Page 8 of Better Not Pout
I chuckle, lifting a shoulder. “Didn’t steal your mail. I take it you’re my new neighbor? Sugar something…”
“Sweet Sullivan’s,” she finishes for me, her tone clipped. “You bought this place to turn into a bar?”
I nod as her gaze moves around the room before she pulls her eyes back to me. “And you thought putting abarnext to acandy storewas a good idea?”
“Sure, why not? It’s just abar, not abrothel,” I say with a shrug, watching her pretty eyes roll.
Wouldn’t have mattered anyway. My sister Scarlett’s been lecturing me for the last year to do something that was meaningful, something that I actually gave a fuck about, and opening Well + Good was an opportunity that I wasn’t going to pass up. It had been a long time since I’d cared about anything after losing my hockey career. But I thought back to all the nights I had spent in the bar down the street from my house,lost and trying to navigate through a loss that felt bigger than anything I’d ever be able to move on from. I felt a little less hopeless sitting there, surrounded by people laughing, drinking with their friends, having a good time. I didn’t sit there and drink myself stupid; I sat there because my head felt quiet, even if only for a little while, and that’s why I decided to open my own bar. Maybe Well + Good could be that place for someone else too.
“No need to be crude. Not that I’d be surprised if you were opening a brothel here after you took my letters.”
“Didn’t steal your letters. You done interrogating me?” I smirk, shoving my hands in the pockets of my jeans.
She levels an icy glare at me as she crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m not interrogating. I’m just asking questions about who my new neighbor is and what kind of establishment he’s going to be running next to a family-friendly place.”
“Just a regular bar. One that likely won’t have anything to do with your current patronage, nor the time it operates. So, do you own the candy store…” I trail off, my brow arched as I wait for her to finally tell me her name.
“Rosalie. Sullivan. And my grandparents own the candy store. It’s been in our family for generations.”
That makes more sense that she’d care who moves in next door since it’s her family’s business.
“Wells McCoy. And as nice as it’s been to chat, I’ve got to get back to my delinquent activities. But you know, I’m sure I’ll see you around,neighbor.Thanks again for stopping by.”
Her mouth falls open like she’s going to say something in response to my dismissal, but suddenly, it snaps closed, as if she thought better of it, and with one last suspicious glare, she turns on her heel and storms out of the bar, leaving me with a satisfied smile.
Guess this means this won’t be the last I see of Rosalie Sullivan, and fuck if I’m not at all mad at that.
The moment she disappears out the door, those long, dark locks billowing behind her, I hear the sound of boots thudding and a low, drawn-out whistle.
“Neighbor, huh?” Collin appears beside me, a smirk on his face. “Think you might have bit off more than you can chew, brother. Bar reno, fixing up your house, hot new neighbor that won’t take your shit? This will be fun to watch.”
“Fuck off,” I mutter without any heat behind it.
He chuckles, brushing a hand over his short, buzzed hair as he shakes his head. “I’m just saying. A lot of… change happening at once.”
He’s not wrong about that. When I decided to pick up and move to Mistletoe Falls, I came with the purpose of renovating the old farmhouse on the outskirts of town. I’m not one to talk about fate much, but it seemed like some type of divine intervention that I stumbled across it. A sign from the universe that it was meant to be mine, or however that shit goes that my little sister Chloe likes to go on about. Either way, I’m now the proud owner of a hundred-year-old farmhouse that has more shit wrong with it than not, and when I’m not working at the bar, I’m going to be at home working on it. Little by little, all while living there.
It’s only been a few weeks since I purchased it, and honestly, the last thing I was expecting was to find the bar space so quickly after. So between the both of them and all of the closing stuff that’s been going on behind the scenes, I’ve only managed to start working on a new roof and remediating the asbestos siding and the fuck ton of lead paint throughout with the help of a team. So, it’s far from finished. I’ll probably be working on this house for the next few years.
And truthfully, I don’t mind it.
All of the renovating keeps my mind occupied. Something I’ve learned over the last two years since my retirement is that I need to keep my head on straight, keep busy, and not give my mind a chance to wander.
“Change is a good thing,” I say with a haughty smirk, reaching over and clapping him on the shoulder. “Speaking of the house… wanna come by for a beer later?”
He pins me with a look. “Every time you invite me over for a beer, there’s work involved.”
“Welcome to friendship, brother.”
I wasright about at least one thing when it came to Mistletoe Falls: I would definitely be seeing more of Rosalie Sullivan. I just didn’t realize exactly how much that would be until I ran into her three times in a single day.
A couple of days have passed since she first walked into my bar, and the truth is I haven’t stopped thinking about her.
Haven’t been able to put my finger on why.
Why thoughts of her seem to be running on a never-ending feature in my head, the way that her lips turn up slightly at the delicate bow, or how piercing her deep brown eyes are, even when she’s trying to impale me with a glare.
Probably because for the first time in a long time, someone has piqued my interest.
