I try to pull back an inch. “Stop touching me.”
“I barely did anything, babe.”
Bouncer grins down at Bethany and jerks a chin at Sly and me. “I can’t tell. Is this going well?”
She snorts out a laugh, trying hard to hold it back. My eyes get big as I give her a death glare, then she grins, almost to spite me, and replies, “They make a cute couple, don’t they?”
“Cute. Riiight,” Bouncer replies, grinning at Sly. Then he nods to the untouched half of Bethany’s burger she cut with a knife. “You gonna eat that, darlin’?”
She shoves her plate toward him, like she wants him to move back. “Help yourself.”
He picks up the uneaten half and takes a big bite.
I slide my plate across the table away from Sly. “I’m not sharing. Get your own.”
He looks over his shoulder toward the counter. “You got my order ready, doll?”
The older waitress purses her lips and goes back in the kitchen.
Sly turns back to me. “Sorry, we can’t stay. Got a to-go order to bring back to the clubhouse. You want to tag along, babe?”
“I’m not your babe, and no, we do not want to tag along.”
Bethany looks out the window. “On your bikes?”
Oh my God! Like she’s considering it.
Bouncer grins. “Sorry, only broad who rides on the back of my bike is my old lady, darlin’.” He lifts his chin at Sly. “But Sly would love to give you a ride.” He kicks him under the table. “Wouldn’t you, brother?”
“Order up!” the gray-haired waitress calls out, glaring at Sly.
He smiles at Bethany. “Sorry, Beth. Maybe another time.” Then he grins at me as he stands, like he wants me to be jealous he might give my married girlfriend a ride on his motorcycle.
“I’m sure her husband would have something to say about that,” I reply in a snarky voice, and Bethany gives me a glare, not happy that I’m ruining her fun.
Sly winks at me. “Good to see you again, Michaela.”
Bouncer stands, chucking Bethany on the cheek softly. “Thanks for the burger, kid.”
They retreat to the counter, and Sly pulls out a wallet attached to his jeans by a chain. He passes over some bills, and leans forward to speak to the waitress. Her eyes flick to us, and she takes the money. The men grab up the several bags and head out the door. I watch them through the plate-glass window as they shove the food in their saddlebags and mount up, then buckle their helmets and slip on dark glasses.
Sly glances back at me as he twists his throttle, and the bike thunders to life. He roars off, Bouncer right after him.
“Oh my God!” Bethany whispers. “He was totally hitting on you!”
It’s an accusation, like I somehow had something to do with it. I really don’t want to tell her about the money he wants to collect from me.
The waitress comes over with a pitcher of tea and refills my glass. She turns to Bethany. “You want another cola, sweetie?”
“No, just the check, please,” she replies.
The waitress nods out the window. “They already took care of it. The one who paid for the takeout order.”
She moves off and Bethany’s eyes get big. “Oh, you are in so much trouble, girl. He likes you.”
“Bethany, he’s practically a criminal.”
She leans closer and hisses. “You don’t know that. Maybe he’s a nice guy. I mean, oh, my God, they were so cute. And if I were single, I’d love to at least get a ride on one of their bikes. I don’t even care which one, they both were cute.”
“Well, sounds like the one that sat with you has an a girlfriend.”
“Old lady. That’s what he called her.”
I roll my eyes. She’s right about more than that. I’m in so much trouble.
Ten
Michaela—
Three days later, it’s six p.m. and I’m behind the bar, running a report to see how the day’s business is going when I hear the door open. I glance up in the mirror and see Arthur Stanfield walk in. I’m surprised to see him in here, and turn around.
“Good evening, Michaela. How are you?”
I frown, approaching him. “Fine. What brings you here, Mr. Stanfield?”
He takes a seat at the bar. “Please call me Arthur.”
“All right. Arthur.”
“I thought by now perhaps I’d hear from you regarding your father’s estate. I assumed your mother would be putting this place up for sale.” He glances around and then to me. “I never imagined they’d drag you back home to take over.”
“Yes, well, here I am. Can I get you a drink?”
“Sure. A vodka and tonic.”
I move to make his drink and bring it back.
He passes me a twenty, smiling. “Keep the change.”
I ring him up and drop the change in the tip jar for all the staff to split at the end of the night.
“Are things going well, then?” he asks.
“Yes, business has been very good.”
He takes a sip of his drink. I’ve no idea if I made it well. I half expect him to make a face, but he doesn’t.
“Do you get a break?” he asks, surprising me again. “Perhaps I could buy you dinner? I was going to swing by Martinelli’s, but I hate to eat alone. I’d love it if you could join me.”
His invitation throws me. Why is he so interested in my family and me? Is there something I’m missing?
“Dinner?”
“Yes, if you can get away.” His eyes take in the mostly non-existent Tuesday-night crowd. There are a couple guys playing pool, two men at the bar, and a group of six at a table.
I consider making an excuse, but that would seem rude, and I know he has power and connections in our small town. I don’t want to get on his bad side. “Sure. I suppose I could swing a short break.” I glance down at my jeans and t-shirt. “Do you mind waiting while I change my clothes?”
“Of course. Take as long as you need.”
I pause next to Kevin to tell him I’m taking a break and should be back in an hour, then I dash upstairs and clean up a bit.
I brush my hair up in a French twist, swipe on some eye shadow and liner, then change into a flowing skirt with a flounce and an off-the-shoulder peasant top.
After slipping into a wedge sandal, I grab my purse and head back downstairs.
Arthur stands as I approach, his eyes sweeping over me.
“You look lovely. Shall we go?” He holds his arm out for me to precede him.
He’s got a car parked in front of the bar, a black Mercedes. He opens the door like a gentleman and I slip in the seat. As he walks around to his side, I sink into the supple tan leather. I’ve never been in a car like this, and I can’t help but smile.
He gets in and starts it up. The engine purrs to life and smooth jazz comes through the expensive sound system, then he presses a button and the moonroof is revealed.
He backs out and the car almost floats down the road. I barely even feel the railroad tracks as we cross over.
Martinelli’s is an Italian place on the edge of town, right off Highway 42. It overlooks our local golf course—our town’s one draw. People drive out from Atlanta to play there. Now that I think about it, the Stanfields were responsible for its development.