Hello! Sorry for the wait - I had surgery and then I caught Covid! Life has been extremely unpredictable but I'm so very happy to get this out to you. I like to hold a 7-10 chapter bank on my stories, and now I do!That means, without any more life-altering roadblocks, I can begin to post as often as I'd like!
Thanks to reading, reviewing, and my team for all their support.
She looks at Emmett, who is shaking his head as if he's disappointed in something. "So who is he exactly?"
"That's Edward Cullen," Emmett answers with a laugh. He slides her another drink, knowing she'll need it if she wants to survive a day around here. "And you just made a huge mistake."
-4-
True to her word, Isabella works behind the bar with Emmett without complaint. Patrons come and go, some more troubled than others, but she greets them with a smile and a quick drink.
He sits at his booth in the corner, watching her from afar as she makes her presence known inside the walls of The Lost Key. She isn't boastful. She doesn't announce or brag that she's the woman allowed behind the bar of Edward Cullen's pub. Instead, she acts like everyone she meets is an old friend, and in turn, they — all of them, all of his regulars — welcome her as one of their own.
But he knows she's not.
One of them.
He knows she is far away from home and notices things about her that seem familiar the more he watches her. He observes how she walks in her heels, her mannerisms as she chats with Emmett and the pub's patrons.
He has seen those mannerisms before.
And where exactly he's seen them doesn't dawn on him until the moon hangs high in the night sky and Emmett walks out their last evening patron. He locks the door behind him, throwing a towel over his shoulder in exhaustion. On his way back to the bar, he locks eyes with Edward, and with a single nod, Emmett knows what he needs.
"He's ready for you," Emmett says to Isabella as she clears the excess glasses from the tables around the room.
"He's ready for me?" Isabella repeats incredulously. "I'm supposed to drop what I'm doing at his —"
"Just shut up and go, will ya?" Emmett interrupts, taking the tray of glasses from her hand and pointing toward the back booth.
Exhaling loudly, he listens to her footsteps on the wood as she approaches. He's listened to footsteps, some real and some lost within the trappings of his damaged mind, for way too long now. The ones coming towards him now are angry, and he chuckles to himself as he brings a cigarette to his lips.
He is intrigued to see the new Isabella right now. After seeing her all day smiling and appeasing the crowds, seeing this other side of her may be the thing to tip the scales in her favor.
She is looking for a job, after all.
At his pub.
Why mine? He asks himself as he exhales smoke through his nose.
She angrily sits in his booth; her hair, once pinned to perfection, now hangs loosely in dark curls. Her glare from across the table is heated and accusatory, and he doesn't break their stare as he slides her a glass of her preferred whisky.
"James Swan." He says two words to break the silence, and he watches as her eyes flinch, briefly, at the name.
Her head rises as she tries to dismiss the grip they have on her heart. "What of him?"
Edward takes another pull of the cigarette between his lips. "He was your brother, am I right?"
Staring at him still, Isabella nods. "Yes. You knew him?"
Edward nods casually. "He would come here quite often, yes." He puts out his cigarette. "But that's all I know."
"He died on the streets outside of your pub," she says evenly as if she's reciting a fact out of the newspaper.
"So I hear. I wasn't around the night it happened."
Isabella gifts him a smile full of condescension. "How convenient."
Edward laughs and reaches for his glass. "Is it me you think killed your brother outside of my own pub?"
It pisses her off that he finds her accusation laughable.
"You're a powerful man, Mr. Cullen. When no one around here bothered to find out who was responsible, we figured someone had to pay off someone who would be in a position to help."
He takes in her reasoning. "Powerful; yes. A murderer?" He gives her a slow shake of his head. "Can't say that's who I am."
Silence falls between them, opposing thoughts in their minds battling without words through their eyes. Edward knows she doesn't believe him, and he doesn't care enough to try to change her mind.
"Okay, so let's say for argument's sake you didn't kill my brother." She crosses her arms across her chest. "Perhaps you know who did."
He leans forward, his elbows on the table. "I don't know who did it." He pauses but then sits back and points a finger at Isabella. "But you're thinking if I hire you as my barmaid, you'll be able to figure it out for yourself."
As he uncovers her motive for coming to Port Angeles, he watches her deflate at his words. "My parents need to put this behind them and try to move forward." She sighs with a shrug. "Some type of closure will help them with that."
"I see," Edward answers, nodding as he busies himself with another cigarette. This time he offers one to her, and she takes it with a nod of thanks. "Your father really owns a pub back where you're from?"
She shakes her head with a soft smile. "My uncle," she answers, blowing smoke in his direction only to mingle with his own. "And I only helped him when I was sure my mother would never find out."
He laughs at her, shaking his head at the way this day unfolded. "Fuck, Emmett was right. You really don't belong around here, do you?
"Probably not, no." Isabella laughs, the dim lighting of the pub casting her skin in a soft, amber glow. "But I owe it to my brother to try. He was a good person."
Edward nods. "I can see why you would think that."
James Swan was a simple kid, always entering the pub without trouble and sitting quietly at the bar. He would make friends with anyone he met, often leaving with whoever he chose to spend the evening with. He had no enemies that Edward was aware of, though he didn't know the boy much at all, other than the seldom times he had spoken to him here at The Lost Key.
He can also see, as she finishes her cigarette and downs the rest of her drink, that Isabella's parents aren't the only ones seeking justice for the death of James.
Running his fingers over his face in frustration, he can't deny that Isabella has the ability to run his bar effectively alongside Emmett, possibly even without him. He also can't deny he needs an extra set of hands around here.
He can't change the fact that the set of hands he sees now are unblemished, showing him just how delicate she is behind the cold exterior she exudes, but are somehow perfect for what he needs.
He can't believe he's doing this.
"I'll need you for weekends and a couple day-shifts here and there. And only when Emmett is working." Edward moves, so she has no choice but to look him in the eye. "And never, under any circumstances, forget that this place isn't always as welcoming as you think."
He gets up from the booth and grabs his jacket that falls effortlessly into place over his pressed suit. He pauses to look at the time on his pocket watch, nodding to her one last time before disappearing into the night.
Isabella leans back against the leather and speaks to an empty booth. "I haven't forgotten."
This is set in the 1940s. Thanks for reading! See you soon!