Bab 3: Chapter 3: Wildheart Mountain Ranch
Carrigan
The lunch crowd was as busy as it gets, as usual. We were a local favorite since we also served food at Southern Charm. As we thought, it was just the two of us taking care of everyone. Kaitlyn and I split the bar in half for lunch and got a decent number of drink orders. We had people sit at the bar ordering food and drinks, too, so in just a few hours, I’d already made over a hundred bucks.
Kaitlyn didn’t take her tips. Instead, they would go into a bucket behind the bar next to the computer system. When we had a busy shift, all the money went into the bucket and was shared with the bartenders. But times like this where it was just me, it was just my money.
The last lunch goers were heading out at that point, and it was almost time for my break. Kaitlyn was going to take hers by running to the bank.
“Hold down the fort?” she asked.
“I don’t know if I can,” I shrugged. “I’m not that strong. Do you know how heavy this building must be?”
My boss rolled her eyes at me. “Always a wise-ass. You’re lucky you are good at bartending, or I would fire you.”
“But who would you get to fill all those shifts?” I said, puppy dog eyes and pouty lips brought to the surface. Joking around with Kaitlyn made my shifts go by much faster, but she was my only friend. She knew it was an act but still loved to play along.
“I’ll be back in twenty, okay? I’ll let you take your thirty when I’m back.”
“You got it, boss,” I said, saluting her again.
“Salute me again in this shift, and you’re fired.” Kaitlyn pointed a red-manicured nail at me. Then she raised her perfectly shaped black eyebrow. “And I don’t feel like doing the paperwork.”
“Essential part of the job is threatening to fire your staff,” I told her, smirking.
“Goodbye, Carrigan.” Kaitlyn walked out the back door, and I was alone with the bar and the customers.
I shook my head, laughing at the relationship I had managed to make with Kaitlyn.
She had been the only person I talked to since I moved there. I didn’t come to South Carolina with any fundamental skills. The only thing I had known for most of my life was alcohol. I had no degrees or money, but I had learned so much from my boss.
I had some bartending skills before Charm, but I was one of Kaitlyn’s best. Also her favorite, of course. It wasn’t just because I never called out of work or because she took a chance on me.
I was also good at what I did.
I grabbed some of the glasses in the washer and began to dry them, moving them underneath the bar.
One of the TVs behind me played music from Kaitlyn’s “Chillax” Playlist. It was a good day, and I smiled to myself.
That is when things changed, though.
I noticed too many people came through the bar to detect him. But it was hard to miss him. Most guys came through with variations of the same looks. I called them John’s, Bob’s, Jake’s, and Tom’s.
Kaitlyn called it profiling.
I called it useful.
This guy wasn’t any of those cliches of men. This man was… I couldn’t come up with a word for him. I watched him momentarily, running his hand through the thick black mop of hair on his head. He sat with glasses perched on his face but pulled them off the bridge of his nose, throwing them onto the bar.
Something about Mr. Business was intriguing. I had been right that he wasn’t like the people that usually walked in because even though he was frustrated with whomever he spoke with, I also saw something in his face—in his dark eyes—that caught my attention.
Since lunch had died down, I grabbed a rag and walked the length of the bar to wipe the surface area he had taken up and hand him menus.
As I walked closer, I could hear him talking on the phone. “It’s not that simple,” he sighed, frustrated, putting his glasses back on his face. A pause. “Because if it was, don’t you think I’d have figured it out by now?” Another pause. “Go fuck yourself.”
With a slam, his phone smacked the dark mahogany wood bar. I let out a low whistle as I wiped down his area, handing over the large menus we used at Charm.
I decided to say something. Someone who was clearly dedicated to whatever that phone call was wouldn’t have said that to a boss. There was more to it.
“So, does that call indicate you need something strong? Or are you drinking water to be able to drive and fix the fuck up that is inevitable?” I asked, keeping some snark in my voice. It was a habit I had with newbies. Kaitlyn hated it and always said it was not “ladylike.” I usually just remind her it wasn’t the 90s anymore, and I didn’t really give a shit.
“Life’s too short not to speak your mind,” I usually told her.
Women weren’t modest; we all had to present a front. And the snark had kept me on the perfect balance of life’s tightrope walk with most people.
“Strong. As strong as I can handle.” He moved his glasses to the top of his head, looking over the menu. “Whiskey, neat,” he sighed.
I threw down a coaster in front of him and grabbed the cheapest whiskey we kept—Jameson. He raised an eyebrow and, before I could pour his drink, said, “Top shelf.”
I raised my own penciled brows in response, turning my head slightly. “Oh, he’s a big spender when angry.” I didn’t know why I was surprised when he let his lip tug up just slightly. Sure, it was not what I expected, but something screamed inside my gut as I continued moving.
I wanted to know what that phone call was about. I wanted to know what this man was about.
I had an idea.
I returned the bottle to the shelf and pointed to the top shelf he referred to. “You can tell a lot about a person by their favorite alcohol. What’s your poison?”
He stared up at the four bottles. Only one whiskey was in my arsenal, but I knew what Kaitlyn drank. I not only knew what customers liked to drink, but I also learned a lot about alcohol throughout my life.
If he chose Crown Royal, I would be wrong. He’d be just like the Johns and Bobs—boring businessmen who try to impress by buying Crown Royal.
Here’s a secret no one will tell you: it tastes like shit. Could never understand the hype for that garbage.
Johnnie Walker Blue was usually never touched, being a little too top-shelf, so I knew he’d ignore that one. Two choices remained. Four Roses and Wildheart.
I waited anxiously, something I didn’t think I’d done before.
“Wildheart.”
That’s when my face betrayed me, and a smile started to stretch enough that I couldn’t stop it before he could catch it.
“Wildheart, coming up.”
Only a few people knew Wildheart Mountain Ranch in South Carolina. It was a Maine distillery and the only whiskey I drank. I grabbed the bottle and began to pour.
“Curious.” He caught my attention. I looked at the man, who was sporting his own subtle smile. “That you would smile at some silly top shelf.”
I finished pouring the man his drink, shrugging my shoulders. “Guess I think you have good taste or something.”
And there. That’s when he finally looked at me. Not just to smile, no, he actually looked me over this time, and his smile grew. It felt like the moon went and lassoed the sun, and they were forever locked in orbit with one another.
It was a feeling I had never experienced.
“So, what’s your story then?” he asked, taking the drink from the bar. “What are you doing in South Carolina?”
I shrugged. “The usual.” My history was too complicated for anyone to understand. I diverted the subject to him. “What about you? Have you lived here your whole life, partner?” I added my fake southern drawl to that final word. I did it to appear that I lived there, but I secretly hoped he’d laugh.
I got my wish, and it sounded like warm honey, sliding down my throat as I felt it go dry.
It had been so long since being real with someone. It was not just telling jokes but being me.
It hadn’t happened since Maine.
“What’s your name?” He ignored my question with his own, but I took it in stride. It seemed like we’d be playing ‘20 Questions’ for the answers.
What was the harm in telling him my name? Something in my gut was telling me to trust him. It was the first time I felt like I could trust a new person in four years.
“Carrigan. Like, the villain from Casper the Friendly Ghost? Dad always used to say I was lucky I got a fun name while my sisters had matching ones.” I stuck my hand out to the stranger. “You?”
Another smile from the stranger. “Royce. Like Rolls-Royce, only I’m not a car.”
He took my hand, shaking firmly. His grasp shocked us both, and the static discharge came from seemingly nowhere.
I shook my hand out from the random static when he said softly, “Nice to meet you, Carrigan.”
I nodded. “You too, Royce.”
Before I could say anything more, Kaitlyn walked in.
“Carrigan, break, go.”
Kaitlyn may not have known I was flirting with a very hot customer, but I guarantee she would have interfered regardless.
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