So extremely thankful for your support for the first chapter! Answers will come shortly, only to raise more questions!
Thanks to my writing team for taking this one on.
"Perhaps." She smiles, and she hopes the man doesn't hear the tremor in her voice. She reaches into her coat and pulls out a torn piece of newspaper. "I read you're looking for a barmaid?"
The man stops mid-motion, turning to look at the girl as she places the ad from the newspaper on the top of the bar and chuckles to himself as he returns to his task.
"Not anymore, Darlin." He walks over to another set of upturned chairs. "Filled the position this morning."
The sound of doors opening behind her catches her attention, and she stands to the side as a group of men enter, heading to a table that is presumably their preferred place to sit. They look like regulars; grease stains their hands like a second skin, and they don't bother to walk up to the bar to order, knowing they're in good hands here at The Lost Key.
"Shouldn't your bartender be here then?" She asks the man.
He shakes his head and walks over to her, lighting a cigarette on his way. She spies a dimple in his cheek, and it puts a small dent into the demeanor he shows to the world. He's tall, broad in the shoulders, with large hands she assumes have been put to good use. But it's the dimple that softens his appearance, and she relaxes for a moment before she remembers.
Trust no one.
"Look," he says when he's standing in front of her, his lungs pulling from the cigarette between his lips. "Hiring you would only lead to trouble."
"What kind of trouble?" She asks curiously.
The man shakes his head, avoiding giving her an answer. "Besides," he says. "I don't do the hiring around here."
"Who does then?" She asks. Sighing, she tries a different tactic. "I really need the work."
Laughing, he grabs her hands in his, momentarily catching her off guard. He turns them over in his own before letting them fall to her sides. "These hands have never seen a day's work." He points to the door with his cigarette in his hand, a plume of smoke following his motions. "Off you go."
If it weren't childish of her to stomp her foot, she would, but instead, she places her hands on her hips and doesn't move an inch, let alone towards the door, like he expects her to. "Is it because I'm a woman?"
The man turns serious, his face leaning closer to hers. "Yes. That's precisely the reason why."
They stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, and she knows he expects her to back down the way other women would.
Well, he hasn't met a woman quite like her until today.
He pulls away, walking behind the bar to gather the drinks for the men who had walked in a few minutes ago. Pouring them, he doesn't look at her when he speaks. "Wherever it is you're from, I can assure you it's a hell of a different place than here."
He's not wrong.
The quiet and serene-like predictability of Forks, Washington is a far cry from the reality she finds herself in here in Port Angeles. Full of noise and smells she's never experienced before, she would have turned around and left this city had it not defeated the entire purpose of her coming in the first place.
She owes it to her brother to avenge his death, and being the eyes and ears behind the bar would allow her to find out what really happened on that warm, fatal September night.
She just has to get the job first.
"Do you mind if I wait here then?" She asks, taking off her jacket despite the cold air. Perhaps it's nerves, she isn't sure, but goosebumps appear on her skin, and she hopes her discomfort isn't as noticeable to him as it is to her. "For the person who does the hiring?"
He chuckles from behind the bar. "You can wait here all you want, sweetheart. It's not going to get you the job."
Her head tilts to the side. "I thought you said the position was already filled."
The man freezes before breaking out into a laugh so hearty it shocks her; his amusement doesn't match the stories she has heard from the people back home.
He seems genuine. Real. "What can I get ya?"
"Whisky is fine."
He nods and yells out to the men at the other end of the bar. Two of them rise and walk over to grab their drinks while the man busies himself with her whisky.
"You ever worked behind a bar before?" He asks a minute later as he slides her drink to her. He shakes his head with another laugh. He does that a lot, she notices. Laughs. "I bet today is the first time you ever stepped foot into one."
Bringing the glass to her lips, she offers him a tiny shake of her head. "My father runs a pub back home." She tips the rest of her drink back, placing the glass back down on the shiny wooden bar with a clang. "I've helped him from time to time."
Eyeing the empty drink, the man whistles at the sight in front of him. "Well, fuck me."
"Not yet, Emmett. A little too early in the day for fucking in the pub, yeah?"
A new voice enters the room, and it's deep and confident like he's been here before; like he belongs here. He walks behind the bar with a cigarette in his mouth and a severe look on his face. She knows, immediately upon looking at the second man, that anything other than a scowl coming across his face is extremely rare.
And when his solid green eyes meet hers, she knows there is no way she's leaving this place without the job she came here for.
Who is the second man? (You can't be fooled LOL)
See you soon!