Page 17 of Freeing Camila

“Speaking of Bethany, I’ve got to get her off to school. Thanks for the update.”

“Sure thing. Give your girls my best.”

“Come visit sometime and give it to them yourself,” Tin Man prodded. Before ending the call, Jeeves promised he would do just that, though he knew, deep down, that a visit wasn't in the cards anytime soon.

He’d be too busy hunting down the woman who betrayed them all in Colombia. And, much to his displeasure, looking after a tree sprite that lived rent free in his head, a situation that filled him with annoyance. As well as a fair amount of trepidation.

CHAPTER7

Little Victories Bucket List No.8: Broaden your tastes

Cammie’s jobwas going better than she ever could have hoped. The work she was doing brought her so much joy that she was completely enveloped in love and passion for it. Who knew the simple task of making coffee for customers could be so fulfilling?

In addition to the job, Marilyn, having observed Cammie’s daily walk to the budget motel after work each afternoon, generously offered her the apartment above the bakery at a reasonable price. It was a cozy, fully furnished space with a much more pleasant atmosphere than where she had been staying. The sweet scent of baking bread a welcome change from the stale air of the motel. With each passing day, she felt more at home, and the transition to her new life was proceeding smoothly.

Every day brought encounters with individuals whose kindness was profoundly different from anything within the scope of her past experiences. Their gentle words and welcoming smiles felt like sunshine on her skin, chasing away the shadows of her past. She’d been right about her initial assessment of Marilyn as well. The woman was a kindred spirit who never failed to make her laugh. Emotions overwhelmed her on a daily basis and she found herself fighting off the sting of tears quite often.

Tonight, though, it was time to knock off another item on her bucket list as she stood on the sidewalk looking up at the multistory building in front of her. A thumping bass, emanating from inside, vibrated the very air around her. Nervousness struck her, but she pushed it down. This would be no different from going to a restaurant by herself. So what if it was a bar, and she didn’t have much experience with alcohol?

A shiver, cold and sudden, shot up her spine as the chilling details of her knowledge regarding alcohol flooded her mind. Whenever those around her drank, it had always been a harbinger of misfortune, a pattern established since her earliest memories. Her father had been a mean drunk and found disfavor with her in just about everything. His fists flew freely on those occasions while his drunken slurs and booming voice echoed in her memory, a chilling soundtrack to her childhood.

Pushing those memories aside and squaring her shoulders, she reached for the door handle. With a forceful pull, she opened the door, unleashing a wave of music that crashed over her. Stepping inside, she stopped to take in the place.

Gleaming under the overhead lights on one side of the room, a long curved bar was a striking feature, complemented by the numerous high top tables occupying the middle of the space. The building featured a second-floor balcony that encircled the entire room. Additional tables were positioned tightly next to the old, weathered wooden railings that showed the signs of years of use. With wide, rustic beams stretching across the high ceiling, Hooch and Harmony exuded a rustic, country ambiance, perfectly complementing its honky-tonk style.

Occupying the space at the far end of the room, directly opposite the entrance, was a sizable stage. The music pulsed through her body, driven by the rhythmic energy of the band’s performance. The driving beat vibrated through her, making her body want to move to the rhythm. Her hips swayed before she could stop them. She never thought she’d be a country music fan, but the band before her was slaying it. The energy of the band, the twanging guitars, and the stomping feet were electrifying.

As she watched from afar, a sea of people packed the space before the stage, engaged in a vibrant and unfamiliar line dance that was entirely new to her, and drew spectators from the upper balcony. A longing to join in swept through her, but first she needed to fortify herself with a bit of alcohol.

Finding an open stool at the bar, she sat and waited for one of the bartenders to notice her. After a few minutes, the woman finally approached her. “Okay, little bit. What can I getcha?”

“Um . . .” Cammie froze. She’d never ordered alcohol before and didn’t know where to start. With the onset of panic, the array of bottles lined up behind the bar became an indistinct blur. A sense of impending failure washed over her, accelerating relentlessly toward her. With a quick glance, her eyes darted around the bar, trying to discern what drinks others had ordered, hoping to glean some insight into their choices. But everything was unfamiliar. She couldn’t distinguish whiskey from beer. Tall, slender glasses stood beside squat, round ones, their contents a mystery to her.

The bartender must have noticed her panic and offered her an out. “How ’bout I pick for ya?” she asked.

Cammie nodded enthusiastically. With a decisive movement, the woman grasped a glass mug, positioned it beneath a nozzle, then pulled a lever. A rich, amber-colored liquor filled the waiting vessel. She was presented with a mug that had a thin layer of foam on top, some of which had spilled over the sides. As Cammie lifted the mug, the rich aroma of oak and vanilla wafted upward from the liquid, causing her to pause for a moment to inhale its fragrant essence before taking a delicate sip.

Her expression must have been quite comical, as evidenced by the bartender’s uproarious laughter. “Give it a chance. You’ll get used to the taste.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Cammie mumbled, then took another sip. This time, she successfully maintained a neutral expression on her face.

The bartender wasn’t fooled. “Keep sipping. I’ll get you somethin’ different next time. Name’s Melli. That’s my dad, Dizzy,” she said, gesturing to the behemoth at the other end of the bar. “We run this place together.”

The pair were so utterly dissimilar in every conceivable way that it was hard to believe they were related. In contrast to Dizzy’s towering height, Melli was average in stature. The overhead lights glinted off Dizzy’s bald head in sharp contrast to Melli’s long, dark hair, which was pulled neatly back into a ponytail.

“Cammie,” she replied, her smile easy as she extended a hand, which Melli took.

“Good to meet you,” she said after shaking her hand. “Wait. Are you the new girl who everybody’s talking about?”

Cammie’s heart leaped into her throat, a frantic drum against her ribs. Everybody was talking about her? Did they know what happened to her? Did they know who she really was?

“W-What?”

“Yeah. People are talking about the new brewmaster at Flour Power. They say the creations are unlike anything ever tasted before,” Melli said, a knowing smirk spreading across her face.

As relief flooded through her, a subtle blush of pleasure colored her cheeks. She swiped a lock of hair behind her ear, her eyes wide with disbelief as she whispered, “Are they really saying that?” Having never experienced praise before, she found herself in the strange position of at the same time craving more affirmation while also feeling overwhelmed by the unexpected attention. She wanted to bask in the warmth of the admiration and completely immerse herself in it, while simultaneously a sense of unease and a deep feeling of being undeserving caused her to wish she could disappear.

“I haven’t had a chance to stop in yet,” Melli continued, unaware of Cammie’s internal battle and sudden need to withdraw. “But now that I’ve met you, I’ll make more of an effort.” Hearing someone call her name, she waved, then turned to Cammie and said, “Let me know if you need anything,” before going to greet whoever had called to her.

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