LUNA
The stranger had hungaround the bar for a few more hours, but had switched to water after that third beer. I was sure he was going to leave at any time, but he didn’t. Instead, we’d engaged in conversation whenever I wasn’t checking on the other customers or pouring drinks.
Aside from learning he’d had a bad day—without him going into much detail—I’d also learned that he was funny as hell and pretty damn clever. I’d laughed more in the past three hours than I had in months, and it was really nice to have my mind taken off all the unhappiness in my life, at least for a little while.
Another thing I’d learned was the man smelled absolutely incredible. I’d had trouble placing the familiar smell at first, at least until he’d stepped out of the bar for a few minutes to have a cigar, then it hit me. The leather and cloves scent, the faintest hint of fresh tobacco. I’d spent a small fortune—back when I actually had money—on a candle that smelled like a humidor, and it smelled exactly like him. As the night wore on, the desire to lean in and press my face into the guy’s neck grew stronger and stronger. And I’d learned I was incredibly attracted to him. That could either be good or bad, depending on one very important circumstance.
You see, I was what all my friends liked to call a seasonal dater. It was a running joke with them that I refused to get involved with any men who lived locally. They thought it was just that I hadn’t finished sowing my wild oats yet, and once it was out of my system, I’d join them in settling down and popping out enough babies to form my own family band. But the truth was, that was never going to happen.
I’d seen firsthand the devastation heartbreak could wreak on a person, and I had no desire to travel down that road. I’d learned at a young age that Copeland women were cursed when it came to love, and the only way to keep my heart safe was to keep it locked away where no man could get to it.
My grandmother had barely turned nineteen when she met the love of her life, giving her heart to him fully, and when she’d lost him about a decade later, she’d been destroyed. I’d always known my grandmother was a bitter, cynical woman, but it wasn’t until I was much older that my mother explained why that was. When my grandfather died, all the best parts of my grandmother had died with him. She’d gone from a woman full of spirit to a cold shell of a person.
“Her heart callused over,” Mom used to explain whenever I asked why grandma was so mean. “That’s what happens when you never use it.”
My mom, on the other hand, was the polar opposite. As if she had worried her own heart would callus, she’d handed it off to any man who gave her a smile and a kind word. She was the kind of woman who didn’t know how to function without a man. Her entire existence revolved around whoever she was dating at that time. She poured so much of herself into her relationships there was never enough love left for me. At least until the latest scumbag she’d tied herself to left her heartbroken.
It was during those in-between times she’d remember I existed, but that was only because she needed me to take care of her until she could “get on her feet again.” Getting on her feet always consisted of finding another man to hook her star to and devoting herself to him completely, to the point she changed everything from her hair to her personality to make him happy.
It never failed that the bloom would eventually fall off the rose, and the cycle would start all over. She’d be dumped, left with nothing because she didn’t have a life of her own, and I’d pick up the pieces until she threw me over for a new man. Wash, rinse, repeat.
To make matters worse, the men she went after were no better than the losers I served in this shithole bar night after night. Hell, if this place had been picked up and transported to where I’d grown up, I wouldn’t have been surprised to see more than a few “uncles” come wandering in. This place was totally my mom’s crowd, a contributing factor to why I hated it so damn much... aside from the obvious.
After years and years spent with a mother so consumed by her relationships she forgot her own kid existed, I’d made a promise to myself that I was never ever going to fall in love. Which meant hooking up with locals was totally out of the question.
“So, I have to ask,” the stranger started as I worked to clear the bar a couple feet away of empty cups and smashed peanut shells, “what the hell are you doing working in a place like this?”
I dusted my hands off on the towel before hooking it back into my apron strings. Grinning slyly, I stretched my arms wide and rested my palms on the counter, leaning in closer to him. “For all you know, these could be my people. Are you saying I don’t belong?”
He shook his head and smirked knowingly. “You belong here just about as much as I do. I know for a fact these aren’t your people. Clocked it about a minute after walking in here.”
“Oh yeah? Enlighten me.” It had been so long since I’d flirted with a man, I’d forgotten how much fun it could be. I would have rather volunteered to have all my teeth ripped out with no anesthesia than flirt with any of the bottom-feeders that frequented this place.
With the stress of everything in my life lately, men hadn’t exactly been on my radar. I was too busy panicking that I was dangerously close to losing everything I’d worked my ass off for to even consider a random hookup or casual date. It was nice to be reminded I was still a woman.
He did another one of those up and down perusals. “Well, for starters, you haven’t lost any of your teeth to meth just yet.”
My head fell back on an uncontrollable belly laugh that lasted long enough to make my ab muscles ache. “Oh man,” I wheezed as I wiped tears from my eyes. “Okay, that was a good one.”
The stranger was giving me a smile that made my skin tingle with awareness. He had perfectly straight, white teeth. His bottom lip was nice and plump, begging to be bitten. His top lip was just a bit thinner, but had a perfectly shaped cupid’s bow I wanted to trace with my tongue. “Then there’s the fact your clothes are good quality and don’t have any holes in them that weren’t put there by design.”
So this guy recognized labels as well as I did. Why the hell did I find that so hot? “Another point in your favor. What else?”
“That leaves the most obvious. You’re way too damn beautiful for this to be your scene and these your people.”
I tsked and shook my head as I stood tall and took a couple steps back. “Careful, stranger, or I might start to think you’re a judgmental ass who only cares about looks.”
It was his turn to laugh as I moved to take care of the other folks in the bar. I looked down at my watch after pouring a shot of whiskey that smelled more like rubbing alcohol for one guy who was, in fact, missing a couple front teeth, noting the hour for the first time since the sexy stranger walked through that door.
“Last call,” I shouted from behind the bar to be heard over the crackly music coming out of the jukebox in the corner that was on its last leg. “Finish ’em if you got ’em, then get the hell out.”
My command was met with a few unhappy grumbles I ignored as I moved back down the counter to the stranger. He was staring into his water, his expression almost pensive as he slowly turned the plastic cup between his long fingers.
I stopped in front of him, tilting my head to the side. “You good?”
“Hmm?” His head came up at my question. “Oh, yeah. I’m good. Better than I was when I first walked in here, that’s for damn sure.”
I smiled, feeling that declaration deep in my belly. Working at a place like this, I didn’t encounter much nice, especially from someone who looked like he’d just walked off the cover of a magazine. “Well, I’m glad to have been of service.” I tipped my chin down to his cup. “Want one more before hitting the road? Maybe something stronger?”