Page 2 of Second Chance to Fall

“Thought I’d bring you your burger myself,” she says, squeezing my arm. She does that a lot, and I can’t get enough of it. I peer up at her and into those aquamarine eyes of hers. They’re as clear as Cooper Lake right outside of town.

Who wouldn’t appreciate eyes like that?

“That’s neighborly of you.” I quirk my mouth up on one side, and she glances around as two large tables clear out.

“Things seem to be settling down and Brooklyn should have things under control for the kitchen cleanup within the next half hour.” Brooklyn is Violet’s unsmiling kitchen manager, but the middle-aged woman is efficient as hell, apparently. “Want to come down to the bar and have a drink with me once you’re done eating?”

And look who’s making the first move…

“Can’t think of anything I’d like more.”

Regardless, I take my time with my burger—there’s no rushing beef this tasty—and by the time I’m finishing up, most of the diners have left. That’s to be expected since it’s after ten at night and the restaurant officially closed twenty minutes ago.

When I was younger and trying to find my place in the working world, food service wasn’t the best fit for me. At the time, I didn’t like that eateries can’t stick to a firm close like other businesses do. So I ended up in the family business. I always grew antsy if we had people at the haberdashery this far after locking the doors. That’s actually kind of a funny take since now I’m a photographer loving what I do with no real set hours. How’s that for a one-eighty?

After leaving my customary fifty percent tip, I head downstairs and take a seat at the end of the bar. I’m sipping on a tumbler of Jim Beam when Violet arrives.

“What a day. It feels so good to just sit down for a sec.”

“I bet.” I remember standing on my feet for eight or nine hours straight, but my lovely chef here does it every day but Sunday. Thankfully, that’s tomorrow. Yet it’s strange to see this side of Violet Dean. Most of the time, even when flirting with me, she keeps herself so prim and proper. I’ve always assumed that to be a result of either her upbringing or being trained in Paris.

“Is that bourbon?” she asks.

“Yes, ma’am.” And without missing a beat, she grabs mine and takes a sip.

“Perry,” she hollers at her barkeep, even though raising her voice now that most of her customers have left is no longer necessary. “Bring Landon another. And bring me the same.”

I don’t reply. It’s not that I mind at all, but I’m trying to remember a time when I ever witnessed her drinking hard liquor. I can’t.

“Your dogs must really be barking if you’re needing to knock something like this back,” I remark without judgment. I’m curious, not sanctimonious.

“Today lasted for a whole month is all.” She takes the tumbler and downs half of it in one go. Holy shit. “Ooh, that’s better.”

Perry hands me a bowl full of mixed nuts without me even having to ask, eyeing his boss with a concerned expression. I offer them to her.

“Hungry?”

“Voracious,” she asserts, seizing a handful and chomping on them. Even after this, she chews delicately despite the lapse in manners involved in snatching at the nuts like a ravenous squirrel.

Nonetheless, that’s all she eats, and she requests two more tumblers from our conscientious bartender. On number four, Perry raises a hand. “Yeah, Violet, I don’t think so. Why don’t you go home? Jeremy just told me Landon’s our last customer. We’ve already cleaned up.”

“Yeah?” she calls out despite Perry being two feet away.

“Yeah.” Perry responds in a fairly stern voice.

I’ve long since finished my drinks, and though I had the same amount and have a slight buzz at the back of my skull, I had the benefit of eating a full meal.

“I’ll take you home,” I offer, and that’s my intention. It really is. But as soon as we step outside, Violet drags me over to the side of the building to a space secluded by shadows. She’s a willowy woman. Someone I’ve thought of as statuesque. Yet she’s ten times stronger than she looks because she slams me against the wall like a damn linebacker.

And then, she kisses the holy living hell out of me.

Two

Violet

I’m having an out of body experience, I’m fairly sure. Why else would I be living out my fantasies when I never, ever behave like this? I’ve imagined pressing my lips to Landon’s again for years now, but I didn’t think I’d ever give into it. I shouldn’t be, and I know that. Yet it’s like that good girl part of me has been tied up, gagged, blindfolded and shoved into the corer.

She’s no longer in charge, I am. And this version of me is primal and animalistic. This version of me is downrightachingto feel good for once. I’m assuming Landon Walcott is up for the job.

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