Page 4 of Rival Hearts
“What?”
“It’s a bar but it’s very… laid back. It might not be quite your thing.”
“No, let’s do it.” She directed me toward it, not too far from the center of Newport. “Tonight, I’m all for anything that’snotmy thing because that party in there… that used to be my thing.”
She smiled, not looking at me, as we weaved our way through the streets.
When we arrived, it looked like the place was a little dive bar hidden in a lesser part of town than was usually my playground. I parked against the curb—my car the only shiny new car in the line—and we walked to the door.
“Hey, Eric,” she said, waving at the doorman when we walked in. “Room for two more?”
“For you, always, Miss Charlotte,” the big, burly doorman said with a grin.
Charlotte. Of course. Lottie should have tipped me off. Something about the name was so elegant and beautiful.
Just like her.
We walked into the bar, and it was like we were transported into a different world. It was a bohemian kind of place, with mismatched furniture in cozy corners, plush cushions, and walls adorned with tapestries—yes,tapestries, in abar—depicting nature scenes.
Lanterns of all shapes and sizes stood on the different tables, and above the bar hung a whole planter filled with plants and wildflowers that was just… weird.
“This place is… nice,” I said carefully.
Lottie—Charlotte—laughed.
“Yeah, I like it. It’s different, you know?”
“It definitely is.”
We sat down in a booth at the back, and a server arrived.
“Vodka tonic for the lady,” I said, remembering what she’d wanted at the party. “And Johnnie Walker Black, if you have it.”
The server winked at Lottie, and she grinned at him.
“A friend?”
“Everyone in here are friends,” she said. “It’s been a while since I’ve been here, but you know how it is with some people. You can be apart for years and when you reconnect, it’s like no time has passed at all.”
I didn’t generally have that, but with Lottie, I could imagine it being like that. Hell, I barely knew her and I felt like I’d known her for years.
“So, what do you do?” I asked her.
“I’m an environmentalist,” she said. “Especially related to the ocean.”
I blinked at her. “So, you think my fancy car with its CO2emissions is a problem?”
She laughed, and God, I loved the sound of it, the way she looked. I didn’t have to drink to be intoxicated when I was around her.
“Your car is fine. I mean, CO2emission is a problem, but there are bigger fish to fry.” She looked at me expectantly until I laughed.
“I see what you did there.”
She giggled. “What about you?”
I hesitated. I didn’t want to tell her who I was and what I did. I didn’t want to break the spell where she just talked to me like I was a normal person, like I wasn’t Mr. Rich-and-Powerful, the way everyone else treated me.
“I’m in manufacturing.”
