Page 6 of 5 Golden Flings

“Hello,” she said pleasantly to the bartender. “I’ve never been here before —”

“I can tell,” the bartender interrupted, his tone dry.

She cast him a rueful smile, one that said she realized the obvious. “But I needed gas and food, so here I am.”

“Food and gas go hand-in-hand in this place,” said one of the men at the bar, without looking at them.

Nova didn’t acknowledge him, but her lips twitched as she fought a smile. “What do you have?” she asked the bartender.

He did a little head waggle as he consulted his brain. “I have a cook who’ll be here in about an hour, if you want to wait that long. I can throw together a grilled cheese, drop some tater tots in the fryer, but that and popcorn is about my limit. I have to keep an eye on these two or they’ll be reaching over the bar helping themselves to another beer.”

“Are you Lonnie?”

“Yes ma’am.” He gave a single nod of acknowledgement.

“Thank you, Lonnie. I’m starving. A grilled cheese sandwich sounds wonderful, and I’ll keep an eye on your untrustworthy customers for you.” As he talked he scribbled something on an order slip and slid it toward her. Glancing down, she recognized it as a WiFi password, and she thanked him with a smile.

The man closest to her swiveled on his barstool to give her a scowl. “That isn’t fair.”

“Fair is where you give a blue ribbon to a pig,” she replied, and all three men laughed.

“One grilled cheese, coming up,” Lonnie said. “Cheddar okay? I’m fresh out of gouda.”

“You ain’t never had gouda,” the other man spoke up.

“I did once.” Lonnie disappeared through the kitchen door.

Nova returned to her chosen table, took out her laptop and opened it, and sat where she could easily see the two men at the bar. Maybe a minute had passed when she saw, in her peripheral vision, the man sitting farthest from her slowly reached over the side of the bar and she made a librarian throat-clearing sound. The man jerked his arm back as if she’d slapped his hand. Nova kept tapping keys and didn’t look up, most of her attention on her inventory and what had sold best this season. Retail was a guessing game, a gamble.

The man tried again, this time angling his body so most of his arm movement was hidden.

“Don’t make me stop this car,” she warned, realizing it had become a game to them.

Lonnie came through the door carrying a paper plate and a bottle of water, as both men burst out laughing. He glanced at them. “Tried it, didn’t you?”

“You dared us.”

“No, Iwarnedyou.” Rounding the end of the bar counter, Lonnie set the plate and water on her table, and slipped the order tab under the plate. “Smart people would know the difference.”

“Thank you,” Nova told Lonnie. She used the lone paper napkin to hold the sandwich and neatly tear it in half, then fastidiously wiped her fingers, opened the water bottle, and took a bite of the sandwich while she used her free hand toscroll down a page. The hot melted cheese and butter-soaked bread hit her tastebuds and she signed in contentment. “That’s wonderful,” she said to Lonnie, who had returned to his station behind the bar.

She got lost in her computer analysis, making notes as she thought of things. The gamble was that clothing items had to be ordered so far ahead of time that if she chose items that didn’t click with her customers, she was in trouble. She wanted unique but not bizarre, classic but not stodgy, fashionable but something that would be flattering and worn for more than one season.

She loved this part of the business. She didn’t have the creativeness to design or sew, but she had the talent to put together what was visually pleasing. Presenting that talent on a website was a new venture for her, but with Anders’ clothing and Jolaine’s jewelry opening up possibilities — it would work. She knew in her bones she could make it work.

Absently she ate and sipped, and at some point Lonnie brought her another bottle of water, and took away her empty plate. A small TV behind the bar was turned on but she didn’t notice.

Nevertheless, the passage of time began to gnaw at her senses, and she glanced at the time. She had been here over two hours and sunset was long past. This wasn’t in her plans, she’d expected to be on the move again at least an hour ago.

She looked at the screen, at her notes. She had plenty to do. She’d give it another half hour.

While she’d been working she’d been aware of the original two customers leaving, though at different times, and occasionally a few other customers had come and gone. Counting herself there were now six customers, three at the bar, the other two sitting alone in booths. The cook must have comein because Lonnie served food to the two booth-sitters, without having to go into the kitchen area himself.

Headlights flashed against the windows, signaling the arrival of more customers. Guiltily Nova realized she’d been occupying table space for the last hour and a half without ordering anything. That hadn’t mattered while the place was mostly empty, but perhaps she needed to move on even if she did want to work another half hour.

She could get a cup of coffee to go, as a sop to her conscience.

The door opened and seven men entered, bringing with them a rush of cold air and an almost palpable force-field of testosterone. Nova went still and swiftly looked down, keeping her gaze locked on the computer screen. She had been comfortable here, but this new group made her feel like a mouse crouching to hide from a hawk flying overhead. Her heart began a slow, heavy pound and despite her efforts to stay relaxed she could feel her muscles tensing.Fight or flight. Her brain tried to tell her, “Oh, this is okay, nothing to worry about here,” but her instincts ignored civilization and focused on survival.

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