Honeysuckle. I knew Isabella was here the minute I came out of the storage room and smelled its sweetness wafting through the air. It’s stronger to my senses than the beer, the bourbon, and the cigarette smoke. My brain buzzes and sends a little electrical jolt to my heart every time I inhale it. My heart jumps once, but still feels dead inside.
She’s at the bar waiting for her drink. My steps falter as her scent gets stronger in my nostrils. I slow down to inhale deeply, closing my eyes to take her in fully. My hands shake as I reach to touch her. This is that same feeling I used to get at the beginning of a race. Even though I know there is an element of danger, I would still slide into that seat, and go full throttle hoping and praying I didn’t crash and burn in the end.
She’s no different. My mind has simply traded one endorphin for another. I lean in and whisper in her ear, “I knew you’d come.” My hand finally steadies and slides down her back into that divot that holds my hand perfectly. She shivers and I press my body against her back, sharing my heat with her. She turns slowly to face me and is engulfed in my arms. Her sexy, crooked smile does me in, and the urge to kiss her glossy lips here in the crowded bar overwhelms me.
“Would you like to dance?” I ask her, as ‘Start of Something Good’ by Daughtry begins to play. That’s Jenna and her perfect timing. God, I love my niece. She nods her head, taking my hand and leads me to the center of the dance floor. I look up and catch Jenna’s eyes widen in shock. I’ve never danced here in the bar. The Sad part is that I love to dance, and do it all the time at home...when I’m actually there.
Our hands are entwined and trapped between our bodies. Her head is resting on my chest, probably hearing my heart race a million miles a minute because she’s so near. She’s tucked into me nice and safe as we sway to the music. She’s a little shorter without her heels on than earlier when we danced, making me feel bigger and stronger, and more manly to keep her protected. Something I have failed at miserably in my past. She’s the one; I know it. The one to make my heart beat again.
The song ends, but in true Jenna-style, the music starts right into ‘Truly Madly Deeply’ by Savage Garden. Isabella lifts her face to me with her long eyebrow raised in what could only be suspicion. “What?” I ask. “I don’t control their music playlist.”
“Hmmm,” she murmurs, tucking her head back down into its original position. Her hand changes positions leaving my chest and circling itself around to my lower back. I feel her tuck her thumb into a belt loop on my jeans. We continue dancing and I look around the room. There are a lot of eyes on me. I guess I have surprised the hell out of the patrons. Many smile and wink, but most of them are engrossed in their own business ignoring us. Good. That’s exactly how I want it to be.
I kiss her forehead while we sway and feel her smile spread across my chest. I think, but can’t swear to it, that she kissed my T-shirt. It was whisper light, but I felt a light touch against my heart.
The song ends and JEMFire cuts straight to the guitar riff for ‘Sex On Fire’ by the Kings of Leon. We both shake our heads, declaring we’re done as Isabella laughs. She claps for the band and Jenna smiles big at both of us before the lyrics begin. I lead Isabella back to my stool and motion for Derek to bring two beers. “But I didn’t finish my other one,” she complains, looking around for her original beer.
“It’s okay,” I advise. “I wouldn’t let you drink something that’s been open and unsupervised for more than a minute. Not everyone’s intentions are good, especially after they’ve been drinking. Bar rule #1: Protect the patron.” Derek pops the lid off of our beers and sets them down on napkins.
“Oh, look at that,” she says and traces an etching on the bar that reads ‘Sherry loves Manuel’. “Love doesn’t get more permanent than that.”
I scoop up both of the long neck bottles and carry them to an empty booth near the back not wanting to get mushy with her tonight.
After we settle in, she takes a long drawl from her beer and sets it right back down on the water ring that formed on the table. “Did you have a good time tonight at the wedding?” she asks shyly. Her eyes are lowered and her voice is small like she’s nervous asking my opinion of her work.
“It was beautiful,” I inform her and her face raises to mine quickly. A warm smile spreads across her face and her eyes crinkle in the corners. I’ve made her happy with my impression.
“And would decorations in that manner be okay here on the inside of the bar for Aran and Kyle?” she asks, raising one eyebrow in question. Her face is hopeful in anticipation of my response.
“Do you really want to talk business tonight or relax and celebrate a successful night of dumpster diving?” I ask, trying to shut off her mind from work. I hope the half-smile on my face lets her know I’m teasing, but she needs to unwind. I already know she’s a work-a-holic. Her wedding schedule is printed on her website, and she’s fully booked for the next four months. Every fucking weekend.
“Alright. I can relax, I guess,” she says, before taking another drink of her beer. I don’t believe her. “How long have you been the owner of this fine establishment?” She asks while I’m taking a drink of my beer, and I just about spit it out on the table.
“Fine establishment?” I ask, chuckling at her words. Her face drops into a pout, and she starts peeling the label from her beer letting me know I’ve offended her. I reach across the table and brush my finger across the top of her hand. “Hey, I’m sorry. No one has ever called it that. The usual adjectives are dump or dive, but I’m proud of it. Thank you for putting it in high regard.”
She lifts her face up to mine. “You didn’t answer my question,” she reminds me bluntly. She’s almost done with peeling her label.
“It will be nineteen years in October,” I inform her. Bekah walks by the table as she comes in from the new addition in the back. She approaches the table, but the look I shoot her makes her continue on, hopefully without notice to Isabella.
“So, you must have been young when you became the proprietor?” she asks. “No college plans or was this in your family before you?”
“Are you trying to figure out my age in a roundabout kind of way?” I question, staring her directly in the eyes. “I like to get to the point— I’m forty-five if you want to know.”
“Alright. And how did you come to own the bar, Mr. Get-To-The-Point?” she sasses, tilting her head and calling me out on my shit.
“I bought it when my career fizzled and my fiancé died,” I say, matter-of-factly. No bullshit. There it is spewed out on the table. Let’s see how she handles it. I grit my jaw, waiting for her response to my truth.
“And what career were you in?” she asks, swallowing hard and ignoring the other part of my confession. She’ll work her way to it, I guess, but I’ll shut her down and we’ll see how she handles that.
“I was a stock car driver,” I admit, letting out a big sigh. I stretch my long legs out under the table, settling in for the conversation. “I was doing pretty good on the circuit, gaining sponsors and working my way up the rankings. It took me years to do it until one night it all came crashing to an end. Literally.” And that’s as far as I am going with that story tonight.
“I like racing,” she confesses, her face lighting up in amusement. “I used to watch it with my dad, but I don’t remember you. Then again, I was only thirteen and still planning weddings with my Barbie dolls and Ken.” We both laugh and it’s obvious that we’re attempting to ignore the other statement in my confession. Time to shift gears.
“Did you get enough to eat at the wedding?” I ask. My stomach is starting to whimper lowly and if I ignore it, it will become a raging growl soon. “I ask because I’m getting a little hungry.”
“Sure, I could eat. Is there food here or did you want to go and get something?” she asks, finally peeling the full label off her beer and spreading it out on the table with her fingertips. She smiles at me with pride in her accomplishment. It’s perfect, but it’s Isabella and I’m not surprised.
“No. We only have pretzels and peanuts here,” I advise, pulling my legs in and sitting up straight. “We can’t drive now that we’ve had alcohol. My house is out back if you want to come over? I have homemade potato soup I can re-heat, or we can grill hamburgers? Your choice.”
“I could go for a burger if it’s not too late?” She takes the last drink of her beer and scoots to the edge of the bench to stand. Without any hesitation, she starts walking towards the new addition to exit into the parking lot. I motion for Bekah.
“We’re going to go eat. In case I’m not back tonight, can you shut everything down and lock up?” Bekah follows Isabella down the back hallway with her eyes. I swear she rolled them, but I can’t be sure because I was watching Isabella walk too.
“Yes, Sir,” she says, nodding her head and tucking her serving tray under her arm before walking away. She’s silently pissed, but I don’t know why.
I catch up to Isabella at the back door and swing it open for her to exit first. She waits for me to take the lead, and we walk across the lot to the far corner. I’ve got my hand on my spot on her lower back. It goes there easily and instantly like it’s designated for me.
We get to the bamboo gate and I pull the latch, swinging it open easily for her to enter first. I’m anxious to see her reaction to my Japanese garden. She stops abruptly once she enters and her eyes adjust to the dim lighting. “Oh my God. This is gorgeous,” she exclaims. “Did you do this all yourself?”
“No,” I admit, feeling inferior for that truth. I could have done it, but I just wanted it completed quickly. I was too far into my grief to be creative. “I hired a landscaper from San Francisco. His crew did it in two weeks once we had the plans drawn up. It would have taken me months.”
We walk across the curved bridge over the koi pond and onto the lighted pathway that I take alone every night. It feels better walking it with her. She points to the hammock and the water fountain that is next to it. “I bet that’s a perfect place to rest and read. I’d love to do that someday,” she admits. “Stretching out and listening to the babbling water of the fountain. I’m in Paradise.” She reaches up and rubs the long, thin leaves of the Eucalyptus tree above us.
“Yes, it’s my haven. I’m here every night after the bar, lying in that hammock to unwind,” I confess. “At 3:00 am, it’s completely silent and peaceful.”
She reaches her hand up to cup my neck and pulls my face to hers, pressing her lips to mine. I can taste her Blue Moon beer and it’s orange spice. She opens up to me, taking the kiss deeper. My arms pull her to me, lifting her up, wanting all of her within this one kiss. She’s light as a feather, but I break the kiss and set her back down.
“Let me feed you first, and then we’ll tour the garden,” I promise, taking her hand and entering my kitchen.