What the hell was he doing?
Raven looked up. Perched on the bar stool to the far left, he sat quietly, iPhone in hand. Three weeks had passed, and he still continued the same behavior. The first night, she’d explained quietly that he needed to leave. He did, but he ended up sitting in his Bronco the entire time, waiting until she closed up. He followed her home, waited to make sure she got in, then drove away.
He repeated the same actions for the rest of the week, until she finally gave up and let him stay on the bar stool. She refused to serve him, hoping he’d get the hint and eventually go away.
He didn’t. He just brought paperwork with him, or read on his phone, not even drinking water. After a few nights she realized he hadn’t eaten. She allowed him to order from the menu and gave him a damn beer. But she refused to talk to him. She treated him like he was invisible, and it worked well for her. Kind of.
Raven knew what he was trying to do in this twisted plot to win her back. She also knew it was impossible, and with enough time, he’d tire of the game and move on. No man could continue in the same vein.
Until another week dragged by, and he kept sitting in her bar, night after night, happy to take whatever scraps she threw him.
It was driving her crazy.
Since it was a Tuesday, the crowd was a bit thinner than usual, so she took the opportunity to stomp over to his chair. He looked up, his expression happy, like he was grateful she noticed him. It reminded her of the first months after they’d met, when she’d given him a hard time. “Why are you doing this?” she demanded. “I don’t want you here. You don’t want to be here. Just move on, Slick, and pick up a pretty blonde who you can have fun with. Got it?”
His smile was pure joy. His dimples flashed. “Don’t you get it, Raven? I’m happy just being around you. This is the first time you’ve called me Slick in weeks.”
“It’s not a compliment,” she hissed.
“Okay.”
“Stop agreeing with me.”
“Okay.” He paused. “Can I have some sweet potato fries, please?”
“No.”
“Okay.” He just stared at her with that hungry look in his eyes. Her stomach dropped to her toes, but she turned her back and refused to say another word to him for the rest of the night.
But she got him the fries.
Days and nights rolled by, and they got into a strange routine. He was there like clockwork every night till closing. He followed her home, made sure she got inside, then disappeared. He showed up at the gym on the days she trained with Xavier, keeping his distance and working out in the weight room by himself. But he always greeted her, watched over her, and made sure she got safely to her car after her workout.
He sent her flowers. Not expensive roses or lilacs, but daisies. Simple, happy flowers that showed up in small batches on her doorstep. She threw them away the first few weeks, then began keeping them. No reason to waste a living thing that looked so pretty in her kitchen.
When she opened up the bar one Tuesday morning, she realized the front steps had been fixed. It had been on her list for a while, but with the budget of restoring the bar, she’d decided to patch them up until winter closed in.
Now she noticed they had been completely redone and sealed, with no cracks or bumps that would cause liability. She almost called him to demand to know whether he’d done it, then decided ignoring him would be the better option. After all, the man would probably boast about helping her out to win brownie points.
He never said a word.
Slowly, like rock eroded by water and smoothed out over the span of years, her emotions began to soften. She became more used to his presence. He was never with another woman, and the few times she caught a female trying to pick him up, he politely told them he was in love with the bartender.
He’d begun to recruit the crowd in My Place. They cheered him on like they were watching a love story unfold. Like she was some prize for him to win.
It pissed her off.
Even Al went from threatening to throw him out to chatting with him during his breaks. She tried to keep the pain of the night he’d left her close to her heart so she wouldn’t get tricked into believing this was real. Raven couldn’t let herself be hurt like that again. The next time he took her to bed and casually walked away as if she meant nothing would destroy her.
Why did it feel different, though? Like he’d made a decision to love her unconditionally and nothing would deter him? Not even her own stubbornness?
She finally snapped when she caught him leaving an envelope on her front porch early one Sunday morning. Not caring that she’d just rolled out of bed, she marched to the door, flung it open, and began yelling.
“What are you doing? Penance for your sins? They’re forgiven, Dalton, now please go away!”