Raven loved stuff. She might not know how to restore or decorate properly, and she couldn’t care less about frilly curtains or bedding or sofa pillows, but a good, solid antique spoke to her. She enjoyed spending some free time roaming at the local vintage store, the Barn, and seeing what else she could pick up.
Pride flowed rich in her veins. When she’d decided to buy the bar, it had been almost unsalvageable from a previous fire and was dirt cheap. After years of refusing to touch her father’s life insurance money, Raven decided it was the only way to buy the pub. After restoration, she was even able to reopen the restaurant. At first, she kept the menu simple but satisfying, featuring her famous sweet potato fries. But when she snagged her real live culinary chef, they decided to step it up and give the cornerstone restaurants in town competition. The burgers were gourmet, with specialized toppings the locals flocked in for. The steaks were oversize and thick, and the few vegetarian dishes offered were creative and satisfying, not the usual rabbit food most thought of. Her staff was well trained, well treated, and always backed up. But what kept the crowds booming was the best damn cocktails imaginable. She’d finally made a name for herself, and she intended to keep growing doing what she did best.
Working her ass off.
Yeah. Things were good.
The past surged up and tried to sucker punch her, but she stepped neatly away and allowed herself to let it go. Hadn’t she learned her lesson? Steeping herself in a world that could only provide bitterness and regret wasn’t something she did anymore. As long as she moved forward, there was enough to make her happy.
She had a few more hours till opening and a lot to do. Besides a brief staff session and a meeting with Al to go over the menu, she’d been playing with a new cocktail idea that combined fresh raspberries and mint, which were in season.
Raven headed behind the bar and got to work.
chapter three
Dalton walked through the saloon doors and took in the scene.
My Place was becoming the place to hang out, which was surprising since it was located just outside of Harrington, away from the popularity of Main Street. Harrington was a well-known town that drew tourists by the busload to explore the marina and artsy shops and seafood restaurants. Nestled close to Greenwich, it was also a town that boasted pure money, and many celebrities resided behind its exclusive gates. It was an easy commute to Manhattan, and was featured in some highbrow magazines as the best hidden secret in the Northeast. Dalton had been sad when he’d seen how much the town had grown. He missed the purity of the place he’d grown up in. But the locals had claimed My Place for themselves, preferring to leave Main Street and all its pretty trappings for amazing pub food, cocktails, and a pool table.
The place was packed, and classic Michael Jackson blared from the jukebox in the corner. Four guys were playing a lively game of pool, and a baseball game flickered on the dual televisions. The Mets were on. He’d actually become a Dodgers fan during his time in California, but he wouldn’t admit it here. A group of young women took up the far right side of the bar, giggling and sipping some type of frothy pink cocktail that gave him a toothache just looking at it. The scents of sweet potato fries, grilled meat, and draft beer drifted in the air.
Finally he allowed his gaze to narrow in on the two things he was becoming obsessed with.
Raven.
And her bar.
The latter lay before him in tired, battered glory. The brick wall behind set off the massive high-topped bar that desperately needed restoring. Dents and chips marred the wood, and cheap gold foot bars and handrails seemed stuck on without thought as to aesthetics. His fingers itched with the need to touch the magnificent mahogany and bring it back to its original condition. In his head, he saw pictures of how he’d piece it back together and replace the gold trims. Take off the awful glass top and install hand-carved shelves to properly show off the array of liquor bottles and glasses that could stun an onlooker. The stools were structured of cheap, old oak that actually detracted from the main focus of the bar.
Oh, how badly he wanted to get his hands on her. Show her some tenderness and stroke her back to beauty. It would change the entire look of the restaurant and restore the bar to the queen she should be. This was a project that excited him.
Almost as much as the owner did.
Unfortunately, he didn’t think Raven would let him get his hands on her body, or her bar.