Page 21 of Baby, It’s You (Clairesville #1)

Hunter

She glances over at me while she parks and then steps out of her driver’s side.

As she starts walking towards me, I swear time slows.

She’s wearing a dress that shows off her pale, smooth legs, which look like they go on for miles.

I find it hard to swallow and tug a little at the collar of my button-up Dickies shirt.

This is the first time I've seen her that she wasn't in her work uniform, and I can’t look away.

Olive gives me a wave, and I smile back at her, trying to be respectful with my gaze.

I take a few steps closer to her and pull my headphones out of my ears.

“Hi, Olive, you look really nice.” I sheepishly grin. Why do I feel like an alien in my own body right now? She makes me feel so intimidated.

She looks down at her outfit. “Oh, this old thing? Just something I threw together.” She quickly brushes off the compliment.

“Well, you look great,” I reiterate, as she walks by me to unlock the door.

She turns back towards me, gives a small smile, and quietly says, “Thank you.” Then she pulls the door open, and I reach out to hold it, motioning for her to go first.

I follow her through the doorway, my eyes adjusting to the dark, empty bar after standing outside in the sun. She sets her flower print tote on a stool near the counter and turns towards me.

“So,” she says, “where do we begin?”

“I could just search around real quick and see if there's something that really stands out to me on the walls? If it catches my eye as a newbie to the bar, I’m sure it will interest the audience, too.”

“Okay, clever idea. I agree.” She nods.

I put down my equipment bag on a low wooden table and begin my search. Every wall has so much writing that it's almost overwhelming to make the words out. I can't imagine how many stories there must be in here. Thousands, easily.

I feel Olive looking at me out of the corner of my eye and turn to meet her gaze. She’s chewing on her bottom lip and she quickly looks away when we make eye contact. I can feel the situation getting awkward, so I decide to switch it up.

“I love the vibe here,” I tell her.

She lets out a breath and scans her eyes around, too. “Yeah, me too. I’ve worked here for going on ten years and I always find something new to stare at.”

I walk over to my camera bag and screw my lens on my Sony. “I changed my mind. I’m going to film some shots of the atmosphere first and then I will figure out what to focus the first episode on,” I let her know. “Just some artsy clips of the bar before customers get here.”

“Good idea,” she responds. “I’ll go stand in the kitchen to get out of your way.” She points to the metal door that leads to the back.

“No, stay,” I tell her quickly. “You’re part of the atmosphere.”

Olive half laughs. “Okay. I'll go stand in the background like an NPC.”

Laughing with her, I explain, “No, just do what you normally would in a morning. Like I’m not here.”

“Okay. That I can do.”

She takes off her red sweater and as she shimmies out of it, I notice a tiny tattoo on the inside of her arm.

It looks like a flower of some sort. She meets my eyes and I quickly look down at my camera, adjusting the settings to accommodate the dark bar.

I press record and begin to walk around, taking different angles of the signs and tables.

I then pan the camera up towards Olive and see that she's over at the jukebox, clicking through the options.

“I always turn on my favorite songs while I prep the bar for the day. Do you mind?”

“Absolutely not,” I say, not telling her I will probably have to change the audio if I use any of these clips, so I don’t have to deal with copyright issues.

I just want to see her in her element. I hear a joyous beat start to play through the speakers and instantly recognize the song, because my mom played it all the time when I was a child. It’s “9 to 5” by Dolly Parton.

“This is my cleaning song,” Olive shouts out over the music and begins to sing along. She's not the least bit in tune, but somehow that makes it even better. I appreciate it when someone isn’t the best singer but belts it out anyway. That’s a confidence everyone should aspire to have.

I film her as she grabs a towel from behind the bar and dramatically wipes the counter with it, swaying her body to the beat.

I watch her through my screen, unable to look away.

Her dark hair swishes across her face and she flips it back with her empty hand.

I walk closer to her, feeling like a voyeur watching something intimate, a routine she usually does alone.

The song ends then and she looks up at me and lets out a laugh.

“How was that?” Her cheeks are red with excitement.

“You're perfect,” I quietly respond while setting my camera down on a nearby table.

“What?” she asks.

Thankful that she didn't hear me, I recover quickly. “I said ‘perfect.’”

“Alright, great!” She smiles and nods. “Now what?”

“Now I will look around.”

I put my hands behind my back and turn towards a wall. I read some names and random words and laugh at some drunken scribbles. Then I stop in front of a giant pink Sharpie drawing of a bumblebee with the words “I came for a beer and left with bees” underneath it.

I chuckle and point at it. “I choose this one.”

Olive walks up to stand beside me. “Perfect, because I know that story.” She turns to smile at me. “And it's a good one.”

I look down at her and match her grin. “Let’s do it.”

“Right now?” she asks.

“Yup, we are good to go.” I pick up my equipment bag and sling it over my shoulder.

“Well then, we will need to visit a friend of mine across the street. Follow me.”

She grabs her keys, slips her cardigan back on, and begins to head through the kitchen door. Quickly, I jog to catch up with her.

“Has anyone ever told you that you walk very fast?” I ask her.

“All the time. It’s my long gazelle legs,” she responds, her dress swishing, but she still doesn’t slow down.

I use all my self-control to not look at these long gazelle legs as she walks ahead. I love the fact that she’s tall and carries herself with confidence.

We cross the street and walk over to a small store called The Mart.