Page 3 of Bartender Daddy's Girl
One look almost floors me. Freckled cheeks, a cute button nose, golden strands hanging over deep blue eyes. Christ, if this poor thing weren’t shaking and terrified, I’d have fallen in love right here. But that look, the shuddering like a constant chill is rushing up her spine, the pure fear . . . Means I have to hold myself back. For now. Maybe forever.
“Sure you don’t want a stronger drink?” I reach for a bottle of whiskey instinctively.
“Not yet,” she sighs.
“D’ya have a place to stay?” I ask.
Her eyes sink, and my heart shatters in my chest. Could’ve looked in them for eternity, and it wouldn’t have been long enough.
“No.” She shakes her head. “I just got here.”
“Then it’s your lucky day.” That’s a lie. It’s mine. “Got a room upstairs with your name on it.”
“I don’t have money to pay you for lodging.”
“Good. Because between you and me, I’m not supposed to be letting them out. Health inspector would have a fit if he found out.” It’s mostly true. When I found this place, I had grand visions of a bar below and accommodation above. Rules and red tape kept me from opening the rooms to guests. So, they sit empty until some prick at City Hall deems my place worthy.
But no one said anything about letting folks stay for free.
“Have bags outside? I’ll bring ‘em in.” At this point, I’m offering any service I can to turn her frown upside down.
“No,” she says. “Just me.”
“Then how about I show you upstairs and you get some rest?”
She looks up at me with puppy dog eyes and a pout.
“Thank you,” she says.
And my world comes crumbling down around me when she forces a smile onto her face.
2
CARRIE
What the hell are you doing, Carrie?
You shouldn’t be here.
And no, not just in a room with the tattooed, muscled-up tank. If anything, he’s the only good thing that’s happened to me so far. Offering me kindness without so much as a question as to who I am or what I’ve done.
Still, I shouldn’t be in this town. Wandering around aimlessly, relying on kindness from strangers. I’m supposed to be running. Hard as I can, as far as my feet can take me. Then, running some more.
“Here we are,” the big guy says. He lifts one of his enormous arms and reaches behind his head, scratching. If it weren’t for his conversation with the sheriff, I might’ve thought it a nervous tic.
However, nothing about this man makes me think he’s the nervous kind. The way he spoke to the law confirms it. He’s not afraid, not of anything. Maybe that’s why I want to stick aroundhere a little while. If I’m lucky, some of his bravery might rub off on me. Give me the strength to keep running.
To disappear.
Build a new life somewhere else, and forget what I left behind.
“I know it’s not much,” he continues when I don’t speak. His ink-stained arm flexing. “But it’s the best I can do. You’re free to stay as long as you like. Catch your breath, relax. Whatever you need.”
“No, it’s perfect.” My words sound hollow. Afraid. Everything I don’t want to be. “Thank you.”
An enclosed space with a bed and a bathroom. You don’t need much more than that to feel safe. To call home. Wealth, luxury, and prestige cloud your judgment. Sometimes, simple is better. Best. It keeps you grounded and reminds you that there are others who don’t even have these simplest of necessities.
“You’re welcome.” The corner of his lip ticks up.
