“Well, the girl who’s dating the philosophy professor, you know the one with black hair and the bleached highlights, she was talking about—”
I put my hand up to interrupt him because I didn’t know fuck all about a Greek girl dating some professor with funky hair. “I don’t know who that is.”
“Huh, okay, well anyway, she told this strawberry blonde who happens to be in David’s computer science course—”
I interrupted him again. “David’s teaching now?” This was news to me and probably good for David, but it wasn’t the topic I was most interested in tonight.
“Yeah, it’s only a night course, but he’s still waiting to hear if he’s gotten hired at the high school.”
“Mmm, good,” I mumbled, still not sure what girl was the actual informant.
“Anyway, that girl told the one with bad highlights that a certain dickish football player…”
“Ryder West,” we said simultaneously.
“Had crushed Remi’s spirit. Though if those girls know anything, they are holding out on something good. I even threw in an extra round on ladies’ night to see if I could glean anything more.” Andy wiped down the bar as if any of that made sense to me. Maybe there was truth to bartenders knowing a town’s secrets.
“Whatever happened, I don’t like.” I clenched my fist, trying to tamp down my ire.
“Me either, Rooney.”
We finished our drinks, and Andy had to do some work in the office, which meant I now had unfettered access to Miss Remington Kennedy’s full attention.
“Remi,” I called out, watching her head pick up. Beautiful jade green eyes and her messy red hair drooped low over her black polo shirt that said she was part of the Pub staff.
Wordlessly, she walked over, hips swaying in a fashion that meant she had zero game realizing the effect she was having on the male half of the population in there right that second. If I could have dragged her to the supply closet, I would have.
“Hi there, Officer Rooney.” Her dulcet voice wavered.
“Now, Remi, I’m not on duty. You can call me Evan.” In fact, she could scream it if she liked, but I kept that pervy notion under wraps.
“Okay then, but I should warn you the alcohol content in Andy’s new brew is pretty strong.”
“I’ll make note of that; however, that isn’t why I called you down here?”
“No?” she questioned, fixing her hair and adjusting her short waitress apron. It was clear I put her on guard, and I needed to get her to relax.
“Nope. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Okay?” she parroted. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?” She hooked her small round tray under her arm and cocked her head like I was an unusual species of man.
“Oh, uh, just something Andy might have let slip out, but it’s nothing.” I watched her nose scrunch up and she nodded. The only response I got was a teeny-tiny grunt. The adorable sound went straight to my pants, and I shifted on my bar stool, thanking Jesus for the thick polished bar top. I knew I shouldn’t have said anything, but like an idiot I couldn’t help myself.
Remi reached out and tentatively put her hand over mine. “I’m okay. I’m fine. Promise.” She shook me off and went back to filling her condiment containers, making sure there would be at least one less thing to do at the close of the night. I’d have offered to take her home and make sure she got there safely, but there was no need, considering she lived right upstairs in one of the apartments above the bar.
There used to be a rumor that she was with both David and Andy. The truth was that there were four apartments above the bar, and they were all occupied separately. People could say what they wanted, but I knew David had a hard time connecting with people since he returned from service, and Andy still had his heart set on the woman who left him years ago. They both were protective types and seemed to take in strays into the remaining two apartments upstairs, one being a Miss Remington Kennedy.
I made her an unspoken promise to squelch any future rumors I might hear. She deserved better than that, even if that was all I could offer.
19
Remi
Back to the present…
Evan made sure I got back to my little apartment, and we walked inside to see that my friends had hijacked it, decorating the tiny space. The walls were freshly painted but lacked the chemical smell of cheap paint, and everything was clean and put away. A crib sat in the corner made up with fresh sheets. I hadn’t been able to do it before I gave birth, but there was my crib, which I’d saved every bit of tip money for, all put together with the pretty striped navy bedding perfect for a baby boy. A print of his footprints in navy paint was framed and hanging on the wall above his crib with his name, date of birth, and statistics, exactly where I pictured it would be thanks to Taylor Jane’s eye for design and Hunter whom I suspected made the frame. It was a DIY project right up their alley.
It was perfect.