Page 14 of Forever To Me

I growl with frustration, “Red, I own this bar. I’mnotthe bartender. Cash is my bartender. The guy who was working last night?” I look at her and wait for it to click. Relief fills me that this is not what she thought it was.

Her eyes close, and she looks down in mortification and murmurs, “Shit. I’m so sorry.” Her cheeks blush a furious shade of pink to rival her bright red hair, a look of pure contrition on her face.

“I hope that clears up some things for you. Anything else you need to know, Red?” I lean back and wait, amused by this whole conversation now that I know it’s bullshit.

“Nope, I’m going to crawl into a hole and die now,” she admits with an embarrassed laugh.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see movement in the front seat of her car and glance back at her. “Now it’s my turn. I have a few questions for you.”

She looks at me apologetically. “Sure,” she admits with defeat.

And fuck me if her face isn’t cute as hell right now, all pink and flustered with embarrassment. There’s no way this woman is a crazed fan or here for trouble. She’s too hell-bent on not being a home wrecker, which I appreciate. Cash is a stand-up guy and would never do that, anyway. And I sure as hell would never be that guy, either.

“Why do you have my dog?” I nod to where my dog’s head hangs out the window that’s half rolled down, watching the door, probably wondering why she didn’t get to come in, too.

Her mouth drops in surprise. “Pickles is yours?”

I cross my arms, waiting for an explanation. She looks even more beautiful when she’s mad. I'm not even sure howthat’s even possible, but she’s even sexier than she was last night.

“Maggie asked me to watch her,” she stammers, looking confused.

I’ll bet she did. She’s supposed to be watching Pickles while Mack is out of town so she isn’t at the house alone.

“She’s supposed to watch her when I’m working. As a barowner,” I add with a smirk. “Not a bartender.”

“Stop,” she groans. “I’m so embarrassed. And technically, you were pouring drinks last night, were you not?”

I laugh and admit, “I was.”

Relief fills me that she doesn’t seem to recognize me. And I know Maggie would never tell her anything personal about me. She’s the one person in this world that I know one hundred percent for sure that I can count on. I don’t have many people like that, but I have no doubts about Maggie. That’s why I knew we could call her earlier when I called Red’s bluff.

“I’ll go get her for you,” she mumbles and heads to her car. My dog wiggles her whole body when she sees Red coming towards her. I sigh. I have the same reaction too, Pickles.

She returns a few minutes later with Pickles trotting to me, her tail feverishly wagging as her whole body wiggles when she sees me.

I bend down and pick her up, holding her to my chest.

“Can I ask you a question?” she asks hesitantly.

“Red, I think we’re past formalities. Just ask,” I say dryly.

“Why do you call this the Black Dog? Is it a song reference?” she wonders aloud as she glances around as if looking for clues.

I snort. “My bar has been here for over ten years now.” I nod to my dog. “Hence the black dog. Before her it was Gus. Myotherblack dog.”

“Alright.” Her mouth quirks. “Why the name Pickles?”

I want to tell her my daughter named her and that I get every pop culture reference she’s throwing my way, but I’m still on the fence with her. I don’t tell anyone about my personal life and not about my daughter. Something about Red feels different but still not going there. I can’t. There are too many things I can’t risk.

Instead, I shrug. “Just a name.”

She stares at me for a beat. “Alright, Cowboy. Sorry I kidnapped your puppy, and I’m sorry I accused you of being an adulterer.” She turns and leaves, and her eyes stop at the corkboard in the entryway of the bar, she looks at the bartender help wanted sign and back at me. She frowns, looks down, and heads out.

This is a plot twist I didn’t see coming.

“I see you met, my niece,” Maggie remarks wryly as she walks in my front door the next day, carrying grocery bags she sets on the counter. Maggie drops off groceries from time to time, and I cook for her as often as she lets me. When Mack is home, she loves cooking with me, too. One good thing about living in the middle of nowhere is that we cook most of our own meals. So, we’ve learned to make all our favorites. Maggie usually spends a lot of her time here, and now that she’s had her niece visiting, I can see why she’s not been around as much. But to be fair, we’ve both been busy. Me with the bar, Mack’s school stuff, and her with her niece and the Dogwood.

“I did,” I counter dryly as I unload the bags and set the items on the counter. “Care to explain?”

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