the situation? It was total bullshit.
There was a bottle of bourbon beneath the bar that was Rick’s private stash. He’d never opened it before because…well…it was pricy, and he hadn’t had any reason to.
The top was sealed in wax, dripped artfully down the neck. Instead of trying to pretend to be someone he wasn’t—someone used to bottles like these—Rick pulled his knife out of the leather case he kept clipped to his belt. It had been his father’s knife and his grandfather’s knife, passed down in the family since his grandfather had gotten it after coming home from World War II.
Once, Rick had assumed it would be his son’s knife. Then life had taught him a few lessons, and he’d set those assumptions aside. Today, it was the knife that scored a circle around a bottle of bourbon he hadn’t planned on opening. After popping the top off, Rick poured her a glass first, then a second for him.
“Thank you.” Manicured fingers lifted the drink. Lana sniffed delicately, as one was probably taught to do with alcohol. Rick didn’t know. He was more of a Bud Light kind of guy.
Rick took a drink and then started choking. This time, her breezy laugh was softer, throatier. Real.
“Some people cut this with water or add ice,” she told him before taking a sip. “It’s more of a slow drink than a…”
“Chug?”
“Yeah, you totally chugged it.”
Rick added a couple of ice cubes to his drink. He offered her the same, but Lana shook her head. It shouldn’t turn him on knowing she was sipping an alcohol that had made him choke, but there he was, trying his darnedest not to look at her lips touching the rim of the glass.
“I figured it’s better than the rosé. Still, probably not like what you’re used to.”
She hummed in a noncommittal fashion.
It took him a while to look up at her, and by then, she’d gone back to staring out the window.
“I promise I’m not half as bad as they think I am,” Lana told him, that bright, teasing smile back on her face as she absently played with the single string of miniature multicolor lights he’d taped along the bar. “Only a third as bad, sometimes a quarter.”
Such total bullshit. He’d hurt her feelings.
“Never thought you were.”
Four words that wouldn’t fix what he’d broke, but the sweet look she gave him almost made him think he’d been forgiven.
“Besides, I kept expecting you to come in here,” Rick said, giving her another opening to talk about the back rent. Another opening she didn’t take. Instead, she sipped her bourbon.
“This is really quite lovely.” Lana ran a thumb along the rim of the glass, her finger trembling lightly. Maybe she was cold?
Of course she was cold. The furnace in the place sucked.
“Any advice for me? Rumor has it that you’re no stranger to moose catching.”
Rick shook his head. “With that moose? Not a one. We’ve tried and failed to catch it every year.”
“Well, I’ve already started brainstorming. I think the key is to find the right lure. Just like with fishing, if you know what attracts it the most, even a Santa Moose can be snagged.”
“Just be careful out there. Fish aren’t over six feet tall, and they can’t kick your head off,” Rick said with a chuckle.
“I’m tougher than I look,” Lana promised with a little curve of her lips. “I’m betting I can pull this off.”
“If anyone could, my money’s on you,” Rick told her, leaning on the bar between them. She flushed in pleasure, which hadn’t been his intention, but Rick sure didn’t mind. “So what’s it like owning the town?”
Lana shook her head. “I don’t own the town. I’m simply a caretaker of some of the buildings for now. Speaking of which, you mentioned things are breaking.”
“Is this where you ask for the tour?”
“Are you offering?”
The last thing he wanted to do was take Lana around in the back, but Rick knew he didn’t have a choice.
So he showed her the modest kitchen, where he made and froze pizzas to cook for later. Everything was spotlessly clean…Rick had learned early that a clean kitchen was incredibly important in a business, but what he had was either run-down, breaking, or broken. Rick had stuck Post-it notes to everything based on priority of fixing. The freezer door that kept sticking was low priority. He could muscle it open as necessary.
The heater was shot, leaving a cold kitchen with space heaters positioned under sinks to keep