I slapped at my alarm clock, missed, and then reminded myself that I’d moved it from my bedside table to avoid this exact scenario. Groaning, I sat up and blearily made my way across my tiny bedroom to the trunk I used as a dresser. I smacked the top of my clock, and the obnoxious fire-alarm blaring finally stopped. I’d never been a morning person and keeping bar hours hadn’t helped. In school, my phone had been enough to get me up, but not anymore. If things kept going this way, I’d need one of those alarm clocks that ran when they went off, so I’d have to chase it.

Just the thought made me want to climb back under the covers.

Instead, I trudged into the bathroom and began my morning routine.

It was nearly noon, but since I was just waking up, it was breakfast time for me. Not that I was particularly picky about what I was eating. Dry cereal, oatmeal, a ham and cheese sandwich…I didn’t care as long as I had a cup of coffee.

I was lucky I could remember my name if I wasn’t caffeinated.

I carried my raisin-covered oatmeal and giant mug of coffee from my kitchenette into my office. When my dad moved us into the space behind the bar after my mom left, he converted a space between the back of the bar and the front into an office. It had allowed him to keep most of his work life separate from our personal life, and I still used it the same way. Granted, I didn’t really have much of a personal life, but it did help me keep a definite start and finish to my days, long as they were.

I went through the easy stuff while my brain absorbed the caffeine. Checked emails. Bank account. That sort of thing. I marked everything I needed to come back to or take a closer look at, and then I pulled out the books. My dad had done things old school, and that was how he taught me to do them too, but when I took over the accounting a few years back, I made a deal with him. I’d keep the old books, but I’d use new ones as well. It allowed me to double-check everything, and it made me feel a bit more secure about doing it all on my own. Someone might get access to one set of my books, but I doubted anyone could get both.

It took about an hour before the numbers started to blur, not because it’d taken me that long to see if things added up, but because I’d been trying to find places where I could save money, and I’d come up with squat.

Less than squat.

Shit.

When my dad was alive, we served food from five to seven every night. Nothing fancy, but some of the best hamburgers in the area, and the fries hadn’t been too bad either. Dad had manned the grill himself, and I made random desserts whenever I didn’t have too much homework. Cookies and cakes, with an occasional pie thrown in. I was no Betty Crocker, but the regulars had loved it.

But after Dad died – a heart-attack at only fifty-two – I hadn’t had the heart to even consider replacing him. By the time I’d grieved enough to be able to walk into the bar without bursting into tears, things had changed. Some of the people I counted on being there for me had disappeared, finding another bar to haunt, maybe somewhere they didn’t have to worry about it closing for a week while a daughter mourned.

It had been a couple of months before I started to see the impact on the business side of things, and it’d never picked back up. I’d talked to customers, found the brands they really wanted and cut way back on the more expensive alcohol. I hadn’t bothered to investigate bringing food back since that would’ve meant hiring someone else, and I couldn’t handle another employee.

Not financially or personally, I thought as I looked at the paychecks I had to fill out. Aside from Gilly, my employees gave me a headache at least once a week. Some more than that. I tapped Ariene’s name with my finger. I’d regretted hiring her by her second shift, and while she toed the line, she never crossed it enough to give me grounds to fire her.

Was it wrong that I was hoping she’d screw up so I could get rid of her?

I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples. Maybe she’d surprise me and end up turning around.

I’m too sexy–

I grabbed my phone just so I wouldn’t have to listen to the rest of that song. I was pretty sure that was why Billy had programmed it as his text and ringtones. Well, that and the fact that he loved to walk around singing that damn song like he was some sort of male model.

Good looking? Yes, even though he had a bit of a baby face. He was on the short side but had nice broad shoulders and solid muscles. Well, muscles that used to be solid. Lately, he’d been drinking more and exercising less, so he was starting to get a bit soft, but I’d never thought of myself as being focused on looks.

hey babe gonna have 2 cancel 2nite srry

His abbreviations and his lack of punctuation drove me nuts, but no matter how often I asked him to at least start separating sentences, nothing changed.

Is everything okay?

I reminded myself not to jump to any conclusions. He might’ve been flaking on me recently, but he’d been there for me when it mattered. He’d dropped everything when I called him to tell him that I was on my way to the hospital with my dad. He’d stayed with me while the doctors worked on Dad, and he’d held me when I’d gotten the news that the heart attack had been fatal.

So what if he’d canceled plans for the third time in a row? So what if we hadn’t spent more than a few minutes together in weeks?

nuthin wrong mom needs me raccoon in the attic

I blinked, thinking I had to have read that wrong. His mother had a raccoon in her attic? A normal person would have called animal control – and that was exactly what I should have told Billy to do – but Mrs. Outhwaite wasn’t exactly normal. She wasn’t my biggest fan, even after all this time, convinced that I was going to steal her son away from her, so Billy and I spent as little time as possible with her. That didn’t mean he’d blow her off when she was worried.

Call animal control. I typed anyway. It could have rabies.

My message changed from ‘delivered’ to ‘read’ after just a couple seconds, but no three dots popped up telling me he was responding. I set the phone down and stood, stretching my arms above my head. He’d been planning to come by and help me open the bar, then we’d go get something to eat. The weekdays were slow enough that I could take a couple hours off, especially when I’d been working my ass off. Now, I wouldn’t be leaving, and I’d be opening by myself.

I twisted to stretch the muscles in my back and reminded myself that there was a rogue raccoon in Mrs. Outhwaite’s attic. She needed Billy more than I did.

As I glanced down at my phone, however, I wondered if I really did need him at all. Hell, half the time, I barely noticed he wasn’t there until he showed up.

I picked up my cleaning supplies and then headed out to the bar. Whoever was closing with me usually did the clean-up stuff that couldn’t wait until the next morning – bathrooms, dishes, the usual bar dirty work – which meant I could do a wipe down and clean the floors on my own before we opened. I’d been doing it since I was a kid, so it was almost automatic anymore.

Giving me plenty of time to think while I worked.

Unfortunately, with Billy’s text on my mind, that was what I thought about. How it wasn’t actually too bad doing this myself, especially since Billy never seemed to help as much as I thought he would. He’d inevitably find something random – also known as easy – to do, like arranging shot glasses or double-checking the inventory I’d done twice already. Sometimes, he’d sit on the bar and tell me all about the ideas he had for the future.

Ideas that rarely ever included me or my bar, now that I thought about it. Then again, Billy’s dreams were always unrealistic. Winning the lottery so he could buy the Celtics. Or some agent would spot him somewhere and offer him a movie role. After all, Tom Cruise was only an inch taller than he was. Or he could be an underwear model. A stuntman. A YouTube sensation. Those were some of his favorites, but sometimes he reached even further and talked about some idea he was sure could be sold on a show like Shark Tank for millions. Except his ideas were usually things like beer-scented cologne or dissolvable condoms.

Maybe that was why he never talked about our relationship or the bar; he didn’t need to dream for any of that. But that didn’t explain why he never talked about what the two of us were doing in those far-fetched daydreams of his.

Not that I’d ever call them that to his face.

I glanced at my phone again and saw he still hadn’t responded. He was probably already at his mom’s place because if he was on the bus, he would’ve texted back. Unless he was in the middle of watching something on his phone. Apparently, he’d been binging Game of Thrones the last three times he’d gone hours without responding.

More like watching all the sex scenes over and over.

I shook my head and went back to cleaning off the last table. People didn’t understand why Billy and I didn’t live together or why I wasn’t pushing for an engagement, but the fact that I was more relieved than annoyed that he’d canceled yet again was proof that I was making the right decision to keep things the way they were.

I went back into the breakroom and put the paychecks in their usual basket, Gilly’s on top since she was coming in first. She’d want to know why Billy and I weren’t going out, and I’d have to tell her about the raccoon. I could almost quote every comment she’d make.

He’s playing you, Syll. When are you going to realize that the two of you should have split years ago? Or even better, not dated at all. You’re too good for him. Why are you staying with him? You can do so much better.

Gilly hadn’t liked Billy from moment one, and things hadn’t improved over the years. If anything, she was more critical of him, talking about him jumping from job to job, the way he apparently took me for granted, how often he borrowed money from me, especially when business was bad.

The knock at the door made me jump, but I welcomed the distraction. That was what I got for not turning on some music or something to keep all this shit out of my head.

I grabbed a towel as I walked to the door. It was almost time to open anyway. It was probably just a regular with a fast watch or something. Maybe it was Billy, coming by after he’d saved his mother from her furry intruder.

I hoped not. A burst of guilt followed my thought. I mentally cringed as I opened the door, unable to stop myself from still feeling like I preferred for him to not be there.

It wasn’t Billy.

It was a middle-aged, average-looking man in a decent suit. He was the sort of guy who blended into a crowd, someone I could have met a hundred times and still not recognized.

“Good afternoon, Miss Reeve.” Even his voice was average. “My name is Mr. Jones, and I represent an anonymous client who wishes to purchase your bar.”

A thousand questions and comments flew through my head, but there was only one thing for me to actually say.

“No way in hell.”