Page 9
Chapter Nine
Donna lightly touched my arm. “Let me introduce you real quick. Paul,” she said, leading me to the other side of the bar. “This is Everly. She’s helping us out tonight. Everly, Paul.”
Paul glanced up, his gaze flickering over me without any hint of recognition. His eyes were distant, like he was physically present but mentally somewhere else entirely.
“Hey,” he mumbled, giving a halfhearted nod before heading toward the kitchen. “Gotta get back there. A little late.”
“I see that,” Donna said, flicking a look at the clock above the shelves of booze.
I stood frozen as he went to the kitchen, and Donna went back behind the bar. There was no doubt in my mind that it was the man Ryder had been talking to in the woods. Did he really not recognize me, or was he just pretending?
“Everly,” Donna said, waving at me to join her. She arranged some glasses behind the counter, flashing me a quick look as I stepped up beside her. “Don’t take it personally. He’s been in a mood for a couple of weeks now.”
“Oh,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s fine.”
Before I could dwell on it further, the front door swung open and a group of four people walked in, laughing loudly. It almost seemed as though they’d already gotten a head start on the drinking for the night.
“Here we go,” Donna said with a wink.
The group settled at a table near the bar, and within an hour, The Timber Tavern transformed. What had been a quiet, almost empty space became a packed, rowdy establishment that seemed to defy the town’s small population. Country music blared from speakers in the corners, competing with dozens of overlapping conversations.
I struggled to hear orders over the noise, leaning so far forward that I nearly crawled across the bar-top.
“What was that?” I shouted for the third time to a man with a weathered face and a trucker cap.
“Jack and Coke!” he yelled back, holding up two fingers.
I nodded and turned to make the drinks. My hands had found a rhythm — pour, mix, serve — and I was starting to enjoy the fast pace. I was so busy I couldn’t think, and the tips jar was filling nicely too.
Donna worked the other end of the bar, her movements fluid and confident as she fielded multiple orders without missing a beat. Every so often, she’d check on me, offering a thumbs up or a smile when our eyes met.
It was after midnight when the door opened, and my stomach dropped. Ryder Black walked in with three other men, all built just like him — tall, broad-shouldered, and carrying themselves with the same confident swagger. It was probably his crew from the construction company, if I had to guess.
They claimed a table in the corner, and Ryder’s eyes locked with mine for a moment before he gave me a curt nod. I was too busy to even give him a nod back. Besides, for all I knew, it wasn’t even intended for me.
Thank God, when it came time to order, Ryder approached Donna’s end of the bar. I pretended to be busy wiping down the counter, relief washing over me. I wasn’t ready for another tense interaction with him and probably never would be.
Donna slid four beers across to him, exchanging a few friendly words I couldn’t hear. Ryder glanced my way again before returning to his table, but I pretended not to notice.
Surely he was wondering what the hell I was doing there. But maybe not, considering he knew I’d been looking for work. Maybe he’d just assumed I’d found a job.
“Can I get another beer, sweeeetie?” a woman slurred as she leaned across the bar.
I wasn’t sure when we were supposed to cut people off, but it seemed as though the woman had to be close. I shot a look toward Donna, who gave me a nod.
“Coming right up,” I said, grabbing another of what she’d ordered last time.
Donna scooted closer, tapping her finger on the countertop as she looked the woman in the eyes. “Last one, Mabel.”
“Oh, shoot. Already?” the woman said, looking up at the clock, her nose wrinkling as she squinted.
“Nurse it,” Donna said, before going back to her side of the bar.
Ryder and his friends didn’t linger. They downed their beers in what seemed like record time and headed for the door. As they left, I caught Ryder’s eye one last time. Something unreadable passed across his face before he turned away and left the bar. This time it seemed as though he was the one pretending not to notice.
The night continued at its frantic pace. A group of women seated at a high-top table ordered a round of nachos and wings. I wrote the order down and placed it in the small window that connected to the kitchen.
“Order up,” I called, ringing the service bell.
No response.
I rang again, louder this time.
Nothing.
“Paul’s not answering,” I told Donna when she passed by with a tray of shots.
“Give me a sec,” she said, delivering the drinks before heading to the kitchen. She returned moments later, frowning. “He’s not back there.”
“Uh, what do we do?”
She shook her head. “It’s fine. He must have just stepped out for some air, or maybe he’s using the bathroom. I’ll get the wings started. Keep an eye on things, okay?”
I nodded, though my confidence wavered as three people approached, ready to order. I took a deep breath and plastered on a smile when all I wanted to do was crawl into my bed.
By the time Donna returned, I’d served six drinks and started a tab for a boisterous group that had just arrived, even though we were nearing closing time. I walked over to her and chewed my lip.
“Sorry, I didn’t know what to do,” I said, frowning.
She waved a hand. “It’s fine. A little more time to make some tips, right?”
“Right.”
“Oh, Paul’s back. He was just out back getting air like I thought,” Donna said, adjusting her top. “It gets really hot back there.”
“I bet it does,” I said, just as he set the nachos and wings on the pickup counter.
Donna crossed her arms and cocked her head. “You know, I’m going to talk to Steven about hiring you permanently.”
“Oh, no,” I said, shaking my head. “This is too?—”
“Wait until you count your tips. Then you’ll change your tune,” she said, going to the pickup counter to get the food. She walked past, balancing the plates. “Besides, you’re doing really great for a first time. The other guy that helps out would have taken a nap by now and left it all for me to deal with.”
The last hour passed by in a haze of drink orders, clinking glasses, and cash exchanges, all with the music blaring and customers singing at the top of their lungs. My feet ached and my cheeks hurt from forcing smiles.
Eventually, Donna looked up at the clock. “Last call!”
It was shocking how well her voice cut through the noise.
There was a collective groan from the patrons, followed by a rush to the bar. I braced myself for the final onslaught of orders, pouring drinks as fast as I could, while Donna did the same beside me.
The drunk woman tried to get another, but Donna stepped in. “Go home, Mabel. Tomorrow’s another day.”
“Okay,” the woman said, almost tipping over.
As the last drinks were served, the music was turned down, and the harsh overhead lights flicked on. The spell of the evening broke, revealing scuffed floors and sticky tabletops.
“Alright, folks, closing time!” Donna announced, clapping her hands together. “I don’t care where you go, but you can’t stay here!”
People began to filter out, some lingering to finish conversations, others heading straight for the door. Per Donna's instructions, I started collecting empty glasses and bottles and piling them into a bin beneath the bar.
“Not bad for your first night,” Donna said, counting the cash in the tip jar. She pulled out the envelope Steven had left for me and handed it over. “This is yours.”
I accepted the envelope with a smile, tucking it into my back pocket. “Thanks.”
“And here is your portion of the tips,” Donna said, handing me a wad of cash. “We have to split with Paul.”
“That’s fine,” I said, shoving the money into my pockets.
“I hope to see you again sometime,” Donna said, turning off some of the lights.
It was a lot of money in my pocket. “Maybe.”
“You haven’t even counted it yet,” Donna said, laughing. “It’s not like this every night. Just Friday and Saturday. Not the best time if you want a social life.”
“I don’t have a social life,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Other than coming here, what kind of social life do people have in Birchwood Hollow?”
Donna shrugged. “There’s a coffee shop and a bookstore, but I don’t live here.”
“Oh?”
She shook her head. “I’m from down the road… Bresco?”
“Never heard of it.”
“Just 24 miles north,” she said, smirking. “It’s not much bigger than this place. Population ten thousand.”
I widened my eyes. “Ooh! Fancy.”
Donna laughed again. “Don’t be jealous. We have two fast-food joints.”
I covered a yawn that I’d been fighting for the last ten minutes, trying to hide it behind my hand. After being on my feet for nearly six hours straight in a noisy bar, exhaustion was hitting me like a freight train. It was by far the most standing I’d done at a job since I was a teenager.
Donna noticed and gave me a sympathetic smile. “You should go home and get some sleep, honey. I can finish up here.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, glancing at the remaining glasses still scattered on a few tables.
“Absolutely,” she nodded firmly. “You’ve been a huge help tonight. I don’t think I’ve had this smooth of a Friday night in months.”
“What about Steven?” I asked, realizing I hadn’t seen the owner return. “Should I wait for him?”
Donna waved a dismissive hand. “Nah. I’m not surprised he didn’t come back. He’s always got stuff going on. He runs like six bars, I think.” She started wiping down the bar. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell him what a great job you did.”
“Thanks,” I said, offering her a tired wave as I headed to the door.
“No, seriously, thank you,” she replied. “If you decide you want more shifts, just let me know.”
I nodded, considering the weight of the money in my pocket. One night of work had probably earned me more than I’d make in a week at most other places in town. It was definitely worth thinking about. It wasn’t like anywhere around here was going to match my last salary.
“Goodnight,” I called as I opened the door, the cold night air slapping me in the face.
“Night. Drive safe,” Donna responded, already busy counting the night’s earnings.
The air felt refreshing after working in the stuffy bar. The parking lot was nearly empty now, just a few cars remaining. I climbed into my SUV, pulling my purse out from under the seat. I shoved my cash into my wallet and started the engine without hesitation.
The drive home was quiet without another car on the road. I rolled down the window, letting the cool air help keep me alert. My eyelids felt heavy, but my heart was still pounding from the hectic work.
I was about halfway home when I heard a rattle from under the hood. Before I could even process what was happening, the car gave a violent shudder.
“No, no, no,” I muttered, pressing the gas pedal harder as if that might help.
The engine made a horrible grinding noise, followed by a series of rapid clicks. The car lurched once more before the power steering went out. I gripped the wheel tightly, managing to guide the now-coasting vehicle to the shoulder of the road.
As I rolled to a complete stop, I turned the key desperately, but the engine only made a sad whining sound before falling silent. I slammed my palm against the steering wheel in frustration.
I covered my face with both hands. “Son of a fucking bitch!”