Only two customers enter the bar during the afternoon. A businessman who sits at a table, guzzling a beer while speaking animatedly to someone on his AirPods. And an older woman in town visiting her daughter who just had a baby. The woman’s been up all night at the hospital and has returned to the hotel for a nap. She sits at the bar, sipping a glass of champagne while telling Everett more than he ever wanted to know about the process of childbirth.
Everett can’t seem to get away from pregnancy and childbirth and adoption.
Stella sticks her head in the bar around four o’clock. “I wanted to remind you about parents' weekend this weekend. We’re booked solid beginning tomorrow night.” Her smile is forced, the worry apparent in the lines around her eyes.
Everett makes a sweeping gesture at the gleaming shelves of liquor bottles. “I’m on it! All stocked up and waiting.”
If business doesn’t improve, the decision whether to stay in Hope Springs may be out of Everett’s control. His salary, alone, won’t pay his rent. For a bartender, tips are necessary for survival. No way he can afford to help his mom with his dad’s hospital bills.
Everett closes the bar around six and walks home. When he reaches the top of the stairs, the sight of Presley’s door ajar makes his heart skip a beat. A dose of her spunky personality is exactly what he needs.
As he draws closer to her apartment, he hears the pounding of a hammer coming from within. He nudges the door open. “Knock knock,” he says but doesn’t wait for a response before entering.
Presley is teetering on the back of a blue sofa, driving a picture hook into the drywall. “Careful, Presley. You might fall.”
She turns to look at him and tumbles to the sofa. “Too late,” she says, laughing. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
“I didn’t. You left the door cracked. I called out before I came in.”
She rolls off the sofa. “I’m glad you’re here. You can help me hang this beast.” She crosses the room to a large abstract painting of a flower leaning against the far wall. “It’s not heavy. Just awkward.”
He takes the painting from her, and they wrestle the canvas onto the hook, standing back to admire it. The petals of the flower are white and pink, highlighted with streaks of yellow. Peeking through the outer petals are slivers of blue-gray sky, the same color as her new velvet sofa.
“Nice couch, Pres.” He performs a flying leap onto the sofa and breaks into a Tony Bennett rendition of Blue Velvet. He sings the entire song with Presley staring at him slack-jawed.
“You have some serious vocals, Everett. You’ve been holding out on me. I know a lot about music and you’ve got talent. I’m not the first person to tell you that, am I?”
A lie is on the tip of his tongue, but when he looks up at Presley, so honest and good, the words remain unspoken. He makes a joke out of the situation instead by bursting into Nickelback’s “Rockstar.”
Presley smacks him in the head with a throw pillow. “Stop! I hate that song.” In a fit of laughter, she falls onto the sofa beside him.
Loud and intentionally off-key, he sings the song in its entirety. With hands covering ears, she laughs until tears stream down her face.
When he’s finished, he rests his head against the back of the sofa and takes in her apartment. There’s a fake antelope rug on the floor and a large square coffee table with gold base and glass top. He imagines Presley watching the sun set over the mountains while working at the white lacquer writing desk positioned between the two windows facing the inn.
Recovering from her laughing fit, Presley tosses her head back against the cushions beside his.
“The place really looks great, Pres.” He runs his hand against the soft velvet. “I particularly like the blue velvet . . .” His tone becomes melodic.
She shoves a pillow in his face. “No. More. Singing.”
“Okay! I promise,” he says, his voice smothered by the pillow.
She removes the pillow from his face and places it behind her head. “I need to go to the grocery. Wanna come?”
“Nah. You go.” He closes his eyes. “I’ll wait for you here on Big Blue.”
“Big Blue? So, my sofa has a name now?”
“Yep. Your apartment’s badass, even if it is a bit girlie for my taste.”
Presley smacks his abdomen with the back of her hand. “You have furniture envy, because all you own is an air mattress.”
“That might have something to do with it.” He cracks an eyelid to look at her. “I’m not kidding. I could stay here forever. I don’t even need food or water. Lock the doors and keep the world out.”
She rolls on her side to face him. “You’re in a strange mood. Did something happen today?”
“Nothing you want to hear about.” Sitting up, he smooths out his wiry hair. “Let’s make a deal. I’ll go with you to the grocery store if you’ll have dinner with me at Town Tavern. Tonight is two-for-one burger night. My treat.”
She laughs. “How is that a treat? You’re only paying for one burger, regardless.”
“Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“Fine. But after tonight, we go dutch. We’re just friends, remember?”
He rolls his eyes. “As if I could forget.”
The chemistry between them is undeniable, even if Presley isn’t ready to accept it. But she will, once she settles into her new life. In the meantime, if financial circumstances dictate it, he’ll look for another job in Hope Springs to stay near her. Carla and Louie be damned.
12
Presley
The first day of my new life, Presley thinks as she watches the sunrise from her second-floor window. She wraps her arms around her midsection, embracing the warmth radiating through her
