•••••
As soon as Simon walked into Moonshiners, he understood why Holt talked so much about the rustic little establishment.
The small-town bar held a certain kind of backwoods, country charm. You definitely didn’t find these types of places on every street corner. Certainly not in Dallas. Not anywhere he’d been, anyway, and Simon considered himself well-versed in big city nightlife.
“Howdy!”
“Welcome!”
“Come on in!”
The chorus of greetings came from only a few people, but they managed to make him feel as though he belonged. Granted, no one looked up when they shouted, but still. It was charming.
Under his feet, a few boards creaked as he made his way to the bar where Holt was talking to Rafe, grinning like a fool.
Simon had only met Rafe Sharpe a short time ago at the bed and breakfast since, according to Holt, the new owner of Moonshiners spent most of his days sleeping and his nights behind this very bar.
“Hey,” Holt said when he looked over. “Can I getcha somethin’?”
“What do you suggest?”
“Depends on your mood.”
Simon considered it for a moment. His mood was … well, for the first time in a long time, he was chill. But did that equate to vodka? Maybe a whiskey sour? Or perhaps one of those fruity concoctions with the ridiculous little umbrella.
He opted for simple. “Got a Sam Adams back there?”
“We do.”
While Holt got his beer, Simon skimmed the room, taking in the rustic decor. Whole TV programs were dedicated to redesigning spaces to look like this place, which made him wonder why Holt and Rafe were gearing up for a renovation. Sure, it seemed a little dated—specifically, the flamingo picture mounted on the wall—but other than that, it had a certain appeal to it.
“On the house,” Holt said, setting the bottle down.
Simon was turning back to get it when his gaze slammed into the brunette sitting in one of the booths.
What were the chances he’d run into Violet Anderson again? He took a pull on his beer and remembered where he was. Considering how small this town was, he figured the odds were pretty good. So, maybe he couldn’t chalk it up to fate or some other ridiculous notion. Still, the sight of her did something to him. Something he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt before.
Violet’s smile radiated from across the room as she leaned in, laughing, probably sharing secrets with the black-haired woman sitting across from her and the guy beside her. Admittedly, he was curious who they were. Friends? Family? Employees? Was the guy beside her a boyfriend? A date? Should he even care?
As though she felt him looking at her, Violet’s head turned, her eyes coming to rest on him. He felt the surge of electricity as it arced across the room between them.
Or at least he thought he did. Right up until she turned her attention back to her companions.
Wow. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman dismissed him quite so easily. Not that he had them lining up at his door or anything, but he rarely had problems striking up a conversation with a beautiful woman.
“It’s rude to stare.”
Simon glanced to his left, sizing up the stranger beside him. He started to deny that he had been staring but decided against it. It was true. He couldn’t help himself. There was something about Violet Anderson that intrigued him. He’d spent a good portion of the day rehashing the brief but interesting conversation he’d had with her earlier. More than once, he wondered whether he would get the chance to have another.
“I don’t recognize you,” the guy said.
Simon heard the slur in his words and figured he’d been holding down the bar stool for longer than he should have.
“Simon,” he said politely as he held out his hand. “I’m a friend of Holt’s.”
The guy frowned, leaving Simon hanging.
“And you are?”
