Chapter Four

Dawson

Should I have done that?

Was it me, or those two large shots of bourbon talking?

It's impossible to know these days.

But whichever it was, now that Macy's gone, I can't be sure I've done the right thing.

Sure, she seems like a perfect fit. She's got experience, and while it's not recent, like she said, you don't forget what to do. Her age is about right, too. I've had some terrible experiences with people who are only just old enough to work in a bar, and while Macy didn't actually tell me her age, it's easy to work it out. If she was at college roughly four years ago, then I'm guessing she's around twenty-six, or maybe twenty-seven. Even after two large shots of bourbon, I'm capable of basic math.

On top of all that, she's a very beautiful woman, so I'm sure most of my male customers won't have a problem being served by her… and my customers are predominantly male.

I guess that's why I was surprised when she walked in here by herself. That's not something that happens every day. People are more wary than they used to be… especially women. I don't think my surprise had anything to do with the way her chestnut-colored hair hung loose around her shoulders, or the sparkle in her deep brown eyes. I'm fairly sure it had nothing to do with her slightly pinked cheeks, either, or the way her lips tipped up in an almost permanent smile… except when I asked how she'd gotten from being a web designer in Boston, to looking for work in a bar in Hart's Creek. She looked kinda sad then, and that made me feel uncomfortable.

Still, her smile soon returned, and I imagine my customers will be pleased to see her cheerful face, rather than my sour one behind the bar. It'll certainly make a change. I doubt they'll object to her hourglass figure, either. She revealed that when she took off her coat, and even though she was sitting down, it was impossible to miss how good she looked… even in my jaded state.

So, why am I wondering about my sanity? Or my decision?

Because Macy works for Peony Hart, and she wants to keep on doing so, even if I employ her.

I know it's silly of me to still have an issue with Peony. After all, it wasn't her fault her ex-boyfriend and my ex-wife had an affair and left town together. I'm sure Peony was just as hurt as I was when it happened… even if she and her ex didn't have the same history as me and Stevie. They'd both deceived us. They'd hidden their affair for months and months, and I know how much that had to hurt. I felt it.

What I don't understand is why Peony wouldn't talk to me. Or why she still won't.

It wasn't my fault our respective partners preferred each other's company, any more than it was hers, but from the day they left, she hasn't set foot in the bar, and hasn't spoken a word to me.

I don't even know if she blames me… because I don't understand her silence. And, yes, I know I could ask her about it. But it's been so long I don't know what I'd say to her.

Sorry… probably. Sorry for being such a grouch. But I need to say that to just about everyone I meet, because I spend my entire life with a frown on my face, to the extent that it's becoming as permanent as Macy's smile.

I clear away the cups, pondering over Macy's story. I got the feeling there was more to it than she was telling. Not that it's any of my business why she pitched up at her aunt's place… or why she's been here since November, and I've never noticed her before. I'm not a noticing kind of guy these days. I'm barely a focusing kind of guy most of the time. Even so, no-one else has mentioned her either. Although I doubt I'd remember if they had. And I guess the fact that Bernie's place is a little way out of town makes it easier to understand Macy's anonymity. The center of town is the hub of all the gossip. So much so, I sometimes I think it's a miracle I've kept my secret for as long as I have.

Speaking of secrets, I need to make the most of having this place to myself. Maggie and Vanessa came in a while ago, before Macy arrived, but they're in the kitchen… hiding from me, probably. Tanner's words filter through my brain, and I wonder if my employees rely on each other for moral support, like he said… and whether they avoid spending time with me, unless they absolutely have to.

It wouldn't surprise me.

Even I don't enjoy my company these days.

Still, there's not much I can do about that… except…

I grab a highball, adding a few ice cubes, and fill it with vodka. So what if it's only just gone noon? I'm used to drinking all day long now, and I can take it. I can hide it, too. That's why I mostly drink vodka. There's no lingering smell, and it looks like water. No-one knows how much I drink on a daily basis… not even Tanner. Or me, for that matter. I generally lose count somewhere during the evening. Especially as, when I'm not drinking vodka by the glass, I'm also slipping bourbon into my coffee, just like I did this morning when I was talking to Macy. I've always taken my coffee strong and black, and no-one has mentioned being able to smell the alcohol… yet.

And it's been a while…

It started not long after Stevie left. I can't put my finger on exactly when, but I guess it didn't help that I was surrounded by alcohol… and the temptation was just too great.

It still is. But I'll admit that, when I've closed up the bar and I'm lying alone in bed, trying to focus on the ceiling, even I know I've let it get out of control. The thing is, it's the only way I can get to sleep at night. It's the only way I can stop thinking about Stevie. Not because I miss her. I don't. As far as I'm concerned, Peony's ex is welcome to her. No, I drink because it helps me to forget my inadequacies. It helps me forget I wasn't enough… and how lonely I am.

In the cold light of every new morning, while I'm standing in the shower, bracing myself against the wall, trying to think straight while my head is spinning and my stomach is churning, I resolve to ignore my dry mouth and the longing to quench my thirst. I tell myself that today will be different. I won't drink… or at least I'll drink less.

The problem is, by the time I'm dressed, I can't think of a single reason to stay sober.

Not one.

I take a sip of vodka, getting that customary buzz, and a memory flits through my head. It's not an ancient one. It's nothing to do with Stevie, or anything she did. This is more recent… much more recent. It's something I'm supposed to have done.

What is it?

I take another sip, topping up the glass again, hoping my mind will clear…

It's something to do with Tanner.

He was here last night. I have a vague memory of him sitting at the bar, the two of us discussing my staffing problems, my ex, his ex, and his wedding…

That's it.

His wedding.

Or more precisely, his wedding night.

I remember he told me he and Zara were planning to spend it at home with Sylvia and Nash, and even Zara's aunt, and how awful I thought that sounded. I thought there must be something I could do about it. The problem is, what… and how? And staying sober long enough to organize anything. There's still time, though. I'll look into it tonight. Or maybe tomorrow.

He's my oldest friend, so I can't let him down…

It's been a quiet day. Not that I'm complaining. Quiet is fairly normal for this time of year.

Maggie and Vanessa left just before three, once the lunchtime service was finished, just like they usually do, and it was impossible not to see the relief on Maggie's face when I told her she didn't need to come back this evening.

"I've got someone coming in for a try-out."

"Really?" Her eyes lit up, and I'll admit I felt slightly offended, although I couldn't blame her. I know I haven't been easy to work with for quite some time.

"Yeah. If everything goes okay, you can have your evenings back."

"That's great. Not that I haven't appreciated the extra cash." But you'd rather be anywhere than here… with me. I get it.

Karl and Ned left about forty-five minutes later, having finished in the kitchen, so I've been alone for the last hour or so, with only a few customers for company.

That's been just fine with me, though. It's meant I've been able to keep my glass topped up without having to worry about who's watching.

I'm just wiping down the bar, when I spin around as the door opens, bringing with it a blast of icy wind. I asked Macy to come in at five, and here she is, ten minutes early, which is promising.

"It's freezing out there," she says, although I notice she's still smiling.

"Yeah. It's kept the customers away for most of the day."

"Oh dear," she says, unwrapping her scarf and removing her coat to reveal she's wearing skin-tight jeans instead of the black pants she had on earlier, and she's changed her sweater for a blouse. It's low-cut enough to hint at an enticing cleavage, but it's not so revealing as to be embarrassing, which is a relief. I don't want any of my customers getting the wrong idea… not just about her, but about my bar.

"Shall I show you where everything is?" I suggest, my eyes settling on her hair for a moment. She's put it up, and while I recall liking the way it looked this morning, I have to say, this is probably more practical… and just as pretty.

"I guess so… before it gets busy."

"You think it's gonna get busy?"

"You never know, it might," she says, her ever-present smile widening still further, and I shrug my shoulders.

"If you follow me…" I say, moving toward the back of the bar. "This is where you can leave your things."

I open the door marked ‘private', waiting for her to step through ahead of me, and then turn to the door on the left. It's unmarked, but I open it and flick on the lights, revealing the break room. It's small, but adequate, with lockers to one side, which Maggie insisted we put in about five years ago. There's also a table and chairs in the center, and a small kitchen area to the right.

"Shall I put my things in a locker?" she says, and I nod my head.

"The two at the bottom should be available."

"Okay."

She bends, opening the one on the right, and I suck in a breath, gazing for a second at her perfectly formed ass, as she folds her coat and places it, along with her purse, inside the locker.

"There's a key in the lock," I say, clearing my throat, when my voice comes out a little strangled. She bends again, and although I'm tempted to look, I avert my eyes, staring at the coffee machine until she stands and I step back, watching as she puts the key in her pocket. "We'd better get on," I say as I exit the room, holding the door open until she's followed me outside and then I close it behind us.

"What's through there?" she asks, nodding to the door behind me.

"That leads upstairs to my apartment."

"Oh. Okay."

I take her back outside, pointing out the doors to the restrooms and the kitchen, and explaining that we don't serve meals in the evenings, so she probably won't need to go in there. She nods her head and then accompanies me back to the bar. The place is still empty, but that's roughly what I'd expected, and I take a few minutes to explain how everything works. Not that she needs telling. She seems to get it and looks really at home.

"If you're not sure about anything, just ask," I say, coming to the end of my explanation.

"Okay."

"And although we rarely have any trouble, if anyone says anything, or does anything that makes you uncomfortable, let me know."

"I will," she says, smiling up at me. "Thank you."

I'm not sure what she's thanking me for, but before I can ask, the door opens and our first customers of the evening walk through the door.

Macy was right. It got busier.

By seven-thirty, the place is humming, and two hours later, I'm positively relieved to have her here, and to discover she's so capable. I haven't had to help her at all. She's just got on with it… perfectly.

I've noticed how often the male customers in here tonight have wanted to be served by Macy, and not me. They've even waited for her, instead of letting me fetch their drinks. I can't say I blame them for that. Unlike me, she smiles at them. She talks to them. Although she does so without getting too personal.

"I don't think we've seen you in here before, have we?" Jim Holland leans forward slightly, making sure to keep her attention while Macy takes his order. He's here with a few friends… all of whom seem to have left their wives at home for the evening, which I guess is why Jim feels at liberty to flirt a little.

"No," Macy replies, but doesn't give him anything more, other than a smile.

"Do you live locally?" he asks, not giving up. "Only I can't believe I wouldn't have noticed someone as beautiful as you."

"And I'll bet you say that to everyone who pours you a beer, don't you?" Macy says, making him laugh, and although she seems quite comfortable, I step forward.

"He's never said it to me," I say, and Jim shakes his head.

"And you're surprised by that?"

"Not in the slightest."

Macy turns, looking up at me, her smile widening and a sparkle touching at her eyes. I wonder if she welcomes my interference, or whether she's offended and is doing her best to hide it. Maybe she thinks I've stepped in because I think she can't handle the situation, when the reality is, nothing could be further from the truth. She was handling it perfectly. I only came over because…

To be honest, I'm not sure why I came over. It just felt like the right thing to do.

It's not something I've ever had to do before, even though I can remember men who used to flirt with Stevie. All the time. It never used to worry me, though. Like Macy, she was good at making light of their advances.

Which makes even less sense of why I'm standing here, feeling the need to protect a woman I barely know.

Whatever the reason, Jim gets the message and the moment Macy's completed his order, he walks over to the table he and his friends have been occupying for the last forty-five minutes. I can tell they're talking about her. A couple of them even glance in her direction, smiling and nodding their heads, but she's blissfully unaware, having already moved on to the next customer.

She's in the process of pouring a glass of white wine when her phone rings. I wonder what she'll do, and am surprised when she ignores it, seeing to the customer first, and only then pulling it from her back pocket, her brow furrowing when she glances at the screen. She looks up at me and steps closer.

"I'm really sorry," she says, lowering her voice so I have to bend down to hear her. "That was my aunt. Would it be okay if I called her back? It's just I don't think she'd call if it wasn't something important."

"Sure. Go into the break room, if you like. You'll never hear a word out here."

She nods her head, and dips behind me, our shoulders touching as she departs, and I watch her rush to the back of the bar and disappear through the door marked ‘Private', her phone already clutched to her ear.

I take advantage of Macy's absence to top up my glass, which hasn't been so easy for the last couple of hours. Macy's been watching me. Not checking up, but looking for my approval, I think, and that's made it kinda hard to sneak straight vodka into my glass. I've settled for adding tonic water for the last hour, but as the bar's quiet for a moment, I turn my back and ensure that the balance of vodka is closer to where I like it.

"Sorry about that," Macy says, making me jump as I take a long sip.

"Is everything okay?"

"Not really. Aunt Bernie's car's broken down. She's at her friend's place in Willmont Vale, so she's gonna stay there tonight and get the man who owns the garage here to drive over there tomorrow."

"You mean Levi?"

"Probably," she says, smiling.

"Are you okay to get home?" I ask, although I'm not sure what I think I can do about it.

"Sure. My aunt wasn't picking me up, anyway. She's always in bed by ten."

I nod my head, regretting it the moment I do, and I reach for my drink, as Macy moves further down the bar to serve someone else.

"How do you think it went?" she asks, as I lock the door behind the last of our customers.

"Well enough that I'd like to offer you the job," I say, turning to face her. She smiles, nodding her head with such enthusiasm, I'm almost tempted to smile myself. Almost. "Can you start tomorrow night?" I ask, stepping around the bar so I can pick up my drink and take a long gulp.

"Of course. If that's what you need." She's so accommodating, I can't believe my luck. "Would you like me to stay behind and help clear up?" That's beyond accommodating, and while I'm tempted to accept her offer, I'd like to be alone. I haven't been able to refill my glass with anything but tonic water since Macy took her call from Bernice… and I'm getting desperate.

"No, it's fine. You've done more than enough. Thanks."

She nods her head and after just a second's hesitation, she steps out from behind the bar and wanders toward the back of the building. I daren't risk getting caught with the vodka bottle in my hand, so I wait for her to return, which she does a few seconds later, pulling on her jacket, before she wraps her scarf around her neck.

"What time shall I come in tomorrow?" she asks, heading for the door.

"Shall we say four?" I suggest, although I notice her frowning. "I know that sounds early, but I've found it hard to take a break, not having anyone here to cover for me, and I could use an hour to myself just to grab something to eat."

She nods her head. "That's fine. See you then."

I don't reply, but watch her as she unlocks the door and steps outside, giving me a cute wave before she closes it again. I saunter over and turn the key in the lock before returning to the bar, grabbing my glass and the vodka bottle, and pouring one into the other. It's the work of moments to swallow down half the glass, and I top it up again, trying to remember what it was I needed to think about. There was something. I know there was. It was to do with Tanner… but I can't remember what it was… and as I take another long drink from my glass, it all becomes a blur.