Page 21 of Hooked on Marshall

There’s a short paragraph about him and how long he’s been with the company. And the worst part is that it mentions his wife.

“Shit,” I breathe.

Now that I have his last name, I enter it and his wife’s name in a search. And what comes back makes my blood runcold. I guess this Jonas Freeman comes from money, because there’s a brief article about him filing for divorce from his wife of ten years. There’s speculation about the reason why, but no solid leads.

“Oh, my God,” I breathe.

If he was with Lana, and she left him, and he’s now divorcing his wife, I can only assume that he wants her back. And if that’s the case, and he’s the reason she’s been so upset lately, then she obviously doesn’t want him back.

And I want to make sure it stays that way.

Sixteen

When I get into my room, I climb into bed and cry. Time passes without my knowledge until my phone buzzes with a text. I don’t want to look at it, for fear that it’s Jonas. But part of me hopes that it’s Marshall. Several minutes pass before I muster up the courage to look. A breath of relief leaves me at the sight of Marshall’s name.

I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable tonight. Please let me know what I can do to make this easier. I don’t want to push you, but unless you tell me you’re not interested, I’m still going to want you. Get a good night’s sleep and I’ll see you tomorrow.

More tears fall. I manage to wash up for the night without having to explain anything to my family. Then I crawl into bed and pray that tomorrow is an easier day.

***

When I wake on Monday morning, I feel only marginally better. After handling my immediate needs, I head into the kitchen for a large cup of coffee before settling down with my laptop to get started on something for the Alehouse. Knowing he wants to keep Mark connected somehow, I think about their names first. Both of their initials are MJ. And the first three letters of both of their first names are MAR. I ponder that and think about using something with ‘double’ or ‘squared’ but nothing strikes me. Nor am I sure how I could connect it to the menu.

Then I think about Marshall’s old bar, Pour Decisions. While a bit cliché, it obviously worked. But could I carry it over to the Alehouse? My first thought is about a double pour, but that just doesn’t sit right with me. A few other terms racethrough my brain that are bar related, and I start to type them into my notes. My fingers can barely keep up with my thoughts at this point.

Wait a minute.

Keep up.

As in ‘keeping up with the Joneses.’

The Joneses.

Mark and Marshall Jones. The plural of their last name would be Joneses. So, why not simply Joneses Pub? Then we could use a catchphrase like ‘can you keep up?’ Maybe a pizza or wing eating challenge that would earn the patron their name on the wall and a free shirt. Or we could rotate specials during the year either by holiday or sports season and challenge patrons to keep up. We could create some type of loyalty rewards system where they earn points every time they come in to eat.

A wide smile lights my face as I start running with the idea. I make a note of every idea that pops into my head, not caring in the slightest if it gets used or not. Because the more ideas I have, the better. I’m so absorbed in my task that I lose track of the time and before I know it, I need to get ready for work. I hop in the shower, taking care with the gash over my eye as I wash, and get dressed in record time. Since I’m day shift, I plan on getting in a little early so I can show Marshall what I’ve come up with so far.

I’m so excited to share my ideas, my family even comments on my improved mood.

“Marshall wants to change some things up at the Alehouse and I think I’ve got an idea that will really work,” I tell them. “I can’t wait to show him.”

They ask me what it is, but I tell them I want to wait until I know for sure if he likes it. Then I say my goodbyes and head out. I’m a good twenty minutes ahead of schedule and I wonder if Marshall is even there yet. If not, I can use that timeto organize my random thoughts a bit. When I pull into the parking lot, it’s empty.

So, I let myself inside and head for the break room. I stash my purse in a locker and settle at the table. Once again, my creative brain runs wild. I’m so lost in my own mind that I never hear Marshall come in. Nor do I realize he’s standing in the doorway watching me until my phone buzzes and breaks my concentration. I snatch it up and frown at the first few words of the text.

Emily and I are officially separated. Please tell me where you are. I need to see you, Lana. My life won’t be complete unless you’re in it.

“I don’t fucking think so, asshole,” I mutter.

“Excuse me?”

I yelp in surprise and jump out of my chair. There is a bemused smile on Marshall’s face. I sigh and press my hands over my heart.

“You scared the shit out of me,” I say.

“Sorry,” he chuckles. “You looked like you were super focused on your work, and I didn’t want to distract you.”

“Yeah,” I nod. “Yeah. I was a little too focused, I guess.”

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