Page 152 of Story of My Life
“You’re very succinct,” I complained.
That got me the tiniest twist of his mouth. “People’s opinions of me are none of my business.”
“That’s either a very healthy attitude to have or you’re some kind of sociopath.”
The twist got a little more pronounced. “Could go either way.”
A server with dark black curls fashioned into fun buns on top of her head strolled up to the table. She had a round face and blue sparkly fingernails that looked long enough to inhibit most daily activities.
“501!” she said to Levi, slamming her palm down on the table in front of him. “Long time no see.”
“Where is everyone tonight, Francie?” he asked.
She gave a little shrug. “Dominion’s throwing a ’90s theme night with a Nirvana cover band and fifty-cent wings. Stole our damn customers just like they steal everything else.”
“That sucks,” I said.
Francie’s face lit up. “Holy shit! You’re Hazel Hart, romance novelist extraordinaire.”
“More like ordinaire most days,” I joked.
She cocked her hip. “Well, the day I heard you moved here, I downloaded three of your books and devoured them. I heard you’re writing a story about our little town. How’s it coming? Do you need a spunky cocktail waitress slash nail technician for your storyline? Because, girl, I have stories.”
Levi looked like he was considering jumping in the lake. The guy was even less a fan of small talk than his brother.
“Wow. Well, thank you for reading my books…and for the offer. I’ll let you know if I need any inspiration.”
“Can I get a beer, Francie?” Levi asked before she could say anything else.
“Sure thing. The usual?”
“Yeah.”
I wanted a usual. And someone who knew it and would greet me with a cutesy nickname. Back in my bar-going days in Manhattan, there’d been too many places to visit, so I’d never found a watering hole home base. But here, anything was possible.
“Can I have a…?” The panic of choosing a drink that defined my personality to Francie froze my decision-making abilities.
“Here’s a drink menu.” She plucked a laminated page out of the napkin holder.
“Ah. Thanks.” I skimmed it, feeling the pressure.
Francie was tapping her pen against her notebook and looking over her shoulder at another table. Levi was meditating on the lake again.
For the love of God. Pick something, Hazel!
“I’ll have the Basskicker, please,” I said, pointing at the menu without reading the ingredients. How bad could it be? Alcohol was alcohol, right?
“You got it,” Francie said before disappearing.
Levi didn’t say anything, and I was too busy reeling from ordering something named after a species of fish to fill the dead air.
Thankfully, the drinks arrived in record time. Mine was greenish gray and foamy. It had a plastic fish tail secured to the rim.
“Been meaning to talk to you,” Levi said finally.
“About what?” I nearly launched across the table like I was conducting an interrogation. “I mean, you have?”
He rested his hand on his beer and squinted out over the shimmering lake, where two kayaks bobbed into view. I couldn’t tell if he was choosing his words carefully or if he hadn’t heard me. I was trying to decide if I should repeat myself at twice the volume when he looked at me, eyes sharp and focused.
