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Shane doesn’t just make me feel good. He makes me feel everything.
And as I come in a burst of heat and need and frenzy, I feel alive again.
31
HARLOE
Etta, Ruby, and Alice have made the front of Ransack their unofficial meeting spot on Wednesday afternoons. No matter how many times I remind them we aren’t ready to reopen, they show up at two in the afternoon with wine bottles in hand, ready to fend off the cops who inevitably swing by to warn them they can be arrested for having open containers on the sidewalk.
To which Alice recites the town’s most absurd laws from over a hundred years ago, reminding them that if they want to enforce alcohol restrictions, then the town should also enforce laws like the ones that state that any objects thrown at a distance greater than two feet are considered launching an attack on Lanceleaf Valley. So, by default, their tossing trash into the garbage earlier would be grounds for them being arrested themselves.
I’ve never heard half the laws Alice references, but she must be right because it’s enough to send Virgil and his buddies on their way.
When the cops leave them alone, they continue gossiping about the new tenant who’ll be renting a cabin at Tommy and Ruth’s ranch soon while making quips about how slow I’m completing the bar’s renovation.
“The three of them are a masterclass in being a menace,” I grumble to Elsie, who is also watching them through the bar window.
“True. But I’d refrain from telling them that since they can also drink us under the table and start a rumor that would ruin our reputations by sunset.” Elsie crosses her tattooed arms over her chest.
“You’re not wrong,” I concede, circling to the cooler and grabbing three water bottles for the ladies outside.
The wine club may refuse to acknowledge the fact that we’re closed, but at least they’ve been on our side. Etta went as far as to threaten a council member who tried to argue we didn’t pass inspection because of one unmarked exit. The wine club is a force to be reckoned with when they want something. And what they want is Ransack reopened so they have a place to spend Wednesday afternoons.
“Water?” I offer them with a smile.
“Aren’t you a doll?” Ruby’s red lipstick is too much for this time of day, and it cracks as she smiles. “You aren’t actually going to choose paint over wallpaper in there, are you? Especially not that awful pink.”
I bite back my irritation. Not once have I asked for their opinions, but it hasn’t stopped them from giving them.
“It’s not pink. It’s coral,” I correct her as sweetly as I can manage. “And it will only be an accent wall to add some color to the place. Not the whole thing.”
Ruby scrunches her nose, and the other two grumble their distaste. They aren’t the only ones unhappy with my paint selection. My brothers made sure to offer their opinions as well, not envisioning it the way I do.
We’re planning to keep Ransack’s overall appearance as close to the original as possible, but I’m making a few adjustments to brighten the place up.
Vintage decor and a handcrafted bar top will add personality to the bar. With splashes of color so everything isn’t brown. I now understand why Mom painted the floors blue on a whim. It was something different and fun. That’s what I’m doing with one of the walls, except I chose coral instead of blue. Like the prickly pears blooming around town.
“You don’t have ice?” Etta asks, unscrewing her water.
“We don’t have a working freezer until the electricity is back on,” I remind her.
She hums, and I dart away at the first break in conversation before they can include me in their debate on regular dicks versus dragon dicks because, apparently, Ruby has been on a fantasy romance kick lately. It’s more dick talk than I can process at this time of day.
I walk to the cooler, grab a water myself, and take a drink as I look around.
In the past few weeks, the bar has transformed quickly. After the initial demolition, my brothers had contractors in and out, replacing old electrical and plumbing. They’ve hung the new drywall, and it will only be a matter of time before they finish the floors so we can start focusing on decorating.
Upstairs, for now, is temporary storage. It no longer reeks of smoke, but it’s unlivable. And even if we do plan to fix the apartment above the bar, my gut turns when I think of moving back in.
Not that I can avoid it forever.
Like Ransack, Shane’s clubhouse has also moved forward these past few weeks, which means I’ll need a new place to live soon. The guys at Ironside Ridge have been nothing but welcoming, but once Shane returns to Vegas, I doubt they’ll want me sticking around.
The thought of Shane leaving makes my chest tight. How am I supposed to sleep alone again? How will it be to wake up without him exploring my body? Who am I going to laugh with by the fire?
I’m not short on friends and family, but with Shane, it’s different. He understands me in a way that helps me understand myself. I don’t have to wear a mask or a filter. He accepts me as is.
Nora walks out of the back room, pulling me from that thought. She fans herself with a piece of paper, since the portable air conditioner stopped working this morning, and the battery-operated fans are doing nothing to cut through the heat.
