Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 84250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
In my selfishness to kiss her, I failed to recall that she lost someone she loved, someone she vowed to spend the rest of her life with.
I swallow down the regret and a level of hatred I've never felt for myself before. The woman lost her husband, and I thought it was a great idea to try and stick my tongue down her throat.
Her history is what has kept me away for the last three years, and nothing has changed that. She's not here to flirt with me and hook up. She needs a job, which means she needs money, and I'm complicating that for her. Something I never wanted to do.
It doesn't matter how pretty she is or how she looks in her jeans. It doesn't matter that I can't seem to stop staring at her, that I smile when she smiles, and I want to murder every person in here that makes that smile dim.
These are all my problems and have everything to do with my inability to control myself. Pushing the blame off on her was wrong. Throwing away her application the first time she submitted it because I was tempted to save her damn phone number was all on me.
I've officially turned into a creep, and it started long before I was caught creeping around in her little backyard.
"Penny for your thoughts?"
I have a smile on my face when I look up and see Riley Wilson, the owner of the local catering company, sitting at the bar.
"Hey there," I tell her. "Need a refill?"
The question is stupid because I can clearly see that her drink is full.
She frowns at me. What is it with the women in town looking at me and changing their moods? Is there something wrong with the moon and stars? Is Mars or Jupiter in retrograde or something?
"I don't blame you," she says as if I didn't even ask her a question. "You probably don't want to talk about it."
I chew the inside of my cheek as I try my best to analyze the situation. Does she really want to know what I'm thinking or does she want me to ask her what's on her mind? This used to not be so hard, but blaming Claire for my jumbled brain would be egotistical and, honestly, more than a little narcissistic.
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Of course," I tell her, grateful she took the initiative to speak again rather than forcing me to decide how to handle the situation.
"What would you do if people just stopped coming to the bar?"
"Like if we had a slow night? I'd have the chance to get the monthly maintenance done on time and not have to be up here at the crack of dawn on the first Sunday of the month."
She gives me a wry smile before shaking her head. "No, I mean if there was no business in town. No one came to drink here."
My brows furrow together. "Where are they drinking then?"
She huffs a humorless laugh. "The fact that you can't even imagine that happening means you've never had to wonder. You might be the wrong person to ask."
"Listen," I say, leaning on the bar and getting a little closer to her. "Tell me what's wrong, and I can make suggestions."
"I don't think my business is going to make it." She stares into my eyes, and even if the words she just spoke weren't serious, I can easily see how much this is bothering her.
"Shit," I mutter before giving her an apologetic smile. "Sorry for being so dense, but in my defense, I bought an established business, and it's the only bar in town."
"We're not the same," she says, another sad smile on her face as she drops her eyes back to her drink.
"What are your specific issues that are making you unsuccessful?"
It wasn't long ago that Mac Hammer was sitting here, worried about his own business, and I recommended using Riley and her catering business to woo the local folks who were having to decide between his business and one from out of town.
I don't know if he reached out to her, and it's not really my place to set that into motion.
"No one wants to hire me," she says.
"Do you feel like it's a product issue?"
She narrows her eyes at me before speaking. "A Taste of Art prides itself on being top-of-the-line culinary cuisine, thank you very much."
I hold my hands at my ears in mock surrender. I can see she definitely doesn't have a problem fighting for her dream.
"Do you think that's the problem?"
"Are you serious? People don't want bad food."
I shake my head and smile wider. "Are you considering your clientele when advertising your menu and prices?"
It's her turn to chew the inside of her cheek.
"I think—"
"Hold that thought," I tell her when I see Claire walking toward the bar over her shoulder.