In Your Dreams, Holden Rhodes: Chapter 9

“IF YOU WANT to work here, there are three rules.”

Olivia glanced over her shoulder at me while pouring a beer. Now in her late twenties, she wore a black t-shirt and jeans, and her hair was pink and tied up in a bun, dark brown roots peeking through. Her parents were spending the year traveling, so she was running the bar while they were away.

“Don’t lie to me, don’t steal from me.”

I leaned my chin on my palm on the bar counter. “Deal. What’s the third?”

She pinned me with her gaze. “Never, ever let Finn Rhodes inside the bar.” She leaned in, holding eye contact. “Don’t listen to a word he says. He’ll locate your weakness, Sadie, and he will exploit it.”

Her gaze crackled with fury and I shivered. “You guys used to be friends, right?”

Olivia stared at me. “I don’t want to talk about it. That’s my fourth rule.”

I put my hands up. “Say no more.”

The fury dropped from her gaze and she brightened up. “Great.” She gestured for me to join her behind the bar. “Get back here, girl, we’ve got work to do.”

“Oh. Now?”

She nodded with enthusiasm. “Mhm. Right now.”

I made my way around the bar and set my bag underneath. There were so many bottles and glasses back here, I didn’t know where to look first. “I’ve never been behind the bar before.”

She rolled her eyes with a smile. “Cute. So cute.”

Olivia showed me how to pour a beer with minimal head, how to key in drinks and food on the POS system, and how to communicate orders with the kitchen.

“When the keg is low, let me know and I’ll swap it out, okay?”

“You bet.” I shot her a grateful smile. “Thanks, Olivia. This is going to be fun.”

She let out a loud ha! and turned back to pouring drinks while I strode over to the table.

Three hours later, the rush died down and I collapsed against the counter.

It was not fun.

The flats I had spent a year breaking in were soaked in beer from when I dropped the tray. My yellow cashmere sweater was damp with sweat, beer, and splattered with barbecue sauce. With every step I took, my blisters shrieked in pain, and for one horrifying second, I considered going barefoot on the sticky floor. My makeup had smeared, but there was no time to reapply because people kept ordering more beers.

“I can’t believe you used to do this by yourself,” I gasped at Olivia. “No wonder you hired me on the spot.”

My pants were a Jackson Pollock, splattered with red wine, hot sauce, and chicken wing grease.

Holden Rhodes walked into the bar and his brooding gaze found me like a magnet. He raised an eyebrow and his gaze dropped to my splattered pants.

My face flushed. Of course he’d walk in when I looked my worst. I shook my head at him. “Don’t start.”

He slid onto a bar stool, staring at me with a disgusted expression. “Why are you here?”

“I work here now.”

“So I’m stuck seeing you every night.” He sighed.

“You come here every night?” I winced. “Yikes. I wouldn’t advertise you’re a big drinker on your dates.”

He glowered at me. “I’m not a big drinker.”

I leaned on my elbow towards him with a sympathetic expression I knew would piss him off. “Just super lonely?”

Alarm spiked behind his eyes. “I thought you were an interior designer.”

Irritation pinched between my shoulders. “I am, but there are zero interior design jobs on the island.” I shot him a bright smile. “And for six months, I’m also a bartender.”

He regarded me with an unreadable expression. “How’s that project of yours coming along?”

The eye contact with him gave me a little jolt. His eyes were so pretty. “Relax, Bigfoot. I have a plan.”

He scowled. “Bigfoot?”

“Tall, looming, lurking, communicates in grunts. Like I said, meeting people is a numbers game.”

A woman with pale blonde hair and a man in a suit took the seats beside Holden. He jerked his chin hello at them.

“Hi, I’m Hannah,” the blonde woman said with a shy smile. “This is Div.” The man beside her gave me a wry smile and nod. “You must be Sadie.”

“I am Sadie.” I shot them a bright smile. “Hi, Hannah. Hi, Div.” I shot Holden a look. What about her?

He frowned and shook his head. “Sister-in-law.”

I deflated. “Oh.”

The two watched us with interest. Shit, this was supposed to be a secret. “Can I get you two a drink?”

When Hannah ordered a virgin drink, I remembered Elizabeth mentioning a pregnant daughter-in-law this morning, and I congratulated her. She shot me a warm, pleased smile. Div nudged her elbow, hiding his own smile. Once I had their drinks set up, I leaned forward on the bar again.

“Okay,” I started, “Say someone wanted to meet a lot of women at once. Where would you do that?”

“Where would you do that?” Div clarified, pointing at me.

I nodded. “Yeah.”

He snorted. “Easy. Tuesdays is Juicy Taco night at the Rusty Bucket in Port Alberni.”

Hannah choked on her soda water. “Div,” she laughed.

He raised his eyebrows. “What? That’s what it’s called because it’s two for one tacos. Cheap margaritas, too.”

She dissolved in laughter.

Margaritas and tacos? It was perfect. Women loved those things. Holden’s eyes were on the TV above the bar, watching sports replays, but his gaze dropped to mine. I wiggled my eyebrows at him.

“Tuesday night, buddy.”

He made a noise in his throat that sounded like acknowledgement.

Hannah and Div gave us quizzical smiles.

“Holden and I are old friends,” I told them. I reached over and squeezed Holden’s wrist and the horrified look he shot me could have given me a sunburn. “Super great friends, and now I’m back in town, he’s showing me around.”

Our handshake from yesterday flashed into my head. His hand had been warm, calloused, and huge. Like huge. Like dirty images running through my head of what else he could do with that hand huge.

Hannah bit back a smile, eyes glittering as she glanced at Holden. “That’s so nice of you, Holden.”

“Yep.” He folded his arms over his chest and kept his gaze on the bar.

Ugh. Even in the face of Hannah’s adorable sweetness, he was surly and dickish. I rolled my eyes and moved to the other side of the bar to key their orders in. How would I find this guy a wife?

The bar got busy and the rest of the evening flew by. Olivia was patient with me, especially when the ice bin behind the bar counter was empty so I dipped glasses into the ice machine out back and broke a glass—meaning we had to thaw and drain the machine.

Holden sat at the bar and drank two beers in silence. Every time I looked, his eyes were on the TV above the bar, but when I turned my back, my skin prickled. At one point, I turned and his gaze lifted to the TV.

Was he staring at my ass?

I flushed with heat between my legs.

No, I told myself, shaking my head. I wasn’t even going there.

“Gross,” I said to him with a knowing expression. “You need to stop that unless you want to end up with Blow-Up Belinda.”

He cringed and sipped his beer and I snorted.

By the end of the night, my feet ached and the blisters on my toes shrieked with every step. I reeked like rotten garbage, because when Olivia asked me to take the garbage out, I stupidly, so stupidly, hauled the heavy bag out of the bin and dragged it down the hall to the dumpsters out in the alley. When I tried to heave it into the dumpster, the bag ripped open. Hot, slimy, wet garbage slopped all over me, filling my flats with rotting juice. The stench wafted up and I gagged.

Fuck, I hated taking out the garbage. I hated the smell, the way it sounded, the fruit flies, everything. I stood in the alley, scooping up garbage with the plastic bag and shoveling it into the dumpster. Grant was probably on a beach right now, spending my money and drinking champagne with a new girlfriend.

And I was here, shoveling half-chewed onion rings into a dumpster because yet again, I fell for the wrong guy.

When I squelched back inside, Olivia stood in the hall, staring at me with a grimace. I stunk like a Port-a-Potty at Coachella.

“Did you—”

“Yeah. I did, and I don’t want to talk about it.” My tone was hollow like I had just returned from war.

She disappeared a moment and returned with a wad of cash. “Your tips. Once we sort the paperwork out, I’ll deposit your pay check.” She winced at my stained clothes. “But please leave.”

My eyes burned and my stomach rolled with shame as I took the money. “I’m sorry about the ice thing tonight.”

She snorted. “It’s fine. Last year, I pulled the keg handle too hard and got foam all over the floor. People fuck up.”

I gave her a tight smile. I seemed to fuck up harder and more often than most people.

“See you Wednesday?” The bar was closed on Mondays and Tuesdays.

I nodded and shot her a smile back. “See you Wednesday.” I raised my arms on instinct to hug her but she took a step back.

“No.” She shook her head, holding her hands up in between us. “No.”

I walked home barefoot, ignoring peoples’ worried glances. It was just after ten at night but there were a few people outside the bar and strolling along the Main Street. My feet were tired. My bones ached. Even my hair hurt. Every step shot pain up my legs. My blisters begged for mercy, but finally, I arrived at the inn.

I would take the hottest shower I could, sleep until noon, and tomorrow, I’d burn these clothes in a barrel fire and finalize my renovation plans for the inn. On the front porch, I reached for my bag to get my keys.

I wasn’t holding my bag.

My bag was at the bar.

My keys were in the bag.

I closed my eyes and pressed my lips hard together to hold in the scream. A deep breath, in and out, scented with putrid muck.

I couldn’t walk back to the bar. I’d rather sleep in the flowerbeds than walk all the way back.

On the second floor, I had left a window open.

I climbed the lattice on the exterior of the inn. The vines weaving up the structure looked pretty from the ground but when I had to reach through the leaves to grab hold of the wood, something brushed my ankle and I squeaked. It could have been a leaf, but it also could have been a spider. Or a rat.

“God, I hate nature,” I whispered, wincing and shaking my ankle in the air.

I climbed another rung on the lattice and the piece of wood under my foot broke. I let out another squeak, clinging to the lattice. The rung under my other foot creaked.

At the top, I hoisted myself over the window sill, stumbled into the bedroom upstairs, tripped over a box of paint supplies, and landed flat on my butt. A spike of pain hit my tailbone but I pushed the scream of anger and frustration back down before I lay back on the floor to catch my breath.

My hair was gross, there was grease under my nails, and there was a smushed French fry between my toes. The next six months would suck.

The deal I had struck with Holden appeared in my head, and my chest flickered with stubborn resolve. Grant didn’t crush my spirit.

I wasn’t leaving Queen’s Cove without finding Holden Rhodes a wife.