Page 18 of Baby, It’s You (Clairesville #1)

Olive

One week later

T he past week has been a nightmare at work.

Tripp has random people in the bar left and right taking dimensions and talking about what they could transform the space into.

He is planning to sell the land for at least a million dollars due to its scenic location, he said.

Tripp told Rob that this bar was going to become an absolute “gold mine” for him.

I spoke immediately with Tripp when I went back into work on Thursday.

He told me that yes, he is selling the bar and that has been his plan for a while.

When I asked him how he thinks he’s going to do that when he doesn’t own Whiskey Jane’s, Tripp smirked and quickly walked to the office.

He came back moments later and shoved a paper at me.

The document was the deed to the property, with his name on it. It was dated five years ago and had Jane’s signature at the bottom. Sneering, he told me, “My mom signed this place over to me years ago. She knew she was getting older, and it was best for me to make the decisions.”

I stared at the document in shock that day. Jane never mentioned any of this to me. Why would she just sign the rights of the bar over to Tripp without even talking to me? I know he is her son, but she has always mentioned his distaste for Whiskey’s, whereas I adore it.

He told me, “I’m getting rid of this craphole as fast as I can,” and with that, he had yanked the deed back out of my hands and slammed the door once he made it to the small office.

I had never wanted to smack someone so badly in my life. I ran to the bathroom and cried for at least an hour, knowing I have no one to turn to about the bar, no one to help with this situation. I’m the manager, and Jane is so sick, I would never bring this up to her in her condition.

I’ve been a mess ever since. The bruises have gotten better under my eyes, but now large circles from lack of sleep have taken over. I toss and turn all night, having nightmares about Tripp knocking down the bar with a giant wrecking ball, dressed like the Monopoly man.

Johnny and Rick have noticed the change in me and have been trying to cheer me up by playing my favorite songs on the jukebox throughout the day. Right now, “Sunny” by Boney M plays and still, the upbeat tune doesn’t lift my mood.

Johnny even brought me sushi today from my favorite spot, Happy Rolls, as a surprise. I did get a laugh when he described trying to order from the menu and having absolutely no idea what he was doing. I ended up with random raw fish over rice and a California roll.

I pull up a bar stool so I can sit across from the guys at the counter and dig into the food.

“Have you ever had one of these things?” Johnny asks me, pointing to the California rolls. He’s stuck a white feather on the outside of his top hat today; he looks like Steven Tyler.

“Yes.” I laugh. “Those are the most popular sushi rolls ever made, I think.” I pick one up with chopsticks and make him try it. His face contorts at first, but by the end of the bite, I can tell he is pleasantly surprised.

“Man, that’s good.” Johnny smiles. “I’ve got to go get myself one of those Californer rolls.”

“California,” I correct him playfully.

“That’s what I said.” His brows draw together.

I turn away from the bar at a noise and peek through the kitchen window to see Tripp walking in through the back door.

Rick mumbles from behind me, “PowerTripp incoming.”

He gave him that nickname after he found out that Tripp is planning to sell the bar. I didn’t know Rick had that kind of sass in him. The name couldn’t be more fitting.

I slide my sushi under the bar counter, not wanting to deal with his wrath since I'm eating on the clock. Tripp pushes through the kitchen door like a tornado. He’s wearing a salmon polo shirt and sweat is glistening on his head. He looks like a shiny pig.

I will never understand how Seymour and Jane, both extremely attractive and loving, gave birth to this evil naked mole rat. I think sometimes when two people are so gorgeous and perfect, it cancels out when they have a child.

Tripp walks up to the bar and slams his hand on the counter in front of me. “Good morning.”

I jump at the noise and mumble, “Hello.”

“Just letting you know the man from B I’m running on fumes.

I’m also not the owner so I can’t sign off on any changes to improve the bar at this point.

“Jane would be devastated if she knew what you were doing,” I tell him, crossing my arms. “She didn’t put you in charge so you could throw the bar away like it means nothing to you.

Have you even talked to her about how you’re selling? ”

He glares at me, sharply. “Not that it’s any of your business, but one of the doctors from the facility called me a few days ago and told me they will be transitioning her to hospice with my approval.” He snaps, “This is my decision. She doesn’t need to know I’m selling the bar.”

“What are you talking about? I just saw her Wednesday, and she was doing fine.”

“Her cough has gotten much worse and she’s back on oxygen.

Another lung infection,” he says, while having the audacity to seem bored by the conversation.

Tripp acts like we are talking about the weather.

“I’m going to visit her later, not like it matters.

She won’t remember it anyway, and she’s heavily medicated. With her mental state, it’s pointless.”

What a vile human being. I have no words.

“I have to go sign the hospice paperwork, since I am her medical proxy.”

I look at him for a long time and then say one final thing. “I hope that no one ever treats you the way you treat your mother. Though I can’t say you wouldn’t deserve it.”

I turn my back to him, busying myself with restocking napkins.

With that, he scoffs. “You better watch what you say to me, or I’ll put you out of a job before I even sell this place.” Then he storms to the office.

I exhale a breath as Rick quietly says behind me, “I will never understand what has caused that boy to be filled with so much anger in life. He’s been like that for a long time now.”

I shrug. We have talked about this a lot over the years and there's nothing to justify Tripp's actions.

He grew up with two parents who loved and supported him.

Some people are just selfish and there's no excuses for their behavior.

Reasoning with him is like trying to resolve conflict with a brick wall.

I hear the main door to the bar ding as it opens, and I turn to greet the new customer.

I’m shocked to see Hunter walking towards me with a huge smile planted on his face.

He is in a blue- and black-striped shirt and a backwards hat.

His curls peek out from underneath his hat, and he looks handsome as ever.

Fantastic . Even though he mentioned visiting when I saw him at my apartment, he hasn’t stopped by all week.

I thought I was in the clear, that he’d forgotten about me.

“Look, it’s bar stool boy!” Johnny exclaims.

I watch Hunter cringe at the nickname and lift his hand in recognition.

“Here I am. In all my glory,” he says, nodding to Johnny. “I almost didn’t recognize you without your mask. Thank god for the top hat.”

Johnny pretends to be offended as Rick cracks up at Hunter’s quick dig in response.

“And you must be the fox that did shots with my buddy, Eddie?” he asks Rick.

“The one and only. That shot sat in my stomach like a rock that night,” Rick responds, shaking his head. “Can’t say I regret it, though; didn't want to leave your friend hanging on his birthday.”

Hunter chuckles with him. “Yeah, Eddie said it was the worst thing he’s ever drank.” Then he meets my eyes. His own are shining with apology.

I point at him playfully. “Hey, no more saying sorry. I mean it.”

He puts his hands up in surrender. “I know, I know. My apologies that I haven’t come by the bar until now. I was traveling for work.”

I brush off his statement, not wanting to admit to him that I didn’t want him to come at all. “It’s fine, no problem.”

“I’m here now though,” he continues, “and with a solution to your problem.”

“What are you talking about?” I half laugh.

He leans forward and does a drumroll with his hands on the counter. “I’m going to help you save the bar.”

I really laugh now. “Oh yeah?” I say with a disbelieving look. “And how are you going to do that?”

“I’m going to help you raise money so that you can buy the bar from Tripp.” He says it like it’s some simple thing.

“Yeaaaah, riiight,” I tell him sarcastically, dragging out each word.

Hunter looks at me, as serious as can be.

“I’m not joking, we will raise the money.”

I glance at Rick and Johnny and then lean in towards him. “Listen, Hunter. It’s really sweet that you want to help me. But a couple car washes and bake sales aren’t going to raise the million dollars needed to save this place.”

He doesn’t even seem surprised by the amount I mention. “You’re right. Those things would never work to raise that much money. But I know something that will.”

“Okay, let’s hear it. I’m all ears,” I tell him, not even allowing myself to feel hopeful.

“So, I am a filmer. I work for skate brands and I also have a YouTube channel where I upload content. It’s kind of popular.” He looks bashful as he continues, “The videos get a lot of attention and shares.”

I give him a small smile to be kind, but I don’t understand how this information helps my situation. “Well, that’s really cool, but what’s that have to do with the bar?”

He looks around the bar, excitement in his tone.

“I thought I could make a series that I upload to my channel about Whiskey Jane’s to raise money for the bar.

With your help, of course. You know the bar and regulars way better than I ever could.

We could set up a funding page that people could donate to and my videos are also monetized so I will add the money I make from the YouTube series to the ‘Save the Bar’ fund. ”

I am surprised by his suggestion, but I can’t say the idea doesn’t intrigue me a little bit.

“How would that even work?” I ask him. “I doubt there’s enough information to share about the bar that you could turn into a series.”

“You know that’s not true.” Hunter smiles brightly. “From the first second I walked in here, it was like a place I’d already been. I’m sure there's tons to film. I mean the themes alone,” he recalls, pointing towards the “Task” bucket, “are an experience. There’s lots to talk about.”

Johnny chimes in, “Yeah, and look around at the walls. There are a million stories to be told, just in the memories people have scribbled down.”

Hearing that, Hunter walks over to a Sharpie drawing by the men’s bathroom of a bug sitting on a cloud, eating a bowl of cereal. Then he moves over to a spot with the names Doris and Glenn in a heart, the date 1988 written in beautiful script.

“You’re right,” he says, looking back at Johnny, his voice almost breathless. “ That’s the idea .”

Then Hunter walks towards me, growing more excited by the second.

“We should choose some of the names, jokes, and drawings and track down the stories behind them.” He smiles at me.

“Each video of the series could feature one of the things. People watching would love it, and learning the history of the customers would really help people fall in love with Whiskey Jane’s!

” He puts his hands together. “We could film one a week and that would cause people to anticipate each new episode and give us plenty of time to find out each of the stories.”

Rob pops his head from the kitchen window and speaks up before I can say anything. “I think that’s an amazing idea.” He looks at me. “You should do it.”

Johnny nods his agreement and chimes in, “Give it a try, Olive. What do you have to lose?”

I rest my left hand on my chin as I think it over. Hunter is staring at me like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Why would you even want to help with this and give us the money you make from the videos? That’s a lot of work for you for nothing in return.” I drop my arm. “We also don’t even know if we can locate these people; many of the things were written before I worked here.”

“We can help with that,” Rick pipes up. “We’ve been coming here basically since the bar opened. As you know, we’re old.” He chuckles. “Which is an advantage right now, because Johnny and I know a lot of the history.”

Johnny grins. “Yup, this is all true.”

“What if people don’t want to talk on camera?” I shoot back.

Rick responds, “Trust me. When it comes to saving Whiskey’s, they will. People care about this place and most importantly, they care about Seymour and Jane’s legacy.”

“Missy and I can cover for you behind the bar while you guys go and film the stories if need,” Rob adds. “I’m usually just back here reading anyway.”

Hunter nods earnestly towards each of them.

“That would be awesome. Thank you.” He looks at me next.

“As for why I want to help you with this, I can’t explain.

I just need to. So please let me. I haven’t had an idea make me excited like this in a long time.

” He looks at me shyly through his lashes, his brown eyes full of hope.

He speaks up again, more confident this time. “Will you do this with me? Let’s save the bar, Olive.”

I let out a deep breath. “Alright, fine. We can try.”

All four men let out a cheer in victory.