Whiskey Sour (Crow Bar Brute Squad Book 3)

by Abby Knox

  "Come on, my love. Let's let Harper pick."

  Harper looked at Lora with puppy dog eyes. "We can watch Forks Over Knives after that, I promise."

  Desiree commented under her breath, "Perfect for lulling everyone to sleep at bedtime."

  Lora said, "I heard that."

  "You were meant to," Desiree said, sliding over to Lora and kissing her on the cheek.

  Harper stretched and yawned. "Whatever you guys want is fine. I'm kinda exhausted already."

  Lora and Desiree exchanged a knowing look. "My dear, what have you been up to today?"

  Harper could not hide the heat that lit up her cheeks.

  "I…had a date."

  Lora and Desiree both set their plates down and cheered.

  "What?! Tell me everything!" Lora said.

  "Is he cute? What's his name?" Is he a good kisser?"

  Harper chugged her water and knew she was going to need something stronger to get through this conversation.

  "His name is…Dash."

  Lora and Desiree stared at her and then each other. "Dash? That's familiar. Do I know…" Lora trailed off as she got a good look at the way Harper was chewing in the inside of her lip. "Wait a minute. Did you have a date with Dash Fitzgerald? Of Marianne Fitzgerald? That Dash?"

  Harper looked from one mom to the other and waited for the judgment.

  "I thought you hated him," Lora said.

  "How was the date? Is he a good kisser?"

  "Excuse me," Lora said. "Can we unpack this first? How did you two end up on a date?"

  Harper could not look her mother in the eye. Both Lora and Desiree had raised her to talk straight with them about sex. She'd never felt ashamed about the subject or her body, thanks to them. But at the same time, this was too awkward.

  "Um, well? He asked me to go on a date with him while we happened to be…having breakfast together."

  Both women screamed again.

  "Tell me everything right now," Desiree demanded.

  "I do not want to know a single thing," Lora said. "The Fitzgeralds and the Rosses have had a long, fraught history. Each family has hated each other since the 1930s. It's a long, proud tradition. How could you do this to us?"

  Desiree clucked. "Oh, that old rivalry. Come on."

  "It's not a rivalry. The Fitzgeralds have held a grudge ever since all that business after the Volstead Act was repealed. They don't know how to move on from their bad decisions, and they've made our lives a living hell ever since."

  "I'd hardly call what they've done as a living hell," Harper said.

  Desiree nodded. "This is perfect. If you date and then marry a Fitzgerald, then there's no rivalry anymore. The two families can finally heal."

  Harper held up her palms. "Okay. You're putting an awful lot of pressure on a brand new thing."

  Lora agreed. "Yeah. It's not like this is a full-blown relationship yet. We can always hope that it comes to nothing and everything goes on, business as usual."

  Harper looked sheepishly up at Lora. "We…Dash and I… it's a full-blown relationship."

  "What?!"

  "Mom, it happened so fast."

  "You don't decide to partner up with someone after one date."

  "Well, it wasn't like he just showed up and asked me out on a date, and we decided to become an item. It was just chemistry."

  Desiree nearly knocked over her chair to run off to the hallway closet.

  "Where is she going?"

  Lora scrubbed her face with her hand. "She's going to do a reading."

  Desiree returned and laid out a series of cards face down on the table.

  "Mom, this isn't necessary."

  Desiree shushed her and then started to flip the cards over.

  "Look at this one. That signifies abundance."

  She flipped over another. "This one symbolizes fertility."

  Harper was about to speak up. As a person who dealt with several issues regarding her uterus, she assumed she would never have kids. Desiree pressed a reassuring hand over Harper's forearm. "It doesn't necessarily mean bearing children. It could be fertility in anything. It could just mean your mind is fertile soil to sow new ideas, that you're open to change and growth. You've always had a good growth mindset, Harper. Unlike your mother."

  "Hey."

  "Oh hush, I didn't mean anything by it, Lora."

  Harper stared at the cards on the table in front of her. She felt it was odd how the cards that looked like they promised good things looked like nightmares. And the ones that bore lovely items such as cups and babies and fruit trees seemed to symbolize terrible events to come.

  "I am receptive to different ways of thinking, but that still doesn't mean this whole thing does not throw me with Dash." Turning to her mom, she pleaded, "Mom, come on. You know I love you, and I would not do anything to hurt the family business, right? Maybe it's just time to put all of this bullshit behind us. And also, your great-granddad did pretty much steal that recipe from Fitz, didn't he? Maybe it's time to mend fences."

  "They worked on that recipe together. It took years."

  "That's not my point. I know it's weird to hear me say this after years of disliking the man, but do you trust me that Dash would never, ever, ever do anything to hurt me, my family, or the business? Yes, he's a pain in the ass, but he's a good human. And he treats me well."

  Desiree picked up another card and asked, cocking her head at Harper, "How are the orgasms?"

  Both Lora and Harper scoffed. "Oh my god," Lora said, covering her face.

  Harper exclaimed, "Really none of your business!"

  But Desiree placed the card she had just chosen face up on the table. She examined it, and a satisfied smiled crossed her lips. She looked up at her daughter and said, "Excellent. Your mother and I endorse this match."

  Lora peeked out from between her fingers and said, "Can we just go watch a movie now?"

  Chapter Fifteen

  Dash

  * * *

  By the time everything was cleaned up at Crow Bar, the sun had risen behind the buildings. Dash could hear the noises of activity at the docks as ships left and arrived, their horns echoing off the water.

  Dash grabbed a boatload of fast food breakfast before heading back to Harper's house. He liked having someone to text at the end of a shift. He liked texting her at the end of his shift.

  He piled all of it on the counter and shot Harper a text to let her know where he was, and then went outside to shovel the crackled ice and slush off her front walk.

  Forgetting that Fr. O'Brien lived right across the street, the voice of the priest startled him while he went into a meditative state in his shoveling and cleaning up.

  "Very good of you to be looking out for the Ross girl."

  Startled, Dash stumbled backward and tugged his earbuds out of his ears. "Father, good morning."

  "Didn't mean to scare you, my son. Everything all right? Your nose…"

  "Perfect, totally perfect," he said. "A little dust-up at the bar."

  Just then, Harper arrived home in her little Toyota and parked it in her now cleared driveway.

  "I see you and Miss Harper have been mending fences," Fr. O'Brien remarked, gesturing with his mittened hand to the driveway that Dash had already cleared in a matter of five minutes.

  Mending her fence is one phrase for it, he thought.

  "Yes," Harper said, slipping one arm around Dash's waist. "He's quite adept with a post-hole digger."

  Dash's stomach fell to his feet, and he nearly tumbled into the slush. He felt her hand slip into his back pocket.

  Fr. O'Brien seemed unfazed by her odd comment. "Well, you two be sure to let me know as soon as you may require pre-marital counseling. Or…confession."

  With that, the priest meandered down the street in his black track pants, continuing his morning stroll to the warming shelter to serve breakfast to the homeless.

  They watched him go; Dash waited a minute before turning to Harper. "You did not just say tha
t to my priest."

  "He can handle it—oh my god, what happened to you?"

  She reached up to touch Dash's nose, but he dodged her hand.

  "Let's go inside before the ground opens up and you go straight to hell for telling dirty jokes to a priest."

  Harper laughed as they stepped inside. "If I'm going to hell, you're going with me."

  The two of them fell into a moment of tender kisses and caresses in the entryway after they removed their coats, hats, mittens, and other winter paraphernalia. Dash grunted as he unwound Harper's bulky scarf and tossed it into a little basket she had set aside for that purpose. "I'll be glad when spring and summer arrive. Fewer layers to take off."

  He breathed in her warmth when she nestled into his tight hug. "I missed you," she said.

  Nobody had ever spoken those three words to Dash before—not in that context, anyway. The sentiment brought up unfamiliar feelings inside of him. He liked her; he cared for her. Something bigger grew between them, even when they were apart from each other. That bigger thing did not yet have a name, or it could have been that Dash was not yet ready to name it. Or was afraid to name it. Just enjoy the moment, Dash, he told himself. Kissing the top of her head, he breathed her in.

  "This is much nicer than wearing your scent on my shirt."

  She laughed softly against his chest, rippling a sweet sensation across his skin. "I wanted to come to work with you, but you wouldn't let me."

  He growled at that. "Good thing you didn't come to work. Those biker guys started a fight again. We had a huge mess to clean up, or I would have been back here sooner. I wanted to get your front walk and driveway cleaned up before you got home."

  She squeezed his middle. "That's so thoughtful of you. I'm sorry you had to deal with a mess. And with a broken nose."

  He shrugged. "It's probably not broken. And anyway, I couldn't let Griff and Honey deal with the aftermath. Declan will close the bar for a couple of days until he can get the police's attention. File charges for the property damage."

  She quirked an eyebrow as she assessed the danger to his face. "You're hurt, and you're tired. Come on."

  Harper led him by the hand to the bathroom, where she ran warm water and began helping him clean up his face.

  "I don't need you to fuss over me."

  "Yes, you do. It's my job now. Sorry."

  He laughed and then winced at the pain in his side.

  "What's wrong? Why are you grabbing your ribs? Do we need to take you to the ER?"

  He scoffed. "Yeah, right. Do I look like I have ER health coverage?"

  Harper looked at him as if she wanted to cry and then became angry. She muttered about the injustice of medical bills and a broken health care system, all the while cleaning up his face.

  Other than his mother, nobody had ever fussed over Dash. And ever since he'd started working at Crow Bar and begun arriving home after his shifts with regular bumps, bruises, and bloody noses, he'd avoided allowing Mrs. Fitzgerald to see the state of him. He hadn't wanted her to worry; she had enough to worry about. The result was that now, with Harper hovering around, he found himself wanting to soak up the attention.

  He grunted in agreement as she got herself riled out about income inequality. By the time she turned on the bath, she had solved the entire world's problems. "Off with your clothes and get in."

  "I can bathe myself, Harper," he said.

  She nodded. "Yes, you can, but I'm going to wash those funky clothes now; I don't care what you say about it. And then I'm going to feed you, and you're going to rest."

  He smiled, even as it caused the bruises on his face to throb. He reached around her waist and pulled her to him, softly kissing between her breasts. "I didn't know you had a maternal streak," he said.

  Harper tugged the man bun free and stroked his hair. "I didn't know I had it either. I guess you brought it out in me. Better take advantage of it while it lasts. Now get in the tub and give me your clothes."

  Wearing nothing but a towel around his waist after his bath, Dash came into the kitchen, drawn by the smell of something delicious.

  "I just realized something," he said. "I don't have any other clothes."

  Harper, looking adorable wearing oven mitts and removing a pan of something from the oven, cast a glance over her shoulder. "The only thing you're doing today is sleeping, mister, so no worries."

  He watched as she served up something steamy from the pan she'd just taken from the oven. When she turned and got a good look at him, she smirked. "I'm going to have to invest in bigger towels, aren't I?"

  Dash looked down and assessed the situation. "I don't know; I think this is quite flattering for my thighs."

  She laughed and handed him a bowl. "Baked oatmeal. If you don't like it, I have cereal."

  The two of them sat together and ate their breakfast—Dash in a towel and Harper still in her pajamas. He thought it was cute that she'd driven home in a pair of pajamas with cupcakes all over them, underneath her parka.

  After breakfast, Harper loaded his clothes in the dryer and insisted he go to bed.

  He tugged her down to the bed with him. "Only if you stay with me."

  She protested even as he held her against his aching side. "I have to clean up breakfast."

  "Leave it. I won't be able to sleep without you anyway," he said.

  "But you're hurt," she said, leaning away and gingerly touching his side, assessing a bruise on his ribcage.

  "I can handle it. Now come here. You need to sleep, too. I know you stayed up all night talking to your moms about me."

  She snorted into his shoulder and kissed his chest. "Narcissistic much?"

  He chuckled sleepily. "That's me. You figured me out."

  "Fine," she said, sitting up and grabbing the pile of blankets at the foot of the bed. She covered up them both and settled back in. "But no funny business. You need to sleep."

  "I can do this, you know. I can just hold you and go to sleep without tearing your clothes off."

  She murmured through a yawn and a stretch, "I don't know any guys who can sleep with a woman without copping a feel."

  Dash reached over and cupped her breast through her pajama top. "I didn't say I wouldn't cop a feel. It's my new security blanket."

  He knew Harper was on the verge of sleep because instead of arguing or calling him out, she mumbled, "Okay," while burrowing in closer to his side.

  That nap was the best nap of his entire life.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dash

  * * *

  The thing about dating Harper that Dash should have predicted was that he should never predict where they might go or what they might do.

  "Don't you have to work tomorrow? Why would you want to go to work voluntarily on your day off?" Dash asked as Harper pulling up to the private parking lot below the Newcastle Dispatch building.

  After the deepest, most satisfying sleep of his life, followed by some equally enjoyable sex with Harper, she had gotten that look in her eye. She'd asked if he wanted to go on a little adventure, and he knew better than to refuse his little firecracker.

  "This is not work. This is fun," she said as they entered the elevator. "We're going to the archives."

  If anybody else had suggested visiting archives would be a fun date, Dash might have had the urge to stick his thumb in his eye to get out of it. He barely understood what an archive was. But with Harper, he'd sit through middle school algebra again.

  When they arrived on the sixth floor, Harper spoke to the attendant and requested to see the newspapers from a date back in the 1930s.

  The attendant nodded and disappeared into the stacks.

  Dash turned to her. "Is this some elaborate time-traveling adventure but instead of getting to drive a cool car, I have to read a newspaper?"

  "You'll see," Harper said with a mischievous smile.

  The attendant returned with a copy of the newspaper from the day she'd requested. The pages had been protected with plastic sheetin
g, and it was bound on what looked like a small curtain rod.

  She carried the edition over to a large podium-like stand, where she opened the newspaper and searched up and down the pages.

  "Here," Harper said. "Read this."

  Dash looked over her shoulder to where she pointed and saw what she wanted him to read.

  "City debates closing secret tunnels."

  The story laid out the recent discovery of the tunnels used to transport liquor and other contraband substances all over Newcastle.

  "See? That's your grandpa."

  Dash looked at her and looked back at the paper. An old-timey illustrated portrait of a man in a bowler hat bore a striking resemblance to Dash's late father.

  "Well, I guess he would be your great or great-great-grandfather," she clarified.

  "Whoa," he said. He leaned down and squinted at the fading print on the yellowed page. The story explained the tunnels' discovery and the entire history of the partnership between Jack Fitzgerald and Horace Ross. The two of them had founded Fitzross Whiskey and had operated a secret still, literally underground, in the same spot where Horace Ross Whiskey now stood.

  The words on the page made his heart pound with excitement. He never knew the story behind the feud, but now it all became clear. When the vice squad broke up their secret operation, everyone working there made a run for it. Ross had helped the employees escape through the underground tunnels, but Fitz had stayed behind to put the secret recipe in the safe. The delay had gotten him arrested by the vice squad. By the time he got out of jail, Ross had married the woman who had been Fitz's fiancée, had resurrected the still, and had a booming business once again.

  After the Volstead Act was lifted, Ross continued with the business, then becoming a legitimate operation. He offered to buy Fitz out or welcome him back as a partner, but Fitz was so heartbroken, he cut ties completely.

  Dash felt as if he hadn't breathed in five minutes.

  "So that's how it started."

  He looked at Harper. "I'm speechless."