The address Julie had given me, 300 Broadway Street, Wayne’s Place, was a bar. Who listed a bar as their home address on a hospital record? Was it a joke? Did the lady Julie talked to know she was drunk and give her a fake address? I hadn’t even thought to check before coming out here.
Ashton Knight also didn’t have a Facebook, Instagram, or Twitter. What twenty-eight-year-old was absent from social media? A serial killer, a social pariah, a fake name?
Peering out the window, I noticed that it looked like there might be an apartment building above the bar. Maybe Julie was too drunk to write down the apartment door number. I’d have to do some investigating, once I got my nerve.
My phone rang, and when I saw who it was I put it on speaker.
“Stop calling,” I told Julie.
“Are you still in the fucking car? Go inside!” she shouted, her voice filling the rental car.
“Stop babysitting me and get ready for your anniversary dinner!” I scolded her.
Tonight was the night my best friend got engaged and I’d ditched her to run to Nashville. Not my proudest moment, but that’s what Facetime was for, right? I was wearing my nice silk floral dress and tan suede heels. I wanted to look nice for the man who got Colin’s heart. I wanted to show respect.
I’ll admit I borrowed Julie’s extra stethoscope and had a grand vision of me telling this guy who I was and then asking to listen to Colin’s heartbeat before we both shared a long hug and went our separate ways.
“This is stalker level psycho. GO. INSIDE,” Julie yelled.
“’Kay, have fun getting proposed to, bye!” I hung up.
Ashton. That was a nice name. And he was twenty-eight. That meant Colin had given him decades on his life. This was going to heal me.
Reaching over, I grabbed my purse and smoothed my long blonde hair before stepping into the hot Tennessee summer. The July humidity clung to my skin, making me feel like I was breathing in steam.
Yuck.
As I stepped toward the bar, I practiced what I would say in my head.
Hey, Ashton, I’m Millie.
I’m with the Tennessee Census Bureau, can I ask you some questions?
Or maybe I would just keep it real.
Hey, Ashton, I’m Millie, and my late husband gave you that heart, can I listen?
Oh my God, I was going to be sick.
I walked past the bar and saw a tiny door that looked like it led to the apartments over the bar. Reaching out, I tried the handle, but it was locked.
Okay, maybe someone in the bar could give me answers. Reversing my steps, I pulled open the door to Wayne’s Place and prayed they knew who Ashton Knight was.
Ashton
The fucking AC went out in the kitchen again, and since I’d fired Cruise yesterday, it was up to me to work back here. The customers didn’t like the no food idea, so I’d become owner, bartender, and fry cook all in one. I took a long drag of my cigarette and growled.
“God dammit!” I punched the window unit that used to blast cold air into the kitchen and then I pulled off my shirt, balancing the lit smoke between my lips.
If one more thing broke, I was calling Darcy and telling her to sell the place to the laundromat, even if it left me with nothing. I couldn’t take working in this godforsaken place one more day.
Leaning down, I checked the trap on the fryer and then hit the ignition.
Nothing.
That’s it. I was done with this place!
I was calling Gran and telling her we needed to sell.
Blasting out of the kitchen in a rage, I reached for my phone just as the bell chimed to let me know a customer had walked in.
When I looked up, I was taken aback by the gorgeous woman who’d stepped inside. She wore some fancy dress with heels and a designer purse that told me she wasn’t from around here. The tight fabric of her dress clung to her figure like plastic wrap, accentuating her curves.
“Hello,” she called out, walking closer as her eyes roamed over the dirty floorboards and her nostrils flared at the pungent smell of whiskey and smoke.
Snob.
I suddenly didn’t like her. She was clearly judgey, probably from one of the suburbs and her car broke down. I took a long drag of my cigarette and blew it out in a large cloud in front of me.
“You lost?” I asked, wishing I’d grabbed my shirt from the back because now her eyes were peeled on my chest and the huge scar there.
Her mouth hung open, speechless, and she looked … horrified. “You smoke?” She sounded like she’d swallowed a frog.
Jesus, this woman really couldn’t help herself, huh?
“Up here, Princess. What’s your poison?” I ignored her comment about smoking, not really sure what it was all about.
She gulped. “No … uh. I’m not … I needed to see someone … in the apartment building? But it’s locked.” Her eyes were pinned on my scar and I really wanted to put on my damned shirt now.
The apartment building? Mrs. Pennyweather didn’t have visitors, and I sure as hell didn’t know who this woman was.
It hit me then. I’d put an ad out online to finally rent Jenna’s place last week.
“You’re here about the apartment? The ad?”
She looked confused, but then relief washed over her face.
“Yes! The ad. Of course. I’d like to tour the apartment.”
I took one last drag of my cigarette and let my eyes rake over her tight little body. “You wanna live above a bar?”
She wouldn’t last a week in this neighborhood. Probably didn’t stay up past nine o’clock.
She squirmed, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “I’m on a budget. Recently lost my job.”
My eyebrows rose. “And you want me to rent to someone who is unemployed?” I crossed my arms. Seemed like she could sell those shoes
