Page 17 of Game Changer

A few things still need to be tweaked, including the names of the light bites we offer on the menu. Dicey Dip made the cut, but the recipe has been reworked. It no longer smells like a dozen rotten eggs left in a sauna for a week. It still tastes as good as it did when I had my first bite the day I met William.

My gaze wanders to the locked door of the bar. Our soft launch starts in just under an hour. I’m excited to see the handsome almost-stranger again, even though I know he won’t walk in here alone.

“Are you nervous, or is it more excitement that you’re feeling?” Bristol asks as she pushes her blonde bangs from her eyes. “How do I look?”

I skip over the first question to answer the second since it’s easier. “You look beautiful.”

It’s the truth. We both decided on jeans for the soft launch, but unlike me, Bristol is wearing a white sweater with a thick blue stripe running across her chest. I chose a colorful blouse that ties at the bottom hem since I consider it my lucky shirt. That’s not based on any concrete evidence, but it was the shirt I was wearing when Aunt Hildy handed me the keys to the Turquoise Crown legacy.

“You too,” Bristol offers as she glances at Myra, who is busy stacking napkins on the bar. “I love Myra’s dress. She always goes all out for every special occasion.”

That tears an emotional path through me because this is a special occasion. I’m about to launch not only a business but also a tribute to one of the greatest women I’ve ever known.

Bristol’s gaze drops to the phone in her hand. “Malvie and Posey are on their way over to get the food ready for serving. They’ll be here in twenty minutes.”

I’m grateful that Posey is tagging along with my cousin since her mural sets the mood for the bar, and I want to be able to point her out whenever anyone asks who the artist is.

“Aunt Hildy’s coming, right?” Myra asks from where she’s standing.

I grin at the fact that she refers to my aunt as her aunt. Hildy will love that. “She’ll be here, and she’s bringing a date.”

They laugh out loud, but it’s Bristol who says what she really thinks, “I’m jealous. Hildy will probably get more action tonight than I’ve had all month.”

Smiling, I take a breath. “It’s almost time.”

Myra rounds the bar to pour three shots of vodka. She gestures for us to approach her. “Let’s toast to a successful soft launch and to the future because from where I’m standing, it looks brighter than the top of the Empire State Building tonight.”

I glance at Posey’s mural and the beautiful crown with the turquoise gemstones.

Myra’s right. The future is bright, and I can’t wait for it.

* * *

I pickup a tray of some delectable bites. They are crackers with a smidge of bacon jam and a small sliver of cheese. The topping is a scant sprinkle of what smells like parsley.

Malvie and Posey have taken on the task of handing out samples of what might be on the permanent menu when we officially open, but I’m joining in on that fun because I have yet to say hi to William and his guest.

It turns out that the person accompanying William is a man who looks a lot like him. The man is slightly taller with messier hair and just the right amount of dark stubble covering a strong jawline. The sleeves of his black button-down shirt are rolled up far enough to reveal part of an elaborate tattoo on his right forearm. He’s drawn a few curious glances from Bristol and Myra. All he offered back in return was a small smile.

Holding tightly to the tray, I edge up next to where William and his guest are sitting at a table engrossed in a game of chess. “Your Move Morsel?”

William’s gaze snaps toward me as a brilliant smile slides over his lips.

If this man isn’t the definition of handsome perfection, I don’t know who is. Even dressed down in a black sweater and charcoal gray pants, he’s the epitome of style.

“Did you just call me Morsel?” he asks in a voice that is so deep it should be outlawed.

“What?” I bark out with a nervous laugh attached to it.

“You called me Morsel.” He shoots a wink toward the man he’s sitting across from. “Did you hear that, Bauer?”

“I sure did, Morsel,” the man joins in on the fun as I feel my cheeks redden.

“No,” I try to correct both of them with a shake of my head. “These are called Your Move Morsels.”

Bauer points at the tray of appetizers. “Those are called that?”

“My cousin named them.” I blame Malvie because she insisted on bestowing ridiculous game-related names on all the dishes she created for me.

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