Page 5 of Hemlock

Her eyes spark when she sees me, and I allow myself to believe it's because she likes me rather than the more likely truth that she's glad I'm here so she can get off her feet.

"It's never busy, but you can't tell my old bones that. I'm exhausted." She finishes wiping down the bar top before slapping her bar towel over her shoulder. "New guy showed up. I doubt he'll tip well. Seems like a giant asshole to me."

I have to chuckle as she angles her head toward the back wall of the bar. I can't be the only one who thinks it's hilarious when old people cuss.

My laughter dies away when I glance over and take in who she's talking about. It's the mystery guy from the other night, and his eyes are locked on me.

"I'm getting out of here. You're stocked with everything you'll need."

I give her a little wave, finding myself incapable of looking away from the dark-eyed stranger.

When I'm finally able to pull my eyes away, I shuffle quickly to pull my apron off the hook and slip the strap over my head before crisscrossing the straps at my waist around my back and tugging them forward to tie it near my belly button.

When I risk another glance in his direction, I find his gaze still on me, as if he's trying to assess how much trouble I could possibly be for him. It makes my fake smile turn into a real one. Honestly, I'm no trouble at all. I live the simplest life anyone could ever imagine. Go to work and go home. I do my laundry on the same day each week as well as my grocery shopping, despite promising myself that I would eventually get a life and have a little fun.

On top of all of that, I've got no interest in any man right now. Short of what they could offer me for a half hour or so, I want nothing to do with any of them. Billy ruined me for all men, and not in a good way. At this point, even their ability to offer me anything sexual is iffy. I can handle all of that on my own and don't have to worry about placating the emotions of some cantankerous man who, I have no doubt, would think I should be honored to even speak with him.

My smile triples as I think of the way he spoke to me the other night. The way he ordered his beer and then broke it down into three smaller sentences, as if I were too slow to understand when I didn't immediately turn around and do his bidding.

I pull my eyes off him for a second time with a quick shake of my head.

The man has to know he's stunningly gorgeous, no matter how dangerous of an air swarms around him. I could see the dimple in his right cheek even when he was scowling at me. I have no doubt he'd have nearly any woman wrapped around that meaty fist of his if he just grinned. Hell, there are women who love the angry type. They see it as a challenge. They want to fix a broken man, give them something to smile about.

I scoff as I take inventory of what Edith did before leaving. As great as she is, she always misses something. When I see that the lemon and lime bins are nearly empty, I'm grateful for having something to do. I doubt she forgot to do this, because I also know just how much her hands hurt and how hard it is to keep a good grip on the paring knives Tommy has here to use. I suggested once that he buy knives with bigger handles, but he looked at me like I was an idiot.

I swear, men are just awful.

As I get the supplies out to cut the citrus, I try not to be so aware of him in the bar, but I just can't help it. I find him curious, someone I want to ask a million questions, if anything, to annoy the shit out of him.

What right does he have to sit across the bar and stare holes into me?

I flinch with the first cut into the lime as it squirts juice on my face. Using the back of my hand to wipe the juice from my cheek, I once again look over, feeling a little relieved when I see the chair he was sitting in vacant. Maybe the man got up and left in the couple of minutes that have ticked by since I last glanced his way.

The scrape of a barstool to my immediate right pulls my eyes in that direction, and I lock gazes with the stranger.

"Need another beer?" I ask him, getting nothing but a blank stare from him.

I do my best to school my face, smiling as I continue to cut limes rather than snapping at him and asking him what right he has to come in here and put me in a bad mood simply by existing.

I consider this might be a me problem rather than a him problem, and that takes me full circle back through the self-help book I read about retaking control of your life by understanding your emotions.

This pisses me off even more, but through it all, I keep my damn smile on my face, acting as if nothing is wrong. If there's anything I've learned since leaving Kentucky, it's that I have to hold my head high and not let anyone see my weaknesses.

Fake it until you make it, right?

Chapter 3

Hemlock

I don't stick out like a sore thumb sitting alone. There are several people in the bar that seem just as unapproachable as I am. What does make me stand out is the fact that I haven't been seen around here as often as the others. I'm the stranger, the outcast, the ripple in the pond that makes people curious.

I knew I was going to be put in a position I didn't want to be in when the man and woman started arguing and the woman looked at me like I was her saving grace. I'm no one's savior and getting hit on by a woman in a rocky relationship while her angry partner witnessed it would draw more attention than I'm already garnering.

Sitting at the bar closer to the bartender seems like a better choice, but when she looks up and notices me, a wide smile on her face, I think this might not be the best approach, either.

Just like the other day when I arrived, the elderly woman was behind the bar. An hour into my observation, the younger woman arrived.

Formulating a plan to get more information is proving more difficult than I thought. We're inching up on evening on a Saturday night and there doesn't seem to be an influx of customers, a shield that would make it easier for me to slip into the back and try to gather some intel.

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