I mean, I wouldn’t blame him. You’re super-hot.” She turns around to the register and cashes out another person at the bar sitting a few seats down from me. “Are you single?”
I straighten my back in my seat and clear my throat. “I am, but I’m not looking to date anyone right now.”
“Who knows.” Vada wags her eyebrows at me a few times. “Maybe you’ll change your mind.” She sounds as optimistic as Liam was the last time I saw him.
“Nah.” I shake my head, picking up one half of my pulled pork sandwich. I hold it with both hands, ready to take a bite. “Not any time soon, at least. I have rules, and you know what they say about those.”
“That they’re meant to be broken?” she asks, laughing.
I’m about to explain my reasoning but stop when her eyes shift to the front door.
“Oh, shit,” she says loudly, her expression morphing into one of annoyance.
I follow her gaze to see a man walking through the front door and behind the bar. His black-rimmed glasses are perched on his sharp nose, and a serious, worried expression spreads across his face as he charges toward Vada.
“What the hell, Vada?” the man says. “I was in the middle of a statistics class when you were blowing up my phone.”
“Look,” she says, holding her hands out. “We were slammed, and I had absolutely no one here to help me. Brandon is back there handling the food, and I’m responsible for everything out here.”
“Doesn’t look so bad now,” he says, quickly looking over the restaurant.
“Duh, Colton. That’s because the lunch rush is over because…well, it’s past lunch.” Vada crosses her arms over her chest, and I can’t help noticing Colton’s eyes catch her movement.
The whole situation reminds me of what happened this morning with my neighbor.
“I get that you’re taking extra classes for your master’s degree,” Vada says, her cheeks reddening, “but you also have a business to run.”
Colton pinches the bridge of his nose, nudging his glasses higher than they were before. “We shouldn’t be talking about this out here.” He sighs then adjusts the black frames. His eyes catch me staring at him and Vada. “I’m sorry,” he says to me. He grabs her by the elbow to move their conversation to the back, away from spectators.
“It’s fine.” She shrugs, nodding her head in my direction. “This is Sloan.”
“Hi,” Colton says, offering me a quick smile before shifting back to his argument with Vada.
“Sloan just moved here from Minnesota. She’s my new friend.” She grins, sticking her chin up in pride. I return her smile, relieved to have met someone kind for a change. It’s been a while since I’ve felt like I’ve had a true friend. Brenna and I had been friends since we were thirteen, but somehow that didn’t matter to her when it came to fucking my fiancé. The way Brenna betrayed me left me cautious of any new friends, but a part of me wants to put the past behind me, one step at a time. Vada isn’t Brenna, and she seems nice enough.
“Sloan, this is Colton. He’s one of the owners.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” Colton holds out his hand, and I give it a shake before pulling back.
Vada’s smile fades when she turns back to face Colton. “I keep saying you need to hire someone. It’s only going to get busier each day, and I can’t keep working like this. It’s too stressful.”
I don’t understand the depth of their relationship, but from what I’ve gathered in the two minutes they’ve been going at it back and forth, their connection cuts deeper than a typical boss-employee relationship.
“Don’t worry, Vada. I know we need more employees. Besides, I talked to Dallas this morning and he agreed we need more help, so I’m on it.” Colton reaches for one of the clean glasses behind the bar and fills it to the top with soda. He takes a long gulp before placing it down on the bar top. “I’m also thinking about hiring a performer to sing and play guitar every weekend and maybe a few nights during the week.”
She pauses, taking one step closer to Colton. I can tell the weight of their conversation has shifted. Apparently, this is the first time Colton has brought this topic up.
“Does Dallas know about this idea of yours?”
Colton winces, sliding his glasses up with the tip of his finger. “Not exactly.”
“Colton.” She tilts her head to the side and crosses her arms over her chest. “I don’t know if he’s going to like that idea.”
“What am I supposed to do? You know how it’s been lately, and we need a new bartender and performer. I can’t keep waiting for Dallas to make up his mind.”
“You know,” I interject, glancing between the two of them, “if you’re looking for someone to start right away, I might be able to help.”
“Really?” Colton asks, his dark eyebrows arching above his glasses.
“Yeah—I mean as a bartender, not the performer.” I pause, feeling both of their stares searing me with their deep expressions of hope, as if I’m saving them from misery. It’s not that I can’t sing—in fact I can, but I have never performed in front of a crowd before, and I don’t intend on starting now. I clear my throat and straighten my back, sitting up in my chair. “Anyway, I’m a teacher, but since I’m not working right now, I happen to be looking for a summer job. This would be perfect. It’s been a while since I’ve worked in a restaurant, but I know the basics.”
It’s true. The past two years were full of student teaching and wedding planning. I didn’t have much time when it came to working a side job. The last time I worked in a restaurant was at one of the lakeside resorts my father managed back in Minnesota. For the first two years of college, it paid for my food and gas.
“You’re a teacher?” Vada asks. “That’s fucking awesome.”
I laugh, my cheeks warming with her compliment. I can’t wait for the school year to begin and for me t
o be inside a classroom full of students. Until then, I need something else to keep me distracted. A summer job working as a bartender in one of the most popular bars in downtown sounds perfect.
“Well?” Vada plants her hands on her hips and stares at Colton, waiting for him to make a decision on if he should hire me.
“Shit.” He rubs his forehead with his fingertips. I can tell he’s stressed about this whole situation. “Dallas usually does the interviews for new employees, but…”
“So, you’re worried about what Dallas will think about you hiring someone to play a few nights a week but not about hiring a new bartender without interviewing them?”
Colton narrows his eyes. “Whatever, Vada.” There’s a hint of a smile hidden behind his hardened expression.
“Trust me.” She waves him off. “Dallas will only care that you found someone so quickly.”
Colton rolls his eyes. “You’re only saying that because you’re relieved to finally have someone to split the workload with.”
“You’re damn right I am.” She laughs as she pops the cap off a beer bottle for another person sitting at the bar. She slides it across the top then turns to me.
“Who’s Dallas?” I ask.
“He’s the other owner,” Colton says. “I mostly deal with the back of the house, and he manages the front. That’s why I say he usually does the interviews.”
“Oh.” I nod.
“Does that mean you’re hiring Sloan?” Vada asks Colton.
I trade glances between the two. So far, today has been a mix of emotions. Between the run-in with my neighbor, spending a fortune on furniture, and now suddenly the perfect summer job seeming to land in my lap, I’m not sure if I should consider myself lucky or not.
An hour ago, I was reconsidering my move to Texas. I was far from home and far from the life I once knew. Living in Texas is vastly different than Minnesota, but ever since I walked inside this restaurant, I finally feel like I belong somewhere, as strange as it sounds.
The Rules of Heartbreak: An Enemies-to-Lovers/Next-Door Neighbor Romance (The Heartbreak Series Book 1) Page 4
