I nodded as I took another bite of the exquisite cupcake. Then her words took hold in my mind. “Wait, what do you mean? I’m not here to stay at the inn. I just need a new tire.”
“Well, you won’t get one around here. It’s Saturday night, and Mitch, the mechanic, doesn’t open his shop again until Monday. He’s already gone off fishing for the weekend.”
“There must be someplace else I can have it towed to.”
“Not within fifty miles of here.”
“But that’s impossible. I only pulled off a few miles ahead of my usual off ramp. It can’t be. None of this can be real.”
Coco tilted her head and grinned. “Sometimes, Emmie, there’s a fine line between reality and fantasy and all it takes is the right amount of desire to cross that line. Being a librarian, the keeper of stories, you should know that better than anyone.”
“But I can’t stay.” I crumpled the cupcake wrapper and stood up. “I’ll just clean up my mess and pay you for the cupcake.”
“No need. The cupcake is free. I’m a little disappointed though. I pegged you for the adventurous type. I’ll call my friend with the tow truck. But I must warn you, he only takes cash, and if he has to go fifty miles, it will be costly.”
“But I don’t carry that kind of cash. Is there a bank nearby?”
“Yes, but—”
“But it doesn’t open again until Monday.”
“I’m afraid so.”
I blew a puff of frustrated air from my mouth. “I suppose I could stay one night. I’ll call a friend in the morning to pick me up.”
“Wonderful. I’ll show you upstairs to your room.”
I followed her to the stairs. “I am the adventurous type, by the way.” Then I thought about that statement as I climbed behind her in my sensible shoes, shoes that suddenly reminded me of my grandmother’s black church shoes. “Or at least I used to be.”
Coco winked at me over her shoulder. The faintest row of crow’s feet appeared with the gesture. Otherwise, her olive complexion was as smooth and wrinkle free as pressed silk. “Let’s see if a night at the Silk Stocking Inn can help you rekindle that adventurer’s spirit.”
There were only two other doors at the top of the stairs. “I’ve got one other guest staying this weekend, a regular who stays whenever he’s in town. He’ll be out late tonight. If you need anything, I’ll be downstairs.”
Chapter 5
I stepped out of the shower, a marvelously modern glass and tile fixture that stood in the corner of a giant luxury bathroom. The bedroom suite was cozy and beautiful, a magazine quality picture of comfort. Even though the outside of the inn lacked some charm, the inside was a wonderful example of an inviting bed and breakfast, with the added bonus of an incredible bakery on the bottom floor.
The hot shower had taken away some of my earlier apprehension, and I’d resigned myself to having a nice night away from home. My only regret was that I had only my workday dress to climb back into after the exhilarating shower.
Wrapped in the plushest white towel on earth, I stepped into the bedroom just as Coco knocked on the door.
“Come in,” I called.
She’d taken off the floppy hat, and a heavy set of auburn waves curled down around her head and shoulders. Again, on first glance, she appeared older than she actually was. It had to be a trick of the lights. All the fixtures were of stained glass and ornate iron, typical for a Victorian interior, but they provided shadowy light at best.
A delicious aroma and even more delectable plate of food entered the room with my gracious hostess. Strange as all the circumstances of the night had been, there was no denying that Coco was amazing.
“I placed some clothes on the dresser. No sense in staying in your work clothes when the work day is over. And”—She beamed at the plate she was holding—“my best frittata yet, I think.” She walked over and set the plate down on the small table sitting in front of the upholstered window seat. “One can’t live on cupcakes alone. Although, one might certainly give it her best effort,” she finished with her lyrical laugh.
“Thank you so much. Should I give you my credit card information for my bill?”
“What bill? No, Emmie, you are my guest. Now hurry and get dressed and eat. I’ll be heading down the street to the Hanky Dory.”
“Excuse me? Did you say the Hanky Dory?”
“I love the name, don’t you? It’s a rather dark and dingy pool hall, but the beer is great and the patrons are a unique, diverse bunch. Some professionals from the city go there to, as they say, ‘let their hair, or more accurately, their collar stays down’. Somehow, it’s easier to let yourself step out of your usual boundaries when a place is shadowy and off the beaten path. Which brings me to the less savory side of the patron list, bikers, gamblers and people out just to have a good time. But they’re all decent folk. Besides, no one bothers to make trouble. The place is run by a friend of mine. Hank, like the name of the bar, is as big as he is strong. No one steps out of line in the Hanky Dory unless they want to leave on a stretcher.”
“All right,” I said, feeling a little less enthusiastic about the night away from home. “Are you sure you should be going there?” I sat down to the plate of food. Bacon and onion wafted up from the frittata, and my stomach grumbled with hunger.
Coco waved off the question. “It’s a great place to hang out on a Saturday night. But I’m going there just to deliver a batch of cupcakes to Hank. They’re for his daughter’s birthday party. I’ll have one glass of wine, maybe two. But you really must tag along. I think you’ll have fun.”
“I don’t know, Coco. A nice quiet evening here in this beautiful bedroom with the wrought iron antique bed sounds pretty inviting. It’s been a long week.”
She cleared her throat. “Thus proving my assumption about your lack of adventure.”
“Jeez, you’re right. It’s as if I’m trying to fade away like the pages of an old book. I’m just coming out of a relationship, and I don’t have my land legs back yet. In fact, David might just be the reason I lost my sense of adventure. I was sure he was exactly what I was looking for, but he turned out to be just what I thought I was looking for. I had this list of traits for my perfect match, and they turned out to be all wrong.” I wasn’t sure if it was the way Coco had of looking at me as if she was listening raptly to every word or if it was because she reminded me some of my mom when she was younger. She had never been like the other moms. She never cared what others thought, and I’d always loved that about her. Somehow though, I’d strayed away from that carefree, non-conforming lifestyle. I’d gone a more traditional path in my career, and David had fit that mold. Now I badly wanted to break that mold.
“Then this weekend will be the perfect start for you to come up with a whole new list of traits. I think you might surprise yourself if you look deep inside your heart. Do you play pool?”
I thought about the community center at the apartments my mom and I had moved to when I was a teen. The pool room had been one of my favorite hangouts. And Joe, an old salty guy who loved to talk about his grandchildren but who rarely got to see them, taught me how to play and play well. “As a matter of fact, I do. But it’s been awhile. Used to be pretty good though.”
“I imagine it’s like riding a bicycle. Finish your frittata, get dressed and meet me downstairs.” She left the room before I could even come up with a reasonable protest.
Chapter 6
I stared down at the jeans and blue t-shirt. Everything fit as if Coco had taken my measurements on arrival. She’d even left me a great fitting pair of black leather ankle boots. They had thick rubber soles that looked a little badass. I loved them instantly.
I walked downstairs. Coco met me on the landing. She’d braided her thick, dark hair and she’d added a giant pair of hoop earrings to the look. It was all pret
ty Woodstock-like. “You remind me of my mom,” I said as I reached the bottom step.
“Do I? Then I can only assume she is a bright, beautiful and lovely woman.”
Coco’s confidence was catching. I was suddenly feeling less deflated about the David disaster and my silly, misguided choices.
I held out my arms. “How do I look?”
“All eyes will be on you when we walk through the door.”
I laughed off her comment. Coco was the type of person who would steal every gaze and every ounce of attention in a crowded room. There just wasn’t any way I’d be noticed behind her illuminating presence.
“I will tell you this, you are a genius when it comes to picking jeans. Do you know how many pairs I have to try on or ship back to the company until I can find the ones that fit well? Seriously, jean selection is a modern woman’s worst nightmare. And boom you throw a pair on the dresser, and they fit as if a professional tailor sewed them on me.”
“No sense in wearing a pair of jeans unless they make your bottom look spectacular.” She lifted her finger and circled it, motioning for me to turn around. I faced away from her. “Mission accomplished. I think there will be more than the usual number of spectators around the pool table tonight.” She grabbed a sweater out of the entryway closet. It looked a little old fashioned for her, but somehow, it worked with her dress. “Shall we go?”
“Let the adventure begin.” I said.
***
The parking lot in front of the Hanky Dory, a shallow, squat building with tinted front windows and the distinctive smell of beer and the bass guitar thunder of rock n roll floating around it, was filled with an array of vehicles, ranging from luxury sedans to jeeps and motorcycles. I glanced quickly at the line of motorcycles but I hadn’t noticed enough about the one that the giant with the brown eyes and great shoulders had been riding. I had no idea if he was inside or not.
I followed Coco and her plate of cupcakes up to a long bar counter. Metal stools were lined up in front of the bar. The rest of the place went along with the utilitarian look of the stools. With such an underwhelming and small exterior, it was surprising to see just how deep the building stretched. After a room of mismatched tables and chairs, a wide arched doorway led to a much longer room that had a line of pool tables down the center. The dark green and blue felts of the pool tables, glowing beneath the rectangular overhead table lights, were the only pops of color in the whole place.
Coco turned to me. She had to speak loudly over the music blaring down from the overhead speakers. “Would you like something to drink?”
I was just about to open my mouth to say white wine, but the word beer came out instead. It had been awhile since I’d had a foamy mug right from the bar tap. At some point in my efforts to grow up and become a woman, I’d convinced myself slugging back beer was gauche. But I was standing in a place where the only person I knew was a mysteriously complex woman, who I’d only met a few hours earlier. I wouldn’t have to fend off any haughty, scolding looks from David or judgmental sneers from his uptight friends. A beer sounded delightful, and if a beer moustache was gauche then I was happy to wear one.
Hank was just as Coco had described. His meaty hands looked as if he could not just rip the phone book in half but turn it into confetti as well. And the oversized fists were just the tip of the Hulk doppleganger iceberg. His jaw looked as if it contained iron teeth, and his neck was as thick as my thigh. At the same time, he had a kind, almost gentlemanly quality in his face.
He leaned over the counter and took the plate of cupcakes. It was quite a sight, a menacing, monstrous sized man, holding a plate of pink frosted cupcakes. Coco had piped a yellow sunflower onto each little cake. They would certainly be the hit of the birthday party.
Hank poured wine for Coco and slid me an ice cold mug of frothy beer. Coco was drawn away by an older man, who looked quite possibly as if he was someone she’d known a long time. I stayed at the bar, hugging the counter like a wallflower, working on my foam moustache and avoiding eye contact.
The room was filled with patrons. Just as Coco had mentioned, a lot of them looked as if they’d driven in from nearby cities. I’d lived not far away for several years and had never heard one mention of the Hanky Dory. But then, I’d somehow fallen into David’s world of more appropriate places to hang out.
“Well, here’s a pretty new face at the Hanky Dory.” I turned around and came face to face with a tall, blue eyed man. He was clean shaven, just a little too clean for my taste, but he had a nice smile and expensive shirt. He held out a hand. “I’m Derek.”
I pulled my hand from my beer. “Emmie. Oops, sorry, my hand’s cold.”
He held it longer than necessary. I gave mine a little tug to let him know it. He released me reluctantly. A dash of his aftershave wafted my direction. The fragrance reminded me of the one David used. The poor man was trying to turn on the charm and sparkle in his very blue eyes, but he’d made the fatal mistake of splashing on the wrong aftershave.
Derek leaned casually against the counter. “I was just looking for someone to play pool with. Do you play?”
“A little.” I had to admit, the clacking sounds of the cue balls ricocheting off each other sent a warm fuzzy sense of nostalgia through me. I quickly jumped into a mind debate about whether or not I wanted to spend the next thirty minutes having to make small talk and flash friendly grins at a man, who, just by the way of his dress shirt and expensive aftershave, had quickly morphed into David’s twin. But then, it was Saturday night, and I’d be long gone from the Hanky Dory by tomorrow.
“Actually, a game of pool would be nice.”
“Great.”
Chapter 7
I picked up my beer and managed to catch Coco’s attention long enough to incline my head toward the pool tables. She winked to let me know she understood.
I followed behind my new acquaintance and noticed that his fancy shoes looked brand new as if he’d just pulled them from a box. He was definitely a spiffy and polished man.
There was an open pool table at the rear of the room. Benches and side tables had been set up along the stained plaster walls to accommodate spectators and people waiting for the next open table. One obscurely placed table sat in the darkest corner. Someone with an impressive shoulder span was sitting at the table with a pitcher of beer. Not wanting to stare, I didn’t look long enough to see the person clearly. Two other men, early twenties at the most and dressed in off-the-rack business suits with ties removed and collars unbuttoned, sat on the closest bench watching us with interest.
“I think those people were waiting for this table,” I commented as Derek pulled a cue stick off the wall rack and handed it to me.
He tossed only a cursory glance at the two men sitting on the bench.
“They were, but when I saw you walk in, I decided I wanted to invite you to play.” He looked boldly down at my snug fitting jeans. “Something told me, watching you bend low over a pool table would make this whole Saturday night just that much better. So, I passed them a twenty to let me have the table.”
I bristled at the inane attempt at flirting or dirty talk or whatever the heck the jerk was attempting. And his arrogance at passing around money to get what he wanted made me think, again, of David. Another unlikable trait.
“What are we playing for?” I asked coldly.
Derek rolled his jaw back and forth in thought. “I was hoping we could get creative. If you win, I’ll buy you dinner. And if I win, I’ll still buy you dinner, but then you’ll come to my place for a drink and whatever.”
My hand shot out with the cue stick. “Nope, don’t like those stakes at all. Find someone else to play with.”
He forced a laugh. “Just kidding. Really. Let’s play. No bet. We’ll just get to know each other over a friendly game of pool. I can even give you some pointers. I’m
really good at making sure your body and aim are just right.”
I stared at him for a second. “Rack ‘em. I’ll break.” I headed to the cue rack for a piece of chalk and rubbed it on the tip like a pro.
My sudden confidence seemed to throw him off guard a bit. He stood frozen to the spot for a second before circling around to the end of the table to rack the balls.
“This should be interesting,” a deep and somewhat familiar voice rolled out from the shadowy corner table.
I turned that direction.
The man at the table leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. It was him. It was the biker. He’d removed his padded leather motorcycle jacket. My question about where the shoulders ended and the jacket began was answered. It had been all man under the leather. His black shirt was stretched to capacity over a massive chest. The less than wholesome neck tattoos that I’d glimpsed above the collar of his coat were only the start of a myriad of ink art that covered both his arms. The dim glow of light from the pool area illuminated his face just enough for me to see it clearly. He was extraordinarily handsome in that dangerous, antihero sort of way.
“What are you referring to?” I asked, trying to quickly regain the composure I’d lost at seeing him.
“Referring to?” he laughed. “I like the way you talk, library lady. Bet it sounds especially hot over a pillow.”
The tiny cube of chalk I’d been grinding ridiculously hard on the tip of my cue stick rolled from my fingers and bounced across the floor, landing, naturally, right in front of his big black motorcycle boots.
“Emmie, let’s get started,” Derek said with a scowl shot in the direction of our shadow lurking spectator.
“Be right there.” I looked toward the corner table and the rogue piece of chalk. “Would you mind pushing that back this direction? And try not to pulverize it with those monstrous looking boots.”