I sniffled again, blinking the tears from my eyes so I could see the road before me. “That’s it,” I declared fiercely. “I don’t care how angry it makes Mom and Dad. I get you for Thanksgiving.”
Jase chuckled before he stated, “I can give you that.”
“Keep being sweet, and I’m taking Christmas too,” I snapped.
“My Farah wants Thanksgiving and Christmas, I’ll make it happen. You know that.”
God, my brother.
Lifting a hand off the steering wheel, I batted at the tears that had fallen onto my cheeks. “All right, bub. I’m sure you need to get back to work, so I’ll let you go.”
“Okay, talk soon. And I’ll be looking out for those pictures once construction gets underway.”
We hung up just as I pulled to a stop at a red light. The sound of a loud, rumbling engine starting up shot through the air, and I looked to the right just in time to see a man on a motorcycle pulling out of the parking lot of a bar I’d seen in passing a few times during my trips into town, but had never paid much attention to.
The place was called Bad Alibi. I remembered thinking that was a pretty cool name for a bar the first time I saw it, but other than that, I hadn’t given the place much thought. However, as I looked to the old saloon-style building now, I noticed a sign posted in one of the front windows. It had to be fate, seeing that help wanted sign just after I mentioned getting a job to my brother minutes before. It was fate that brought Bennett into my life with his stories of this beautiful town. It was fate that had led me to look online myself to find that stunning Victorian after dismissing every house my realtor had shown me. So I had to believe that seeing that sign now was fate extending her hand once more.
I’d never imagined myself working at a bar, especially one that, from the number of motorcycles out front, catered heavily to bikers.
But I was a whole new Farah. And New Farah could do anything she wanted.
Chapter Two
Farah
My excitement and certainty that I was meant to do this lasted all of ten and a half seconds—exactly as long as it took for me to hit my blinker, turn into the parking lot of Bad Alibi, and park my car.
Shaking off the nerves suddenly coursing through my body, I forced myself to kill the engine and climb out. I hooked my purse over my shoulder and started for the door.
The moment I stepped inside, I instantly regretted that I hadn’t found the time yet to throw out the wardrobe from my old life and go on a shopping spree, and as I looked around at the people currently staring in my direction, I mentally penciled that in as the next item on my to-do list.
To say I was out of my element here was downright laughable. I stuck out like a pimple on the tip of your nose that popped up just hours before prom.
The black floral-print silk blouse I was wearing had cost a small fortune, something that was obvious just by looking at. I might have been wearing jeans like most everyone else in there, but where theirs looked worn and comfortable, mine had bejeweled back pockets and I’d spent as much on them as most people spent on one month’s rent.
“Can I help you, darlin’?”
At the feminine voice, I turned toward the bar and locked eyes with the pretty brunette who looked to be in her mid-to-late fifties standing behind it. I gave her a sincere yet shaky smile and started her way, the heels of my Louboutins clicking on the distressed wood floors with each step I took. “Hey. Hi. Yes. I mean, I hope so.” I extended my hand across the bar. “I’m Farah.”
She took the handshake I offered with a polite, “Nice to meet you, Farah. I’m Darla.”
Getting down to brass tacks before I could lose my nerve, I stated, “I’m here about the sign in your window.”
Her head cocked to the side as she gave me a questioning look. “Sign?”
“Um, yeah. The help wanted sign? I was hoping I could apply for the job. Whatever it is.”
Her brows drew together, and she gave me a slow once-over before finally meeting my eyes again, still looking confused. “You wanna work here?”
At the disbelief in her voice, it was my turn to be confused. I mean, it wasn’t as if the bar was a dingy hole in the wall. I hadn’t exactly had a lot of time to scope the place out, but from what I’d been able to see, it was pretty decent. “Well, yeah.” Then a sinking feeling hit the pit of my stomach. “That is, if you haven’t already filled the position.”
“No offense, hon, but I’m not really sure this is the place for you.”
I felt my shoulders slump as I deflated a bit. “If it’s experience you’re worried about, I waited tables in college.” Another example in a long line of ways I’d disappointed my parents. A waitress at a college bar? Unspeakable! “It’s been a few years, but I can pick it back up in no time. Or if it’s a bartender you’re looking for, I can learn. I’ve always been a quick learner. Hell, I can even bus tables.”
Giving me eye contact so direct I couldn’t help but fidget under her intense scrutiny, Darla leaned in, resting her forearms on the bar and clasping her hands together. “You’re new in town, aren’t you?”
I wasn’t sure where she was going with that question but answered anyway. “Yeah. I just moved here a few weeks ago.”
“Where’d you come from?”
I hesitated for several beats, getting the impression that my answer was going to make or break her decision. “Connecticut.”
“Of course you did,” she said with a dry laugh that made my back grow stiff.
“I’m sorry?”
She let out a sigh, and I got the feeling that she found having to deal with me as annoying as swatting at an incessant gnat. “Look, it’s not a lack of experience I’m worried about. From your fancy getup, that expensive-as-hell purse, and that Merc you cruised up in, not to mention the fact you come from a place known for havin’ more WASPs than a damn hive, I’m willin’ to go out on a limb and say you’re from money. And the only reason a chick from money would ask about a job at a bar like this is because she’s either lookin’ to slum it for a bit, or she’s on the run from somethin’. Both of those scenarios bring drama with them, and neither are somethin’ I’m in the mood to take on.”
Humiliation creeped in, heating my neck and cheeks as I lowered my voice and declared, “Excuse me, but you don’t know me well enough to make a snap judgement like that.”
“Oh honey.” She let loose another humorless laugh as she stood tall. “I know you. Trust me.”
“No you don’t,” I snapped, losing hold of my temper, something I hadn’t done in years. “You do not know me. If you did, you’d realize how insulting everything you just said about me really is.”
She arched a single brow. “So you’re sayin’ you don’t come from a line of rich-ass, entitled snobs?” My mouth snapped shut, not because I was offended, but because I couldn’t deny that. With the exception of Jase, my family was the very definition of rich, entitled, and snobby. “See?” Darla said when I took too long to answer. “Told you I knew you. And while I appreciate you comin’ in, I’m gonna have to pass. I need someone dependable that’ll last. I hire you and you decide you’re done sowin’ your wild oats, I’m left one waitress short and have to go through the hiring process all over again, which, honest to God, is not somethin’ I enjoy.”