CHAPTER TWO

“Cheeseburger in Paradise”

Quinn

I left Evan sipping on his beer while I cleaned up the tables. I couldn’t help but think about what my dad would say if he knew I had a man living with me. I’d spoken a few times to Mom since she’d moved but had yet to mention my housemate. I already knew what her reaction would be. She wouldn’t approve. Well, tough shit. She shouldn’t have left.

“Shit happens when you least expect it.” My daddy used to say this. I figured it was his way of explaining the unexplainable. Now, I wasn’t so sure. Truthfully, I wasn’t really sure of anything anymore. Before he died, I was happy...truly happy. I knew who I was and where I was going. Somewhere along the way, I’d lost myself. I was starting to think I’d never find my way back to the woman I was or if I even wanted to.

While Evan was busy talking to Alex-Ann, I slipped outside for my nightly cigarette.

Humming along to “Tennessee Whiskey,” I thought back to the day Dad told us he was sick. When he called a family meeting, I didn’t think much of it, as he was known to do this often.

“Doc found a spot on my left lung and wants to do a biopsy,” he announced in his oh-so casual way.

Mom and I just sat there staring at him, completely stunned by his news. Minutes passed before she broke the silence. While she hammered him with questions, I remained frozen to my chair. My father, the backbone of our family, my best friend and hero, was sick. How could this be?

As it turned out, the spot wasn’t just a spot, but a cancerous mass. Dad wasn’t just sick. He was dying. According to the doctors, the tumor had metastasized to his aorta, which in turn, had rendered it inoperable. The doctors called it “terminal.” Mom and I called it bullshit. After three months of us dragging him to every specialist known to man, Dad said no more. At the time, I didn’t understand. Why was he giving up? Unable to see past the fear of losing him, I got angry. That anger drove me to pull back, to withdraw from my family and my friends. This, of course, lasted all of a week. Then my father came looking for me.

“You’re upsetting your mother,” he drawled in that good-ole-boy tone of his. Mom’s not the one dying! I wanted to scream but didn’t dare. No one, not even me, was allowed to speak ill of my mother in front of him.

Glaring at him, I blurted, “Don’t you want to live?”

“Oh, Quinny. I want that more than anything in this world.”

“Then...why?” I asked, desperate to understand.

“You were there. You heard them. How many doctors did I talk to, four, five? Open your eyes, girl! Aside from a miracle, there’s nothing that can be done.” He stood there staring at me with heartache in his eyes, and suddenly it hit me. Whether I liked it or not, my dad was going to die. In a landslide of emotion, the anger that I’d been holding onto so tightly, crumbled into a gaping maw of pain.

“Daddy,” I whispered, trying my damndest to fight back the tears.

“I would give anything to—” he swallowed deeply before continuing, “stay here with you and your mom, but I can’t. I need you to understand this, sweet girl.” His lips quivered, but it was the sound of his voice cracking that was my undoing.

“Don’t die,” I pleaded, knowing how unfair it was to ask, yet saying it anyway. He didn’t need to answer. The painful silence spoke for him. When he opened his arms wide for me, a sob escaped. The second my head hit his chest, I broke. I was still broken...

“I wondered if you smoked.” I’d been so deep in thought that I hadn’t heard him sneak up on me. Hot rocker boy. My new roomie. My secret sexual fantasy.

“Busted. Just don’t tell my—” I started to say mother.

“Don’t tell your—?” he pressed.

“Nothing.” Rock Star hadn’t earned the right to my secrets.

“Come on, Country. I feel all exposed here. I’ve basically told you my life story. You’ve got to give me something.”

“You’ve told me like three things,” I pointed out.

“And now it’s your turn. Fair’s fair,” he urged. Leave it to the ass to appeal to my sense of fairness.

“Fine. Let’s see, my mom was thirty-five when she met my dad. At the time, she was running her own accounting business. According to her, Dad was a real entrepreneur. He was also forty and a bachelor, two things that were unheard of in that day and age. My father referred to it as dabbling, but Mom claims he had his hands in at least three different ventures. One of these required her services. He used to joke about how he went looking for an accountant and ended up with a wife. After the wedding,” I continued, “my parents didn’t waste time getting pregnant with me. They tried for more children, but Mom said it wasn’t in the cards. She called me God’s little gift.” The look on Evan’s face was priceless. I bit back a laugh. Clearly, he wasn’t expecting a history lesson.

“While I was hoping for something a little dirtier, learning about your family history will do. Keep going,” Evan inserted. Laughing, I flicked the butt of my cigarette at him.

“I didn’t realize how different I was from other kids until grade school when I was old enough to have sleepovers. I mean, I knew my house was big. I just didn’t realize how big. It only got worse. In junior high I was picked on. The mean girls took to calling me rich bitch and snob. I can remember crying in my mother’s arms, wondering why I couldn’t live in a normal house like everyone else. And before you say poor you for living in a big house when people are starving in the world, I didn’t get that then. I was just a kid trying to fit in the best I could.”

“No judgment here,” he commented.

“It was my father who taught me to be proud of my heritage. He told me how my great, great, great grandfather had traveled to Texas from far away. How he’d built his home with his own two hands so he and his wife could start a family. One of their three sons found a black, tar-like substance bubbling up from the ground and that was how he got his start in the oil business. When the family grew too big for the little house, they built the house we currently live in. ‘Be proud of who you are, Quinny,’ Dad would say. ‘Be grateful for what you have and try your hardest to always be humble and kind.’”

“I wouldn’t exactly call you kind. I mean, you did try to poison me and all,” he teased.

“You deserved it,” I told him. Just thinking back on that night made me smile.

“Either you slow your roll, Herb, or I’m gonna have to cut you off,” I warned.

“I’m not even buzzed yet,” Herb, our resident drunk, whined, even though we both knew he was already half-crocked.

“One more and he’s cut off,” I ordered low enough for my best friend and fellow bartender, Alex-Ann, to hear.

“Your old man would never have cut me off,” Herb grumbled into his beer.

“Yeah? Well, he’s gone. This is my bar now and these are my rules. It’s high time you get that through your sloshy skull.” The moment I said it, I regretted it. Not the words, but the harsh way in which I’d spoken them. Nights like these I really missed my dad.

Sensing that I was on the verge of ripping Herb a new asshole, Alex-Ann gave me a gentle shove. “Take five. I’ve got it handled.” With a quick nod of thanks, I headed for the kitchen.

“Give it to me,” I ordered as I passed by Sam, my cranky but trusted cook. He opened his mouth to lay into me, but then took one look at my face, and with a loud sigh, handed a cigarette over.

Hot, sticky air greeted me as I stepped onto the landing, making it hard to breathe. I loved Texas but could definitely do without the humidity. It did horrible things to my hair. Tonight, I didn’t even bother trying to tame it. I just piled it on top of my head with a clip. With a simple flick of my wrist, the match flared to life. I could feel my body start to relax before I’d even taken my first drag. After a year of trying to quit, I was down to one cigarette a day. Smoking wasn’t a physical addiction for me anymore. It wasn’t even a habit. It was purely psychological; something that reminded me of my dad. Just like the bar, cigarettes had been our thing. Too bad they were also what killed him. Slowly exhaling, I lowered myself down to the concrete slab, and with an ungraceful hop, I plopped down onto my butt. The beat of an old Hank Williams, Jr. song drifted through the cracks of the door. “Country State of Mind” was one of Dad’s favorites. With a contented sigh, I curled my legs beneath me and sang along. Not a day went by that I didn’t think about him. It was hard to believe he’d been gone a year.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, jerking me from my thoughts. Her Royal Highness rolled across the screen and I laughed. Alex-Ann had struck again. We had this thing where we would swipe each other’s phones and assign different names to certain contacts. Sliding my finger across the screen, I answered, “Hi, Mom. Whatsup?”

“Hey, darlin’, how’s it going?”

“Other than Herb already being half in the bag, it’s pretty slow tonight. What’s up with you? Everything okay at the house?”

“Everything is fine. I was thinking of stopping by but wanted to see how busy you were, first.”

“Come on over,” I told her on an exhale. Then I remembered who I was talking to and froze. Shit!

“Quinn Kinley, what did I tell you about smoking those damn cancer sticks?” she barked. The fear and anger infused into her tone made me flinch. What was I thinking?

“I’m not smoking. I’m just catching some air on the loading dock,” I lied as I quickly scraped the remainder of the cigarette across the bottom of my shoe.

“You better hope that’s the case. I’d hate to have to tan your hide.”

“You’d have to catch me first, little mama,” I teased, and smiled when she laughed. I loved making my mother laugh. After my father’s death, laughter had been slow to come for the both of us.

“Oh, shooey, Verna’s calling in. Listen, can you come by the house for breakfast in the morning? I have something I want to run by you.” This got my attention. Ever since Dad’s death, Mom had been running the house by herself. We’d hired help, but the old place was a lot for anyone, including my aging mother, to handle. I offered to move in, but we both knew that wasn’t a good idea. I loved her, but we were too much alike and therefore tended to butt heads. It was always Mom’s way or the highway.

“Wait! Tell me now,” I urged.

“Tomorrow, Quinny. Make sure Sam walks you girls to your cars. Love you,” she replied, and the line went dead.

I was seriously contemplating relighting my cigarette when the door behind me swung open.

“Bax is here,” Alex-Ann announced. I barely managed to hold back a groan. “He’s with her and she’s wearing the ring,” she finished on a harsh whisper. Great. Just what we needed to round out the evening; Alex’s ex.

I held out my hand and waited for her to take it before remarking, “I thought you said the wedding was off?”

“It was! You saw what a wreck he was these past few weeks.”

“Thanks,” I muttered when she pulled me to my feet.

A few months after my dad passed away, Baxter Keen, Alex-Ann’s ex-boyfriend, showed up at the bar with his new girlfriend, Amanda. Baxter was a suit-wearing, pop-music loving city boy who’d never, in the three months he’d dated Alex-Ann, stepped foot inside Margo’s. At first, we thought it was a ploy to get Alex-Ann back, but soon we realized he couldn’t give a rat’s ass about Alex-Ann. It was all about Amanda, which made no sense because, even though she wouldn’t say it, she clearly hated the place. We figured as soon as the shine wore off, Baxter would crawl back over to his side of town to his fancy restaurants and bars. When he didn’t, we began to question his motives. Alex-Ann thought it had something to do with Amanda not fitting into Bax’s social circle, but I felt it was more. I just didn’t know what that more was. Either way, I didn’t like it. No, scratch that. I didn’t like her.

“Herb’s passed out on the bar,” Sam informed us as we rushed by the kitchen.

“Did you call Delia?” Delia was Herb’s wife. If you asked me, the woman was an absolute saint to put up with his shit every night.

“Yep. She’s on her way.”

Old Dominion sang about tattoos and sand as we made our way across the bar floor.

“Where are they?” I asked, low enough for Alex-Ann to hear. Before she had time to answer, I spotted them slow dancing in the back corner. At least, that’s what I thought they were doing. At the moment, it looked like Baxter was more or less eating her face off.

“Would you look at them,” she hissed in my ear.

“They’re kind of hard to miss,” I drawled, trying not to laugh.

“Why here? He could take her to any bar in the universe and he has to pick this one. Whyyyyyy?” Alex-Ann’s whining got my attention. Baxter was a nuisance and Amanda a world class bitch, but we knew this. So why was she all of a sudden bothered by this now? After all, she was the one who ended things with him. Then it dawned on me. She slept with him!

We stepped behind the bar, and before she could escape, I jerked her around to face me. “Tell me you didn’t,” I whispered. Her guilty expression said it all. “Seriously? You slept with him?” Sometimes I wanted to strangle my best friend.

“It’s not like I planned it,” she defensively stammered. “He was so heartbroken and...it just happened.”

“When? Where?” I asked, even though I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to know.

“Last week in the back hallway after we closed,” she sheepishly answered, and I felt as if I’d been kicked in the stomach.

“Oh my God, woman! You had wall sex with him here in my bar?” Alex-Ann was one of the smartest people I knew, but the girl had zero common sense when it came to men. She fell in and out of love on a weekly basis.

“I know. It was a bad idea. And now he’s dry humping her in the corner. Just shoot me nooooow,” she groaned.

I was about to lay into her when Herb’s wife, Delia, suddenly appeared in front of us. While Alex-Ann and my other bartender, Will, helped Delia get Herb to their car, I loaded up a tray of drinks for Gretchen, one of my waitresses.

“I can’t believe it,” she whispered, her voice filled with excitement.

“Believe what?” I asked, still irritated at Alex-Ann.

“Chaz Jones and Evan Walker are here.”

“Who?” I glanced over at her section and immediately spotted him. The guy from that night. The one I’d tried not to think about but couldn’t seem to get out of my head. Well, Quinn sure could use a new busboy, he’d said in that hella sexy voice.

“Do you know him...I mean them?” I asked, trying to play it cool.

“Know them? Oh my God, Quinn! That’s Evan Walker and Chaz Jones!” she softly exclaimed. After a moment of me staring at her with a blank look on my face, she added, “You know, Meltdown, the rock band...”

“Really?” I asked, swiveling my head around to get a better look. Even though I preferred country music, I wasn’t opposed to rock. In fact, I thought Meltdown was a pretty decent band.

“The one with the beard is their keyboardist, Evan,” she pointed out, and the hottie with the wild hair is their drummer, Chaz.”

“No shit?” I murmured, continuing to stare at the table of famous people. Meltdown’s keyboardist and drummer were in my bar. Who would have thought...

“Where’s Baxter and Bitch-Face?” Alex-Ann asked as she and Will returned from the parking lot.

“Huh?” I replied, still busy staring at the two rock stars. Evan was as good looking as I’d remembered, maybe even better with the beard. He had the most amazing eyes—green with a blue-gray circle around the outer edges. He also had ink, and a lot of it, which I found intriguing.

Alex-Ann nudged me with her elbow. “Baxter and Amanda?”

“Yeah, what about them?” I shot back at her, my eyes scanning over his buddy. Chaz, Gretchen had said his name was. Well, Chaz was hot, but in my opinion, he didn’t hold a candle to Evan. He, too, had ink, but his was much darker.

“They’re gone!” Alex-Ann’s exasperated tone finally caught my attention.

Dragging my eyes from the tatted duo, I asked, “Who?”

“Baxter and Amanda. Did you see them leave?”

“Don’t tell me you’re actually interested in him?” Because that would be a really bad idea. Baxter had a lot of money but no backbone. Alex-Ann walked all over that boy’s ass and then some. He called me for two weeks solid after she dumped him and I finally had to threaten to block his calls if he didn’t stop.

“What? No,” she snapped. “I was just asking.”

We both turned as Gretchen walked up. “Hey, Sam says I have a phone call. Can one of you handle table six until I get back?” Table six was Evan’s table.

“I’ve got it,” I told her.

“Thanks.”

“Lawdy me, would you look at that,” Alex-Ann drawled. I followed her stare over to the tatted table and smiled.

“That’s Evan Walker and Chaz Jones.”

“Wowza,” she whispered under her breath.

“The keyboardist and drummer from Meltdown,” I added for effect. Her eyes shot to mine and bugged with surprise.

“You’re shitting me!” she exclaimed. Several sets of eyes turned in our direction, including those of table six.

“I shit you not,” I replied before exiting the bar area and heading in their direction. On approach I noticed Chaz sucking face with the female sitting next to him.

“Welcome to Margo’s. Can I get you another beer or some food?” I asked, focusing my attention on Evan.

Leveling that green gaze on me, he said, “Yeah, can I get a burger?” My pulse fluttered under his rapt stare. The man wasn’t cowboy enough for me, but he sure was something worth looking at. His dark hair and beard only helped to accentuate those fabulous green eyes. Now that I was up close and personal, I also took note of his lips. They were full, perfect, and very sexy.

“Hello?” he called out in a somewhat irritated tone.

“Oh, uh, sorry. What was that?” I asked, embarrassed to be caught staring.

“Food?” he clipped.

I started to apologize again, but instead, found myself saying, “Yes, what about it?”

“Can we order some or are you going to stand there staring at us all night?” Talk about rude.

“Sure thing, honey. What would you like?” I asked in a sugar-sweet voice. His green eyes narrowed in on me and I smiled. Take that Rock Star.

“I would like a hamburger.”

“On it?” I questioned.

“On what?” he asked, clearly getting more irritated by the second.

“What would you like on it?” I asked, carefully enunciating each word. His friends laughed.

“Cheese, Let—”

“Kind?” I interrupted.

“Huh?” he questioned.

“What kind of cheese, dude?” his buddy asked for me.

Catching the female’s eye, I winked and she smiled.

“Fuck!” Evan hissed. “I don’t care. Just give me a damn cheeseburger with the works.”

Lifting my brows, I asked, “The works?” I wanted to make sure I’d heard him right.

“Yeeees,” he replied in the same slow tone I’d given him earlier.

Tit for tat, I thought, but answered, “Sure thing, doll. One burger with the works, coming right up.” This guy was a real twit. After taking the other orders, I quickly escaped to the kitchen.

“You’re sure he wants the works?” Sam asked.

Somehow managing to keep a straight face, I confirmed that the customer did, indeed, want a burger with the works. I left Sam mumbling behind the stove and returned to the bar, smiling all the way.

“So, what are they like?” Alex-Ann whispered.

“Chaz and his girl are nice,” I told her.

“And Evan?”

“I’m back,” Gretchen interrupted. “Thanks for watching my table.”

“Order up!” Sam called from the kitchen.

“That’s for table six,” I directed at Gretchen. Not even two minutes passed before the bar was interrupted by a loud commotion.

“What the hell is on this?” I heard shouted from across the room. My inner bitch gave a silent whoop and a fist pump and I had to bite back the urge to cackle with glee. Serves the shit-heel right.

A minute or so later, Gretchen called out, “Quinn, you’re needed at table six!”

Zeroing in on my smirk, Alex-Ann whispered, “What did you do?”

Ignoring her question, I slid out from behind the bar and made my way over to table six. Evan’s face was no longer pale, but more like the color of a ripe tomato. That’s what habanero peppers would do to you.

“What the hell did you put on this?” he wheezed between gulps of water.

“I’m sorry, you did say you wanted the works, didn’t you?” I could tell the guy wanted to blast me.

“He did,” Chaz chimed in, which earned him an evil glare.

“People are staring. Let’s go,” Evan grumbled.

“I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong?” I questioned, my tone filled with fake concern. Without answering, he scooted from the booth and walked out the door. I watched him leave and had to admit, the guy had one fine backside. Too bad his personality didn’t match his good looks. Turning back to the table, I noticed both Chaz and the woman staring at me. “Oh, dear. I hope he’s okay. Would you like for me to box yours to go?” A long minute passed before Chaz smiled.

“Your name is Quinn, correct?” he asked.

A pulse of fear sliced through me and I wondered if I’d gone too far. “It is,” I answered.

“I’m Chaz and this is Olivia.”

“Nice to meet you both. Let me get those boxes for you. When I noticed Chaz reaching for his wallet I told him it was on the house. Without waiting for him to respond, I turned and headed for the kitchen. Sam glowered at me as I grabbed the burger and boxes from the window.

“What?”

“You know what,” he replied and I couldn’t help but smile. For all I cared, Evan Rock Star Walker could kiss my lily-white ass.

“Here,” I told Gretchen as I reached the bar. “This goes to table six. Make sure you pack their burgers in the boxes and thank them for coming in. Oh, and just in case the works were too much, I had Sam make their friend another burger. I’ll cover you for the lost tip later.”

On the way out the door, Chaz made a beeline over to me. Holding up some cash, he said, “This is for Evan. Believe it or not, he really is a good guy.” When I refused to take the money, he leaned over and shoved it down my shirt. “I like you,” he stated. Then he walked out the door.

“What the hell was that about?” Alex-Ann asked.

“She pulled another Quinn,” Gretchen muttered, clearly disappointed to see them go.

Alex-Ann huffed, as if this happened all the time, which it did not. “What’d she do this time?” she asked, as if I wasn’t standing right there with my hand in my shirt trying to fish out the money Chaz had just deposited there.

“She gave him the Dragon Burger,” Gretchen answered.

Alex-Ann’s eyes shot to mine. “I thought you took that damn thing off the menu!”

“I did, and you’re welcome,” I told Gretchen as I handed her the two fifty-dollar bills.

Two hours later, Sam walked Alex-Ann and I to our cars. I told her about breakfast with Mom and promised to call her after.

That night, as I lay in my bed, I tried not to think of the rock star with the gorgeous eyes. I tried not to think about his colorful tattoos and the stories they told. I tried not to think about his perfect lips or his bad attitude. Or how one of his bottom teeth was slightly crooked and that he was no longer wearing a wedding ring.

I tried...but I failed.

“You have to admit the house is amazing,” Evan said, his comment jerking me back to the present.

“Yeah, it is pretty awesome,” I agreed. And it was. Growing up, we referred to it as “The House,” but in reality, it was so much more. It was my family’s history. Not just that, it was a testament to success. With six bedrooms, six and a half baths, and fifteen acres of land, it was a structure of unmitigated beauty. Too bad it was also more than any one person could handle. The interior had been modernized throughout the years, but the exterior, with its wrap around porches and broad columns, still had that antebellum look about it. My parents loved the history, whereas I just loved the house, which was why I was shocked when my mother told me she was moving.

“You’re what?” I asked, assuming I’d heard her wrong.

“Verna’s asked me to move in with her and I’ve agreed.” Verna, my mom’s best friend, had moved to Florida three years ago.

In an attempt to reason with her, I said, “Mom, you can’t just up and move to Florida.”

“I can do what I want,” she stiffly retorted.

“But...what about the house? What about me?” The house was one thing. I understood how difficult it must be to maintain, but this wasn’t just about the house. It was about what was left of our family.

Throwing up her hands, she shouted, “All I see is him!” The words burst from her lips, as if she’d been holding them in for far too long. I blinked, in shock at her outburst. Slowly, she exhaled before calmly explaining, “I see him—in every room, with every breath I take. All I see is him. He is this house, baby girl, and I feel as if I’m drowning in the memories.”

“I’m drowning, too,” I lightly replied, not meaning to sound selfish, but wanting her to understand that she wasn’t the only one who missed him. Suddenly, I had the perfect solution. Well, maybe not perfect, but definitely doable. “What if I move in with you? We can redecorate, maybe spruce the place up a bit.” Eyes, the same color as mine, shifted to the side before hitting back on me.

“I’m going, Quinny. I’ve already made up my mind.” Her tone was firm and resolute. One thing I’d earned from my mother was her bullheadedness. When the Kinley women decided to dig their heels in, nothing could budge them.

“You can’t just leave!”

“I most certainly can!” she snapped back at me. “Look, I know you don’t like it and I’m sorry, but I can’t live like this anymore. You have a choice. Either I sell this place to the state and let them set it up as a museum or you move in and take it over.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Was she for real?

Shaking my head in disbelief, I let out a groan of frustration. “Do you hear yourself? This is our home, Mother! The Kinley legacy. Daddy is rolling over in his grave right now!”

“Your father is dead!” she screeched. “I begged him for years to quit smoking, but did he? No! And now he’s gone and I’m alone! Don’t pretend to know what I’m going through. Until you love someone more than you love yourself...until you build a life and have children...until you bury that person in the ground and have to live the rest of your life without them, you cannot understand! Now, whether you like it or not, I’m moving to Florida!” I just stood there gaping at her. “Come with me,” she offered. We both knew it was out of guilt. If anything, I was an afterthought. Anger seared through me.

“No thanks.” I knew if I spoke another word I would regret it, so I turned on my heel and marched for the door.

“You have a week to decide!” she called after me.

Of course, I didn’t share this with Evan. Looking down at my watch, I said, “Story time’s over, Rock Star. I’ve got to get back to it.”

“See you at home?” he asked. The feeling those four words evoked made my heart skip a million beats.

“Sure thing,” I breathily replied. His perfect mouth split into a smile, but before he could say another word, I was up on my feet and through the door. Evan Walker may be gorgeous to look at and easy to talk to, but he wasn’t my type. At least, that’s what I told myself.