Make Me Yours

“What happened?”

The crowd slowly disperses while Mose the bartender holds what looks like a Louisville slugger.

Her hand slips into the crook of my arm, and she exhales a little sigh. “Do you believe in true love, Remington?”

“You can call me Remi. And I think so…”

I don’t say I’ve stopped believing in one true love. At least, I hope we’re allowed more than one. Otherwise, I’m fucked.

We go to my old spot at the bar, and she releases me, taking the stool beside mine. Blinking away the dreamy expression, she tilts her head to the side. “What do you do for a living to afford a McMansion in Eagleton Manor?”

I signal for drinks. “It’s not a McMansion, and I’ve done a lot of things. What’s your poison?”

“Tequila Sunrise, and don’t dodge the question.”

I grin and place our order. “I wasn’t dodging. I left the Navy and started working in tech.”

“Ahh…” She nods. “Military guy. We get a lot of those around here.”

“Right, because of Charleston.”

“What did you do in tech?”

“I sold a program to a group of investors, who in turn sold it to the government. It made a lot of money, and now I’m an investor looking for guys like me with great ideas.”

I think about how hard I worked in those early days, how hard I work now. I should be more involved with Lillie. I’ve acted just like my dad. Shit, these past four years, I practically turned into a clone of the man.

The bartender puts a whiskey in front of me and a salmon-colored mixed drink in front of Ruby. She takes a long sip, and I do the same.

“So you’re like a philanthropist?”

“I’m an investor. I give developers money to finish their work, and when it becomes successful—if it becomes successful—I get a nice payday. Whatever money I put up, plus profit.”

“That is some serious first-world shit right there. Some serious illuminati shit. Are you trying to control the world, Remington?”

I laugh, shaking my head. “I wish. I feel like I can’t even control my house.”

She nods, taking a long sip of her drink. “I hear that.”

“And what do you do, Ruby Banks, who doesn’t remember me from church?”

Her small nose wrinkles, and she shakes her head. “That wasn’t me. It was some other, irresponsible person. I’m a very responsible, licensed therapist. Or at least I was.”

That explains how she knows Drew. Leaning my elbow on the bar, I’m intrigued. “What do you mean you were?”

“I can’t afford my client list.” She copies my move, putting her elbow on the bar. “Or my lack of one. Too bad I’m not in tech or you could throw some money my way.”

“Call me as soon as you develop an app.”

“I’ll do it.” She grins, and I notice her studying my left hand. “You’re not married, but you have a wiggly four-year-old. How’s that?”

“My wife died.”

“Oh!” She pulls back quickly. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

“It’s okay. It was a long time ago.” My hands go to my lap.

“Do you still miss her?” Her brows are pulled together, and when I look up, I see genuine concern in her eyes.