“I love cheap fries,” I say with a bit too much excitement. My belly rumbles in agreement, and I stand, thanking Cheyenne and giving Margot a wave. “Be back in an hour.” I head out at warp speed, hoping that I don’t end up pulling a Margot and taking a super long lunch. I don’t have the same luck she does in that my boss—being her—would notice. Once I’m inside my Jeep, I check my lipstick and hair just to make sure I’m not a total disaster. I’d try to tell myself that I don’t want to run into Cheyenne’s dad or anything, but that’d be a total lie. He’s honestly the first guy I’ve seen since I moved back to town that roused even a little bit of interest for me which is actually really sick because he is one of the meanest individuals I’ve ever encountered.
“I’m not this pathetic,” I mumble to myself as I pull up to The 101 Club. I should reconsider and just grab a crappy salad at one of the fast food joints in town. I probably shouldn’t have lunch in a bar, even though Cheyenne mentioned killer burgers, half-priced fries, and milkshakes. No matter how stalkerish I feel about showing up here when I know Grady is likely here, it’s no match to greasy food that makes even a teenage girl swoon.
So I hold my head up high as I put my Jeep in park and climb out. My therapist—which is really just code for my grandpa—tells me all the time that I need to look at my return to Fort Bragg like a fresh start and not an admittance of failure. He’s recommended that I try new things and not let myself fall back into only doing the things and going to the places I used to before I left here for the Bay Area. If I want a different outcome, I need to do something different. So going to a place I’ve never been before is right up my alley. Unfortunately, so is lusting after a major asshole.
I try to shake my nerves off as I walk inside for the first time. Despite Cheyenne’s recommendation, the place is basically empty and sure doesn’t seem like the kind of place that has killer burgers. Still, I give it a shot. There’s something kind of awesome about the place with its mismatched furniture that somehow all goes together and its too-cool-to-give-a-crap-about-décor vibe. Everything but the lights overhead, which are a flashy metal and conical-shaped, running down a long line over the bar, seem to be as old as I am. It’s like The 101 Club doesn’t know what it wants to be – something I can relate to.
In the corner is a pair of elderly men, cooped up and playing chess. They’re angled away from the rest of the room, creating a bit of privacy for themselves. I walk up to the bar and pull myself up on a stool. A middle-aged man rounds the corner from the back room and puts himself behind the bar. He looks me over once and then nods his head and shoves a menu at me.
“Lunch hour’s almost over, so order quick unless you’re here to drink,” he says. My stomach is in knots to the point that I almost do want a drink, but drinking at lunch is never a good idea. Drinking at lunch leads to drinking with the girls after work, and that leads to waking up hung-over. And that’s the thing about drinking. It stresses me out, making me paranoid about what Mindy would say, but the more I drink the less I care. About everything.
He doesn’t smile, nor does he greet me. I’d think he was being rude, but I get the impression that this is just how he is all the time and it’s nothing personal. I go to thank him, but before I can, he disappears to where he came from. The front half of the menu is filled up with French fries done up in about twenty different ways, and the back side is a variety of burger choices. I look it all over quickly and make my selection and wait for Mr. Personality to return. When he does, he places his hands on the bar, looks me in the eyes, then gives the menu a glance before returning his attention to my face. It takes me a beat too long before I realize that this is his way of taking my order.
“I’ll have the Mendo Burger and Coastal Fries with a vanilla shake,” I say. He jerks his chin in the air, grabs my menu, and turns around. He grabs a clean—at least I hope it’s clean—glass from behind the bar and the soda machine. Pushing a button, he fills the glass and then shoves it toward me.
“No shake. Water,” he grumbles.
“I was told you serve shakes here?” I say in a questioning tone.
“Shakes are for family. I don’t know you.”
I bite my tongue to keep from making a snarky comment. I have no idea what this guy might do to my food before I get a hold of it.
It’s only a few minutes before Mr. Personality returns with a red basket with my burger and fries inside. He sets it down on the bar. No sooner than he does, I hear the telltale sounds of a group of bikes heading toward the bar and grill. I gulp down my worry about being here, in Grady’s space, and pick up my burger. Before I can take a bite, the man before me puts his hand over mine and I place the burger back in the basket, looking up at him in annoyance.
“Time to go, sweetheart,” he says.
“Excuse me?” My voice is flat, beyond annoyed. The rumbling of the bikes grows louder, and I tamp down that nervous worry in the back of my belly. I’m hungry, but I’ll get the burger to go if I have to. I just need food before my unpleasant side takes over.