Chapter 42

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

ANTHONY

“Give us a second,” I say, lifting a hand to Gene-slash-Remus.

“I don’t give two figs whether you’re coming or going,” he says with a grunt.

Dom laughs and returns to his position behind the bar, but I pull Rosie back toward our booth, then into the hallway leading to the bathroom.

“Hey,” she says, lifting a hand to my collar and grinning at me. “I’m all about the public fun, but I have to say I’d prefer to have bathroom sex at a place with better hygiene. It smells like a latrine back here. Maybe we can sneak into your mother’s club or something. I’m guessing she has a club.”

“Rosie,” I say in an undertone. I glance forward at Gene’s booth, but there’s no sign of him doing anything other than what he always does—half-heartedly drinking and watching TV. “The person who started that website. It was Gene .”

Laughter bursts from her, and she shoves my chest with her open palms. “You’re messing with me, Mr. Darcy. That’s a good one. I’m pretty sure that guy doesn’t actually leave that booth.”

“Probably not,” I say, meeting her gaze and lowering my hands from her shoulders, trying to show her how serious I am about this. “Because he’s the owner of this bar.”

Her lips part in surprise. “Wouldn’t you have known that?”

“His first name is Remus, and he’s kind of…” I rub my temples. “He’s eccentric. I’ve only ever spoken to him on the phone once. Otherwise all of our interactions have been over email. He sends me a scarf every Christmas.”

“Aw, that’s sweet.” She shrugs and pulls a face. “Maybe less sweet if he’s a stalker, of course. But why do you think it’s him?”

“Think about it. The low effort. The fact that nothing more has been done with it. Maybe he wasn’t trying to harm us. Maybe he found out about the deal, and he didn’t want the building to get bulldozed.”

“What about calling the police on us?”

I rub my temples again, the feeling of too much crawling over me like static on my skin. She touches my arm as if she knows—and the feeling eases slightly. “I don’t know. I think we need to talk to Damien and Nicole.”

But she’s already shaking her head, her lips in a stubborn press I recognize all too well. “Nope, not happening. This is our place. And his, apparently. We’re solving this between us like men…and a lady.”

“Rosie…”

She’s already marching toward the front of the bar with purpose. I follow her, but I’m not fast enough.

Turning to face the bar, she announces, “Thirsty Thursday is now over. The bar is closed. Please exit the bar.”

When no one moves, and Dom just gives her a lazy, quizzical look, she says, “There’s pubic lice infesting the bathroom. The bar has to close for a thorough cleaning. Please leave immediately, for your own safety.”

A bar has never emptied more quickly.

“There’s lice in the bathroom, Ro?” Dom seems panicked now. Turning toward Gene’s booth, he says, “Oh shit. This isn’t good. Gene, what do we do?”

“Take a hike, kid.” Gene gives him a nod. “Looks like I'm going to have a talk with your friends here.”

“But shouldn’t you leave too? I had lice once, man, and I'm not going there again. No way, no how. I'm taking a bath in vinegar tonight.” He considers for a second, then grabs the open bottle of red “wine” that’s still waiting on the counter. “Let me know when it’s safe to come back.”

Then he barrels out the door. As it shuts behind him, Gene nods to us. “Come. Sit.”

I don’t like that Rosie is here.

I don’t like that she might be in danger, and I like it even less that it’s in this place where I’ve felt safe.

“I'm going to text our friends so they know exactly where we are and who we’re with,” I say, already pulling out my phone and doing it.

Gene grunts, and it takes me a second to realize he’s laughing. “You do what you’ve got to do. But you’re in no danger from me, kid. I’m an old geezer who knits for fun and likes gameshows.”

I send the text anyway.

“Stand up,” I say, because what if he has a gun? What if he tries to hurt Rosie and…

He stands up, and without me having to frisk him—which, thank God, I really didn’t want to frisk an old man in a bar that smells like mildew—he turns his pockets inside out, showing the liners, and demonstrates that he doesn’t have anything hidden in his belt. “Does that do it for you, son? Or are you going to ask for a strip dance?”

“Normally, I wouldn’t say no to a strip tease,” Rosie says, taking my hand and pulling me toward the booth. “But it’s cold in here, and I’ll spare you the embarrassment.”

Gene makes another amused sound as he lowers back into his seat and nods to the side of the booth across from him. Rosie slides in first, and since I’m obviously not going to leave her alone with him, I join her.

“So you know about the website,” he says, meeting my gaze. His face is grizzled and wears his age heavily.

“You did it because you didn’t want me to invest with those builders.”

He takes off the beanie and worries it between his hands. “My wife and I didn’t have any children, and after she passed, I needed something to occupy my time.” He gives a self-conscious laugh. “So I learned how to knit, and I opened this damn bar. It’s a shit place, and mostly shit people come here, but it’s all I have.” He glances out the door. “It’s all he has.”

“Why’d you call the police the other night?”

He heaves a jagged sigh. “The boy had a sleeping bag in the back. He was bringing it back there at night and removing it by morning. I knew you owned the building, so when I saw you going back there…”

“You did it to protect him,” Rosie says, and I can practically see her big heart thumping for them. I’m guessing there’ll be a lot more Dom and Gene in my future, like it or not. Truthfully, I don’t mind.

He shrugs and nods. “The kid’s roommate kicked him out, and he didn’t have anywhere to stay. He’s been bunking at my place for the past week.” He pauses, then says, “I’ve seen this area change more than you could imagine.”

“And I suppose you think this sort of development is ruining the city.” I’ve heard it before. Gotten the hate mail. It’s harder to absorb criticism like that when you agree with it.

I try to take comfort in the feeling of Rosie next to me, her presence grounding me.

“We think that too,” she says suddenly, making me laugh. “Anthony’s always thought so, but he was in a difficult position. Which is why he got backed into a deal he didn’t want to make. But we’re not taking the deal. We’re keeping the building.” Her expression turns severe. “But shame on you for going after his poor mother. You should know better than to go after a man’s mother.”

He glances down, shame-faced. “I shouldn’t have done that. I…I felt…betrayed. Because when you bought the building you promised me that I could stay for as long as I wanted. You had such big ideas for it—”

“And they’re going to happen,” Rosie insists, holding my hand with her left hand, her ring a comforting weight.

He nods, his expression miserable. “I heard what you said.”

“You eavesdropped?” Rosie asks, sounding delighted by it. “You’re full of surprises, Gene. Should we still call you Gene?”

“Yes,” he says without hesitation. “It was only my wife who called me Remus. Only will be.”

Rosie’s face glows at this evidence of love, and I feel the tension draining from my body. He made a mistake, but he’s not a bad man. Not a dangerous man.

He swallows, then continues, “It was…I made the website when I was drunk. I regretted it, but I didn’t take it down.”

“I have to give you some lessons in design. But in the meantime, you’ll be lucky if Anthony doesn’t have you arrested or challenge you to pistols at dawn.”

That thought sparks an idea.

I knock the table with my fist, then say, “How about paintball at dawn instead?”

Rosie grabs my chin in the crook of her hand, turning my head toward her, and kisses me—right there in front of Gene. In this bar that’s ours but not. The Peanut Bar full of bowls of pretzels.

Then she pulls back and says, “Just when I thought I could never love you more, you go and say a thing like that.”