Page 30 of The Fall Back Plan
But I don’t step back, and neither does she. After about two seconds, she looks up at me through her lashes, and her eyes flick down to my mouth before dropping. A small burst of adrenaline hits my bloodstream, but she steps back. Disappointment chases the adrenaline, but that’s stupid. My body tried to prime for something that isn’t going to happen. My brain knows better.
She turns to lead me out. “Thanks for the coffee and the update,” she says as she opens the door and gives me space to exit.
“No problem. I promise not to apologize again.”
Another smile. Still small but still genuine. “I appreciate that.”
Then, like anidiot, I kind of . . . tip my hat to her.Again.Just…what? What old-timey cowboy has taken possession of my body and made me do that? But I keep a straight face and walk toward my vehicle at a businesslike pace.
I chance a look toward the door once I start the engine, and she’s still there, leaning against it, looking my way. But once again, I’m not sure she’s actually seeingme.
I’d give a lot to know what goes on in that head of hers.
Chapter Fifteen
Jolie
Ithasbeenastrange few days.
I’m sitting in my office at the bar, staring at a bulletin board with the business cards of local vendors on it, not really seeing them. I’ve caught myself doing that several times in the last day or so.
Lucas’s visit yesterday morning still has me . . .
I don’t know. I don’t know how I feel. When I don’t know how to feel, I tell myself how to feel and then I feel that.
But that’s not working this time.
He caught me so off guard. Every part of his visit did. From finding him on my doorstep at all, to the muffin that suddenly dragged me back to childhood, to his apology.
I meant what I told him yesterday: I appreciate the apology.
But I also feel like . . . like one of the ropes on my moorings broke, and I’m ever-so-slightly adrift. Lucas Cole was one of the people I’d meant to put in his place if our paths ever crossed again, but to stick with the boat metaphor, his apology has taken the wind from my sails.
Some of it, anyway.
Leaving Chicago was a function of my failures there. The engagement that never happened. The job burnout that I couldn’t outwork. But I’d come back to town looking like a success to the people whose contempt had motivated me through high school and beyond. I’d made enough money to buy the things that would impress them.
I’d worked hard for that money because I’d wanted to show them all up. To prove that if they looked down on me for my address and my thrifted clothes, I could outmatch them on all of it. It hadn’t mattered to me if they ever knew about it; it had been enough to know myself. Until Phillip Freaking Horsley.
Even thinking his name irritates me, and I don’t like bringing my bad moods with me to work. Time to head this one off.
I walk out of my office and glance over at Ry, who’s interviewing a job applicant at one of our dinner tables. We’ve been open three weeks now, and business is increasing by about thirty percent a week, so we need more servers. Social media is working. People love being the first to try a new place, and the ones who have some pull on platforms like Instagram are fairly easy to spot and comp for drinks. It’s the way they dress, do their hair, and then don’t look at all embarrassed about doing a bunch of pictures with different poses. Taking one picture in a crowd makes me feel self-conscious. The pros don’t care.
I won’t necessarily pay for influencer partnerships, but I’m happy to send them complimentary drinks if it keeps them posting about the Mockingbird. Based on the steady increase in business, it’s working. And I like that it feels more organic than sponsored posts.
It’s time to start creating a sense of community here. Bars live and die by repeat business. I need to give customers a reason to keep coming back. While we aren’t a sports bar, I will make sure we have at least one sport-focused night a week. Like maybe showing the Appies away games aired by the local station? And possibly Panthers games in the fall since it’s too far for anyone but the most hardcore Harvest Hollow fans to drive to games.
Trivia is the first thing I want to start up though. It’ll do more to set the tone for the kind of place we are.
I slip behind the bar and start the sidework Tina or Precious would normally do, but it’s helpful to keep my hands busy while I think. I’ve mulled different trivia formats, and it’s one of the few leisure time activities I’ve made time for since college, so I’ve got preferences. I’ve played when it’s done with phone apps similar to Kahoot!, with the scores broadcast on a screen. That’s nice because people can play against anyone else in the bar who’s logged in. I’ve done it where the competition is just among people sharing a table, but people sharing a table already have a sense of community with each other.
Like I told Sophie, hosted is the way to go. The way Alex Trebek added a snap toJeopardy!and the difficulty of finding hosts good enough to replace him show how much of a difference the right personality can make. With the right person on the right night, Tequila Mockingbird could become a must-do experience as friends and coworkers form teams and compete week after week.
As if thinking of her conjures her, the front door opens and Sophie walks in, scanning until she spots me behind the bar. “Hey,” she says. “I wondered if you had a quick minute to chat.”
I nod at the bar. “Pull up a stool. Can I get you something to drink?”
“I’ll take a Coke if it’s no trouble.”
