Page 22 of The Bar Next Door
The trace of regret in her voice fills me with something that tastes like wine and burns like possibility. I ask for the bill.
“How was your Brandy Kiss?” I enquire while we wait.
“It was good, sort of spicy.”
“Do you often go for cocktails? Didn’t Roxanne say you’re a craft beer enthusiast?”
“I like to experiment—anddon’tmake another sex shop joke about that.”
The bill arrives, and I pay before we get up to ask for our coats at the front. The night has gotten colder since we came in. I thought it was finally warm enough to start wearing a spring jacket, but apparently I haven’t learned much in the six years I’ve spent in this arctic vortex of a country.
Monroe, on the other hand, looks perfectly warm—and unreasonably kissable—as she pulls the faux-fur lining of her hood closer around her face.
“Let me call you a car,” I insist as she starts to dig for her phone. “I’m the one who dragged you all the way down here.”
“You can only order one Uber at a time. How are you going to get home?”
“I don’t live far.”
She looks confused for a moment and then laughs to herself. “Right. When you said you lived on your dad’s property, I guess I just pictured, I don’t know, a pasture or something.”
“A pasture?” I repeat. “Just how far is the closest pasture from here?”
“Don’t make fun of me!” she complains.
“I live in a condo.”
“Near here? Must be a nice condo.”
“It’s all right.” It’s valued at almost a million. My father did not like to think small. “What’s your address? I’ll order the car.”
I type the address she gives me in and watch it pop up on the map.
“Right near your favourite tavern,” I comment. “Maybe I can convince you to become a regular at my wine bar instead of Taverne Toulouse—if there’s even still a Taverne Toulouse on offer.”
Something in her expression darkens way more than I expect it to.
“Why are you so obsessed with demolishing Taverne Toulouse?”
“I don’t want to demolish it; I possibly want to renovate it. Why are you so insistent that it stays the way it is?”
“Because there are more important things than turning a profit.”
She throws her hands up in the air and then crosses them firmly over her chest, turning away like she’s embarrassed. I still can’t figure out why that little dive seems to be such a sore subject for her, but this isn’t how I want to end the night.
“I know that, Monroe. That’s why I wanted to open the wine bar in the first place.”
She turns back to me, a question on her face.
“It’s my...It’s my tribute—to my father. I’ve opened four businesses on my own now. I never could have done that if it weren’t for what he taught me, for how he raised me. I want to build something that will give people a chance to appreciate wine the way he did. That’s what everything he did was always about. He wanted to be successful, yes, but he saw wine as this...this gift that everyone deserved to experience to its full potential. Now that he’s gone...” I pause to swallow. “I want to make sure that gift doesn’t get lost. I’m finally at a place in my career where I have the chance to do it.”
“Is it worth doing it if it hurts other people?”
I drag my hands through my hair in confusion. “Monroe, what are you talking about?”
“Nothing. It’s fine.”
“Non. It’s not fine. I...” I trail off as search for the courage to admit what I’m feeling. “I haven’t had an evening this nice in a long, long time, and if I said something to upset you—”
