“But you’re Bree Fox.” He reached over and touched her left hand.
“I was married,” she began.
Kaleb waited for her to continue.
“My husband was killed in Afghanistan.”
The expression on his face changed to one Bree was familiar with. “I’m so sorry,” he said.
“Thanks,” she answered. “I really don’t like to talk about it. If you don’t mind.”
“Of course I don’t mind. I guess you’re in town for Thanksgiving. Big gathering over at the Flying R?”
This time, Bree’s expression changed. She didn’t want to talk about Thanksgiving either. Kaleb was going to quickly figure out he was the normal one between the two of them. Bree was a walking, talking hot mess.
15
They talked through pizza, and then dessert. Bree was just about to suggest it was time for her to go home when Kaleb stood.
“Come downstairs with me,” he said, pulling her by the hand.
“What’s down there?”
“It’s called the Red Room,” he raised his eyebrows when he said it, and Bree laughed.
“It’s part of the Stash. Sort of. It’s another restaurant, more of a bar, though. My sister owns it now too, but it used to belong to Matt Rice. It was a sushi place.”
“Lobar?”
“That’s it. Have you been there?”
“Sure, once or twice. I didn’t realize Matt sold it.”
“From what I hear the Rices are getting heavy into rough stock contracting, and Matt didn’t have the time it takes to run a restaurant anymore.”
“Do they still have The Goat?” Bree loved going to the bar, especially when Ben’s band, CB Rice, played.
“I don’t think they’ll ever sell it. It’s been in their family forever. That place has been around so long it practically runs itself.”
Kaleb swept the heavy brocade drapery, at the bottom of the stairs, aside, and Bree couldn’t believe her eyes. The space had been transformed, and it was beautiful.
“My sister hand-beaded the bar with one of her friends. It took her about two hundred hours to do it.”
Bree looked closer. It was magnificent. The entire front length of the long bar was intricately beaded on top of the same brocade fabric the draperies were made from.
There were symbols and shapes, even names, worked into the pattern.
Kaleb pointed to one. “This guy, Novak, was a buddy of ours who died in an avalanche. And here,” he pointed to another name, “‘Eleanor,’ that’s our mother’s name.”
“It’s so beaut
iful.” Bree was tempted to run her fingers over the beading, but resisted.
Kaleb took her hand and led her away from the bar. “Let’s sit back here,” he said.
There was a fireplace surrounded by cushions in the back room.
“Looks comfy.” Bree wondered how many times he’d refilled her beer over dinner. She’d lost count. She sunk down onto the bench seat and closed her eyes. Kaleb sat next to her and put his arm around her shoulders.