Page 13 of Your Place or Mine

This wasminenow. I got to decide what it became.

The bookstore was already perfect—quirky, charming, and locally run. The bakery next door smelled like heaven and was operated by June. A coffee shop was owned by a gal named Riley and a laundromat…

And then… There was the bar.

The Rusty Stag.

The establishment had a weathered metal sign swinging from a chain above the door. The glass windows were tinted just enough to keep the mystery alive. It looked exactly like I’d imagined a dive bar with good fries and bad lighting would look. It was the kind of place that had never seen a single update since 1978, according to the pictures from the Ludlowes. I’d been in every space before I bought it except for the bar. They were worried that if the owner got wind of the sale, he’d make it complicated.

I paused at the edge of the building, staring at the door like it might spit out a fireball if I stepped too close.

Melanie stopped beside me. “This is it, huh?”

“Yeah.” I sighed. “This is the one I’m worried about.”

She tilted her head. “Why? It’s kind of charming in a murder-mystery-suspect kind of way.”

I barked a laugh. “It’s not the bar. It’s the guy who runs it.”

“Ohhh.Thatguy.” Her eyes sparkled. “The one you said wasn’t thrilled about the sale.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” I said. “The Ludlowes told me he’s been here for a decade. He pays on time and keeps to himself, but hates change. Just hearing the word ‘renovation’ made his eye twitch.”

“So you’re saying he’s the villain of your story?”

“I’m saying he might be the immovable object to my unstoppable force,” I muttered, glancing toward the door. “I don’t want to run anyone out, Mel. I’m not here to bulldoze the town. I just… want to improve things. Make them feel fresh. Welcoming. Modern without losing charm.”

“Well,” she said, looping her arm through mine, “maybe he just needs to be wooed.”

“Wooed?”

“You know. Bribed with good design, natural lighting, and locally sourced bar snacks.” She laughed. “And while you do that, I can date the server.”

“Or maybe we get lucky and he’s eighty-five years old and tired.”

We both stared at the building in silence.

“If he gives you trouble, we deal with it. You’ve handled worse.”

We were both thinking of my ex-boyfriend without saying it. He was a complete ass with a heart of stone and one of the reasons I was glad I left Seattle.

I took a breath.

Melannie was right. This was part of being an owner. I didn’t need his blessing. I just needed to communicate, reason, and be respectful.

Even if he glared a lot.

Even if he growled when he spoke.

Even if he—

“Okay,” Melanie said, tugging my sleeve, “I canseeyour anxiety from here. Let’s go in. One drink. Some food. It’s a bar, not a haunted house.”

“I don’t want to make it weird.”

“You’re not. You’re just a new face having a drink with your charming best friend who once saw a ghost and didn’t cry about it.”

I raised a brow. “That ghost turned out to be your towel rack falling off the wall.”

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