“Good.”
“Welcome to The House.” The bartender slid a menu in front of us. “First time?”
Claire nodded. “I’ve lived here for eighteen years and never been. I can’t believe it.”
“Well, there’s nothing quite like the first time. What’s your poison? I make a hell of an old-fashioned. Or would you prefer wine?”
“I’d love something red. A cabernet?”
“Let me get you something to try.”
While he poured Claire a taste, he asked, “And you?”
“Whiskey, neat. Whatever you recommend.”
And get the hell away, buddy.
Claire oohed over the wine, and he poured a full glass. With my whiskey in front of me, I wrapped my arm around the back of Claire’s stool and pulled her in tight.
“I don’t want to rush this. I can’t believe I’m admitting to that, but it’s been a long time since I’ve gone out and relaxed,” she said, tipping her head up to look at me.
“No arguments from me. Cheers.” I clinked my glass to hers.
“So, tell me, farm boy, about life on a farm, growing up, all of it.”
She leaned her cheek into her palm, her slight elbow resting on the bar, face turned up to me. I didn’t know what was turning me on more—her sleeveless black dress or her infectious smile and gratitude.
“It wasn’t as glamorous as your starry eyes may suggest. It was a hard life. My dad always worked hard. He still works hard at it. In the beginning, I think my mom helped. She ran a small storefront where we sold ciders and fresh eggs…that kind of stuff. Did some planting and picking. We mainly deal in chickens and vegetables. Some apples.”
She sipped her wine and listened intently. “I can almost see little Aiken in the chicken coop.”
After a slug of my whiskey, I said, “Stop teasing me. Want a sip?”
“Don’t tempt me. I said I didn’t want to rush this. A few sips of the hard stuff, and I’ll be out cold. Now, tell me, I’m sure you found your fair share of trouble.”
“That I did…but mostly after football games, under the bleachers.” I couldn’t stop from flashing her a wink.
“I bet you did. Keep checking off every rural stereotype, farm boy.”
The bartender found a moment to interrupt. “Another drink? Or maybe some appetizers?”
“You hungry?” I asked Claire.
“Starving, actually.”
I fell hard for the way she didn’t pretend to be something she wasn’t. She oozed confidence.
“What’s good?” I asked the bartender.
“Stuffed mushrooms, the eggplant dip, and the halloumi cheese are all my personal favorites,” he answered. “Name’s Bill, by the way.”
“We’ll take one of each and another round.”
“I’m on it.” Bill turned, leaving me in the company of Claire. I liked it. A lot.
“Tell me about you. What makes you tick?” I turned my attention back to my date.
“That’s wide open. What would you like to know?”
