Page 266 of Banter & Blushes

“I’m fine,” I say quickly, too quickly, and her other eyebrow joins the first.

“Uh-huh. Sure. That’s why you’ve been rearranging the napkins for the past ten minutes and glaring at the blender like it owes you money.”

I glance at the stack of napkins in front of me, now perfectly aligned and color-coded, and grimace. “It’s just… a lot. That’s all.”

Clara hums again, noncommittal, and goes back to her receipts.

The truth is, itisa lot. The bar feels like it’s bursting at the seams, the normal rhythm replaced by something frantic and unsteady. I keep reminding myself that this is temporary, that the tourists and the cameras and the noise will fade eventually. But what if it doesn’t? What if this is the new way to do business, and I’m just supposed to get used to it?

“Hey.”

I look up to find Keigan standing on the other side of the bar, a glass of water in his hand and a question in his eyes.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice low enough that it doesn’t carry beyond the bar.

I nod, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Just busy.”

He doesn’t look convinced. “You want me to get rid of them?”

He tilts his head toward the tourists, his expression somewhere between serious and teasing. “I can tell them the bar’s haunted. Or that you’re a famous recluse who only comes out during full moons. That might clear the place out.”

I huff out a laugh despite myself. “Thanks, but I think we’ll survive.”

Keigan leans on the counter, his smile softening. “You know, we could turn this into something good.”

I pause, the knife still in my hand. “What do you mean?”

“A charity event,” he says, his eyes lighting up. “We could use the attention to raise money for something local. Draw people in for a good cause instead of just… this.” He gestures vaguely at the crowd.

I blink at him, the idea settling in like a pebble dropped into water. “A charity event,” I repeat slowly.

“Yeah,” he continues, his energy picking up. “I’ve been off the grid for a couple of weeks, and my manager’s been lecturing me about obligations to the studio. It’s the middle of the press cycle, and they’re not thrilled that I’ve disappeared. But if we tied the charity event into the press tour, it could work. It would get some major eyeballs on whatever cause you want to support, and it would let me satisfy the studio and the investors at the same time.”

I stare at him, my brain scrambling to keep up. “You want to make the charity event part of your press tour?”

He nods, his enthusiasm spilling over. “Why not? It’s a win-win. We get the media attention focused on something positive, you get to support the community, and I get to check a box for the studio without having to leave town. Everyone’s happy.”

I glance around the bar, at the tourists and regulars and the mess of it all, and my stomach twists. The idea makes sense—more sense than I’d like to admit—but it also feels… big. Too big. The bar has always been my safe haven, my little corner of the world, and the thought of turning it into something so public makes my chest tighten.

“I don’t know, Keigan,” I say, my voice hesitant. “This place isn’t really set up for… events.”

“It doesn’t have to be fancy,” he says, leaning closer, his voice warm but insistent. “Just something small and intimate. We keep the focus on the community, not me. I promise.”

I hesitate, the knot in my chest pulling tighter. “And you really think this will solve your studio problem?”

“I do,” he says without hesitation. “But more importantly, I think it’ll help you. This bar means everything to you, Becky. Let’s use this to make it stronger.”

I feel myself wavering. The idea is risky, sure, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at me—hopeful and sincere and just a little mischievous—that makes me want to believe him.

“Okay,” I say finally, the word slipping out before I can overthink it. “Let’s try it.”

Keigan’s grin is instant and infectious. “You won’t regret this, Becky. It’s going to be great. Trust me.”

I nod, more to myself than to him, and return to the cutting board, my mind already spinning with possibilities.

The rest of the day passes in a blur of planning and prepping. Keigan throws himself into the project with the kind of energy that makes me both admire and envy him. He scribbles ideas on napkins, talks Clara into calling local businesses for donations, and even manages to charm Joe into donating one of his handmade birdhouses for the raffle.

Meanwhile, I find myself second-guessing everything. Is this the right decision? Will the regulars hate it? Will the bar lose its charm, its identity, its heart?

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