A breeze swept down the street and she shivered—her denim jacket was not providing much protection against the cool evening wind. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the handle and yanked open the heavy wooden door while eyeing the antlers that hung drunkenly overhead, hoping they wouldn’t fall on her. Luckily, they only swayed slightly and Mel quickly scooted inside, not wanting to tempt gravity, nor the old rusty chain that suspended them.
The interior of the bar was slightly better than she’d hoped. It appeared clean, though the smell of beer and fried food overwhelmed any scent of cleaning fluid that might have confirmed the fact. For the most part the decor was unremarkable and could have been located anywhere on the continent. As she’d expected, the lighting was dim, the air stale and pedestal tables with worn chairs were scattered about the large room. One wall contained a big screen TV, another had racks of pool cues and dart boards, while a bar occupied the third wall. Rows of glasses and bottles of liquor lined shelves backed by an old mirror that had seen better days. In front of the spirits, a large, dark-haired man, who closely resembled a bear in a plaid flannel shirt, stood lazily drying glasses. He was talking to the patrons who sat around the scarred wooden structure of the bar. A quick perusal told her that none of the men there were Ryne.
Mel shifted her gaze from the room’s decor and began to examine each table, wondering if Ryne was here, or if she’d arrived before him. Seeing no sign of him, she twisted the strap of her purse in her hands, considering her options; sit at a table or at the bar? A few patrons were glancing her way with mild curiosity, but most just ignored her. Still, she felt conspicuous and moved towards the bar, eyeing a seat near the wall with a good view of the door. She’d sit there and wait for Ryne to arrive.
Settling onto a bar stool, she smiled politely at the man beside her and then fixed her gaze on the door. Minutes ticked by and she shifted uncomfortably. What if he stood her up? She furrowed her brow. No, this had been his idea. He’d be here...wouldn’t he? Nervously, she began to nibble on her lower lip, wondering how long she should wait. Unexpectedly, a large hand attached to a very hairy arm appeared in her peripheral vision and she instinctively jerked away, spinning around to see who it belonged to.
“What can I get you, little lady?” The bear in the flannel shirt was the owner of the arm. His deep gravelly voice had a bit of an accent, possibly French, she decided. He seemed to be looming over her and she fought the urge to cringe.
“Nothing, thank you. I’m just waiting for someone.” Mel smiled politely and made to turn away when he spoke again.
“And who would that be?” When she hesitated, he smiled at her revealing a mouthful of large teeth that seemed all the whiter for the black facial hair that grew profusely on his chin. “I know everyone who lives here.”
“Er...Ryne Taylor.”
“Ryne, you say?” He chuckled and Mel had a feeling from the look on his face that a lot of women had sat in this very spot waiting for Ryne. “Well, you won’t have to wait long.”
“Really?” Again Mel tried to turn towards the door, but the bartender—his name tag said Armand—gently took her by the shoulder and spun her bar stool to face the far corner of the room. A movement in that area caught her attention. As her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, she realized it was caused by the man she was looking for. He was leaning back casually in his chair, drinking beer and studying her with an impassive expression. As she made eye contact, he nodded and took another swig.
“Thank you.” She gave the bartender a tight smile and hopped off the stool. She could feel him watching her progress across the room, but shrugged it off, focusing on her target instead.
Weaving between the partially filled tables, Mel wondered how long Taylor would have left her cooling her heels before coming to get her. The man really was insufferable. When she finally reached her destination, she was sure the anger inside her would have steam rising from her collar. She opened her mouth to speak, but he beat her to it.
“Sit.”
Frowning at the command—she wasn’t a dog, after all—Mel pulled out a chair and plunked herself down, all the while wondering why she was complying rather than defiantly remaining on her feet. Her temper rose even further when she noted the smirk on the man’s face. Well, she’d deal with that right now!
“And a good evening to you, too. Why thank you. Yes, I’d love to have a seat. What a gentleman you were, to come and meet me at the bar, like that. Oh, it’s lovely to see you again, too. What’s that? The rest of my day? It was fine, thanks for asking.” Mel held a mocking conversation with herself.