Lana snatched up a hot-pink heart inscribed with I Heart Me. “I’m gonna wear this one tonight.” She shuffled through the pile. “Sorry, Ro. Don’t see one that says I love Eddie.”
Feeling her hackles rise, Rosie grabbed a paper heart with You Wish and stabbed the ribbon through the hole. “It’s an anti-Valentine’s party, in case you forgot.”
“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t be surprised if Eddie does some rom-com grand gesture tonight.”
“Something even more dramatic than getting a tattoo?” She’d told Lana most of the story, omitting the part where he passed out.
Lana leaned closer and lowered her voice. “I never told you, but back in early January, he quizzed me about your favorite places in Tacoma, what you like to eat, your favorite music. Wrote it all down in his little notebook.”
Rosie smacked her arm. “You didn’t tell me?”
“He asked me not to. And I thought it was sweet.”
A flush heated Rosie’s cheeks. This new information further cemented her plans for tonight—if she didn’t chicken out.
The front door opened, and a stiff, frosty wind wafted in the scent of spray paint. Dressed in a pink hoodie screen-printed with Rosie’s cupid design and Love Shouldn’t Hurt, Dawn carried the wooden donation box they’d used at Christmastime, now sparkly pink and stenciled with Support Tacoma Domestic Violence Shelter. Eddie followed toting a carton of paint cans.
Lana snatched his sleeve as he passed. “Pick a heart, Eddie. We’re all wearing one tonight.”
His hand hovered over the pile, a hint of humor dancing in his luminous eyes. He plucked up a red heart that read Bite me and held it over his chest. A flirtatious smile ghosted over his lips. “Be gentle. I bruise easily.”
“Eddie, need you back here,” Dawn hollered from the dart area, transformed for the night into a shooting gallery where patrons could nail Cupid’s ass with suction-cup arrows. Gus would hand out drink tokens to anyone who hit a bullseye.
As always, the Bangers crew had brainstormed competitions and events to draw in customers. Diego and Shelby invented tonight’s food specials: Love Bites—jalapeno poppers with bacon and an extra-spicy dipping sauce, plus tots smothered in cheesy artichoke dip and garnished with bacon folded into hearts. Kiara and Eddie assembled an impressive list of drink specials: a Black Heart Cocktail made with fig vodka, a Bourbon Sour-on-Love, Dark ‘n’ Stormy, a rye-based Blue Valentine, and a vintage classic called the Suffering Bastard.
Rosie’s contribution to tonight’s charity event was a window mural with a dozen cupids battling it out. Trailing smoke, one spiraled down to earth like a WWI biplane. Another lay on the ground, feet in the air à la dead bug. Yet another snuck up on his rival, his spiky club poised for an attack. She’d had so much fun painting the silly scene, Dawn suggested she hire herself out to do window art for other businesses on Sixth Avenue.
Once the paper hearts were all strung and hung, Rosie and Lana put the finishing touches on the photo booth just in time for the first customers. While Beyoncé belted about single ladies, Rosie hustled drinks to thirsty patrons. Charlie’s social media blitz had worked, judging by the packed tables and bouncing bodies on the impromptu dance floor. Bangers didn’t usually offer dancing space, but when a table of forty-something women started bopping to Pink’s “So What?”, Jojo cleared a space to keep them from knocking into other tables.
The crowd’s happy, snarky energy was contagious, tamping down Rosie’s jittery nerves. She hated public speaking as much as the next person, but making things right with Eddie was worth the embarrassment.
She slid up to the server station and hip-bumped Charlie. “Ready for River to come back?”
Charlie tossed her ponytail and grinned. “Sooo ready. Once you get used to a warm man in your bed every night, it’s hard to go without.” She nudged Rosie with her elbow. “You know what I’m talking about.”
Biting her lip, Rosie ignored the gibe and placed her drink order with Kiara. At the other end of the bar, Eddie juggled bottles like a pro, whipping out complicated drinks with grace and a smile. The girl he was serving giggled and simpered as he slid her order across the bar. “Hands off, princess,” Rosie grumbled under her breath. “He’s mine.”
And the time to tell him was rapidly approaching. Every hour or so, Dawn mounted the stage, grabbed the mic, and announced the next competition, also urging the crowd to donate to the Domestic Violence Shelter. Now, as the clock ticked toward ten, the boss moved through the crowd, greeting customers with back slaps and hugs as she made her way to the stage.
She looked so happy up there, arms spread wide, freckled cheeks plumped in a broad smile, her short locs tipped with pink glitter—an irreverent, teasing mother hen presiding over a family party. Of all the bars up and down Sixth Ave., Dawn’s was by far the homiest, welcoming everyone from college kids to old folks like Gus who’d been coming here for years. Bangers never took itself too seriously, never tried to be trendy, always welcomed locals and visitors with a warm, greasy, boozy hug.
No wonder Eddie wanted a place like this of his own. With his honest, open heart and his attention to detail, he’d create someplace just as welcoming—with dumplings!
Dawn tapped the mic and held up a clipboard. “For tonight’s open mic, we challenged y’all to tell us about your worst date ever. We got some nice prizes for our brave storytellers.” Fingers splayed over her chest, she winked. “Now, you know how shy I am, but I’ll break the ice. So, my sister talked me into trying one of those online dating apps.”
“Tinder?” someone yelled.
Dawn waggled her finger. “You hush. This is
