Page 24 of Your Place or Mine

“Don’t forget mood lighting,” Drew added helpfully.

“Oh, she’ll want that too. Fancy chandeliers and exposed brick. Gotta make it Instagram-worthy, right?”

“As long as she keeps the talking fish, we should be fine.” Drew set down the tip jar, finally looking up. “You know, it’s wild how much attention you’ve given this woman, considering how much youdon’tcare about her.”

I shot him a glare. “I don’t care about her.”

He grinned. “No, of course not. That’s why you’ve brought her up more times tonight than the fry basket that caught fire two summers ago.”

“Icareabout the bar,” I growled, slamming the rag on the counter. “I care about this town. And I can feel it. She’s itching to change it. She’s got that look.”

“What look?”

“That clipboard-in-her-head look. The one where she’s measuring things in her mind and mentally demolishing the dartboard and replacing it with a curated whiskey flight and reclaimed wood accent wall.”

Drew chuckled. “You’re spiraling, man.”

“I’m observing,” I snapped. “I’ve been around long enough to know what happens next. She smiles and says she wants to respect the vibe, and then the next thing you know, there’s a QR code menu and rosemary in the water glasses.”

“She hasn’t even touched the bar,” Drew pointed out. “She sat there. Drank the gin you made her. Didn’t ask for anything. Didn’t complain that you put a couple of weeds in her drink.”

“Yet.”

He raised an eyebrow. “So what’s really got you wound up? The fact that she owns the building? Or the fact that you can’t stop looking at her?”

I stopped wiping the bar.

Drew smirked. “Yeah. I saw that too.”

“They weren’t sparks,” I muttered.

“No?”

“They were the kind of sparks that blow up a town.”

He laughed, loud and unbothered. “Man, you aresoin trouble.”

“I’m not in trouble,” I said through gritted teeth. “She’s trouble. With her sweet little voice, her let's talk civilly attitude, and her city boots, which probably cost more than this jukebox,”

“She said she wasn’t trying to change the bar.”

“And I said I didn’t believe her,” I snapped. “Because people like her don’t change things. They think rustic is a filter on their phone. They look at a place like this and see potential. What they mean is the potential to rip out everything that makes it special.”

Drew leaned back, folding his arms. “You ever think maybe shedoeslike it?”

“Of course, she likes it for now. It’s all novelty and charm and talking fish on the wall. But give it a week. She’ll start noticing the flaws. The cracks. The fact that the booths wobble and the menu hasn’t changed in five years. And she’ll think she canfixit.”

“You don’t like being fixed.”

“No,” I said flatly. “I like being left the hell alone.”

He nodded, then took a slow sip of his soda. “So what’s the plan? Glare at her every time she walks in until she breaks down and sells the place?”

“If that works, great.”

“It won’t.”

“Then I’ll outlast her.”

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