Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 115468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
In my rearview mirror I saw Haven exit the coffee shop with her drink in hand and turn in the other direction toward the old-fashioned, turquoise blue pickup she drove with the Haven’s Gate logo emblazoned on the side. You couldn’t miss that thing, that was for sure. I pressed slightly on the gas just to hear the purr of my Audi, but rather than bringing me the satisfaction it always had, emptiness loomed inside.
I’d built my life around luxury cars, tailored suits, exclusive memberships, and the like. Those things spoke of who I was and the life I wanted. I was about to leave this small, lakeside town behind for the sophistication of London. In recent years, I’d only grown more established in my career, and I was about to make a move that would increase my success, and my wealth. I stood on the precipice of everything I’d ever worked for and all my father had dreamed for me and all I felt was…stuck. It made no sense.
Haven’s truck bumped past me and she grinned and waved out the window. I tipped my chin, watching as the bed, filled with cheery flats of flowers, moved away. I brought my fingers to my lower lip, realizing that instead of smiling back at Haven, my mouth had tipped into a frown.
I sighed and, once again, emptied my mind as best as possible, pulling away from the curb and heading to the office where I had back-to-back meetings.
I was glad I had a packed schedule today and tomorrow, but a short break from the rigmarole would help me get my head back in the game. The upcoming guys’ weekend would be good. No—the guys’ weekend would be great.
CHAPTER TWO
Rory
The bevy of starstruck women let out a collective squeal as my uncle tossed the ice from the glass in his right hand and caught it in the empty one he was holding in his left, that slow, one-sided smile causing his dimple to appear. The squeals melted into delighted sighs. I pressed my lips together, working to keep my expression neutral. I had plenty of practice resisting the eye roll that still naturally threatened such blatant reverence. Such a simple bartender move and still they swoon like lovesick puppies.
I wiped down the table that had just been vacated and picked up the tray of empty glasses as another chorus of “oohs” came from the bar. I gave my head a small shake. Easy tricks aside though, I could see why my uncle received so much female attention and adoration. He did bear a striking resemblance to Elvis Presley in his heyday.
“That man is truly God’s gift to Mud Gulch,” Karla, one of three servers, including me, working the floor, said, her eyes glued to my uncle as she waited for a check to print.
“Not a difficult feat considering the competition,” I said breezily as I passed by. The man didn’t need anyone else, especially his niece, fawning over him. And his name was Romeo to boot. My grandmother must have had some foresight where he was concerned because that would have been a difficult name to manage had he been anyone other than himself. But Granny had had an affinity for Shakespeare and, apparently, believed her second-born son would bear the name of a famous fictional lothario well.
Another burst of squeals went up, confirming that thought.
I wove through the crowded tables with the full tray balanced in one hand, shouldered the door to the kitchen open and deposited the dirty glasses near the dishwasher. “Order up, Rory,” our cook called from where he stood at the grill.
“Thanks, Eli,” I said as I picked up the two plates of food sitting under the warmer. Eli nodded but didn’t look at me, a spatula held in his hand and his gaze focused on the TV mounted to the wall in the corner of the kitchen. “You have one job! Hit the damn ball, you dipshit!” he yelled as I pushed the swinging doors open.
The smack of a bat hitting a ball met my ears as I walked back into the bar. Apparently, the dipshit had indeed managed to do his job.
“A burger, medium, no onion, no tomato, with a side of onion rings, Larry,” I said as I set the food in front of one of our regulars.
“Thanks, Rory.”
I gave him a nod. “And for Kip, fish and chips with extra slaw,” I said, reaching across and handing the other man the loaded plate.
I stopped by my other tables quickly and then made my way to the computer to print up the bills. “You have got to be shittin’ me,” Sherry, the third server, said, her gaze trained somewhere behind me. I turned, my mouth falling open. “No, don’t look,” Sherry said, grabbing my arm and forcibly turning me back to the computer. But it was too late. I’d already seen.