Blow(7)

I smiled and said, “I think I have it all under control.”

“I know you do. You’ve done a fantastic job.”

Praise wasn’t what I looking for. The wind was cold and I dug into my pockets for my gloves. “Thanks.”

“’Bye, Elle,” he said, staring at me for a beat. When he got in the car and started it, he glanced at me before shutting his door. “I’m sorry I was short with you earlier.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I told him.

Michael closed the door and turned back to check on Clementine.

He was a good father.

I waved goodbye as the tires rolled forward, and then I put my gloves on and shoved my red felt hat farther down on my head.

As I walked up the sidewalk, I occupied my mind by trying to avoid getting my heels stuck in the cracks between the bricks.

It gave me something to do—I was feeling restless. I wasn’t used to staying in one place for so long and it was beginning to catch up to me.

I gave up on not ruining my favorite boots when the late March drizzle began to fall and I had to move briskly to avoid getting too wet. As soon as I turned onto Tremont Street, I immediately saw that my rear tire was flat.

“Crap,” I muttered as I stood there and the rain started falling harder.

I looked around for shelter. The corner bar I must have passed at least a dozen times was only a few feet away. I decided to go in and call AAA from there.

I didn’t want to bother Michael about something I could take care of.

My damp, thin raincoat clung to my body and I reminded myself I should really buy a coat that was functional, not just fashionable. Shaking my head, I hurried toward the door to Molly’s Pub, getting wetter and wetter with each passing moment.

As soon as I entered the vestibule, it was quiet enough for me to make the call. The operator connected me to the nearest station. “The mechanic will be at least thirty minutes,” the attendant told me.

Contemplating what to do, I decided on a drink. “That’s fine. I’ll be at the bar at Molly’s.”

“Wait,” she called. “What number should the mechanic call when he arrives?”

I gave her my cell but doubted I’d hear my phone. The music was already pretty loud from here. “Also, in case he has to come in, I’m wearing black—black raincoat, black pants—oh, and a red hat,” I added.

She huffed and sounded annoyed. “Normally we ask that you wait by your vehicle but since it’s raining, I’ll let him know how to recognize you if he can’t reach you.”

“Thank you,” I told her before hanging up.

Once I’d tucked my phone back inside my purse, I pulled open the interior door to reveal a very crowded bar. Not only was I certain I would never hear my phone, but there was also no way the mechanic was going to be able to spot me in here.

I’d have to keep my eyes peeled for him.

The large room was dimly lit, glowing with soft white light. There was a steady pulse of music. A small dance floor was filled with people. Most were standing close and talking, others were already dancing. The DJ booth was already manned and larger than the dance floor. Still, the bar was the showpiece. Glass lit shelves displayed bottle after bottle of liquor, in addition to glasses in every shape and size.

The space was eclectic. The dark paneling and old-fashioned parquet wood floors flowed into the modern space from the vestibule. I liked it.

The pub, as it was called, was more like a club, and it was jam-packed with the happy hour crowd. I considered leaving but decided against it.

It had been a long week, and one drink was deserved.

As if moving in slow motion, I tried to push through the crowd.

I wasn’t dressed like the other women. Wearing leggings, boots, and a simple long-sleeved cream-colored blouse that buttoned up the front, I was dressed for winter even though it was spring. Most of these women had stripped out of their work jackets and sweaters to reveal sexy camisoles or sheer tops. They had planned for their night out.

The large bar was so crowded that I had to squeeze my way through to it. A shove, a push, another shove, and I’d been turned around. That’s when I saw another room that was also dimly lit, but seemed a lot calmer.

Unbuttoning my coat, I made a beeline for the space, ignoring the men who stared and women who leered. Booths lined the walls and there was a smaller bar with dozens of beer taps behind it. Still crowded, but nothing like the other side; I could at least move without being jostled. Luckily, a space opened up at the bar, and as I walked toward it, the female bartender glanced up from the person she was talking with.

It wasn’t her I was looking at, though; instead my eyes landed on the patron sitting at the bar. I knew who it was immediately. I’d studied his backside no more than thirty minutes ago. It was the younger McPherson. He appeared to be sitting alone, chatting with the bartender.

My heart skipped a beat and I automatically slowed my approach.

Obviously curious, he twisted his head around when the bartender’s eyes lingered on me a little too long. And when he saw me, he gave me a small smile.

That smile.

Wild, gorgeous, sexy.

Heart-stopping.

The current I felt surging between us earlier now reappeared with a jolt. It was unsettling. It made me think I should turn around, but I couldn’t.

The magnetic pull was too strong to ignore. This was a dangerous situation. Uncharted waters. In the past, I’d never felt a strong enough attraction toward anyone to worry what it might mean. There had never been sexual chemistry for me with anyone else.