Page 122 of The Love Losers

Her lips curve into an amused smile. “I did something stupid, and I’m paying for it.”

“That’s frustratingly vague.”

She considers this for a moment and then shrugs her shoulder. Anthony has gotten out of his car, but he notices us talking in the front seat and gives me a slight nod before entering the bar. He’s giving us time.

“I took a client I didn’t trust because I could see a big bank day from it. And she started fucking my boyfriend. Then I got fired, because my boyfriend was actually my boss.” She gives me an ironic smile. “How’s that for specific?”

“Very,” I say. “No wonder you’re in a shitty mood.”

“You think this is me in a shitty mood? I’m all glitter and rainbows right now.”

“Nice try. I know what you like to do with glitter.”

She smiles at me. “I like you.”

“Good. Do you like me enough to let me stick a can of sardines in the air vent of this guy’s car? Because if anyone deserves it he does.”

Her smile broadens. “That’s not the kind of thing you should tell your lawyer, but thanks. Now, come inside and witness something that’s bound to cheer us both up.”

So we head inside together. Anthony’s still at the bar, collecting beers for us, and I can see Nicole and Damien in the booth behind the one we’ll be sitting in. They’ve arranged Mrs. Rosings on the inside, so she’s essentially hidden.

Dom grins at me from behind the bar. “It’s our girl!”

Then he surprises me by slipping out from behind the bar and wrapping me into a hug that smells reassuringly of cornchips. So many things change in this world every day—and a part of me thrives on that—but even so, it’s reassuring to know that some things, and people, will forever remain the same. That’s how I feel about this bar. If Anthony does take it over, I’m going to petition for it to remain exactly the same.

I hug Dom back and take in the scene over his shoulder—Anthony smiling indulgently at me, and the bar, covered in mismatching bowls full of heavily salted pretzels, with the big bowl of condoms holding central court. A big handmade banner reads:On Thirsty Thursdays, We’re THE PRETZEL BAR.I did post a graphic in a few local Facebook groups, but there’s not a huge turn out yet—only a few people scattered here and there, with Gene in his usual spot. I’m not surprised. There’s still snow on the ground, and Christmas was only a couple of days ago. It’s also possible people have walked in, surveyed the pretzel buffet, and left.

Pulling away from Dom, I retrieve a wrapped package from my bag and hand it to him. Emma stopped by my brother’s house so I could grab it from beneath the tree no one feels like taking down. “This is for you.”

“Oh, shit, Ro, you got me a present?” he asks, like a kid a in candy store.

“It’s sitting there in your hands,” Emma observes archly.

Damn, she really is in a shitty mood. Then again, I’ve been in situations like hers before, and I know what a pall they can cast over everything.

“Open it,” I encourage him as I step toward Anthony. He opens his arms for me, and I step into them, leaning back into his sturdy warmth. His arms pull me closer as Dom unwraps the package.

“Oh. My. God. This is the best present anyone’s ever gotten me. Ever.”

It’s a T-shirt with the new Peanut Bar logo and the sloganLife’s better when you’re a little nutty!

“I sincerely hope that isn’t true,” Emma mutters, then grabs one of the beers from Anthony and heads back to the table where our friends are waiting.

“I thought you could maybe sell them in the bar,” I say, peering at Anthony over my shoulder.

“Your mind is the second most sexy thing about you,” he says with a smile, turning me around so I’m facing him. “You always see the potential in people. Places, too. It makes people feel like they’re not stuck just being whatever they are.”

It’s the best compliment anyone’s ever given me, and a ball of emotion forms in my throat. “So do you. You were just holding it back. Did you get your tux?”

“I did,” He says with a smile. “Did you get your dress?”

“I did, and it’s fucking hot. You’re going to be beside yourself.”

His smile stretches into a grin, and I reach into my bag for the wedding invitations tucked in there. “Dom, you’re officially invited to our wedding. Gene, too.”

“Oh man,” Dom says, “I knew there was something going on between you two. I told Gene, and he said I needed to have my glasses checked, and I told him I didn’t wear any. Of course I’ll go. Congratulations.”

He hugs both of us. Then, before anyone can stop him, he immediately strips out of his T-shirt, throws it behind the bar, and pulls on the one I got for him.”

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