Real Good Man (Real Duet #1)

At least at home, I could walk across the hall and be treated to unsolicited advice from Frau Frances. Even though the woman outed me to the association board, I actually miss her.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I grab my phone, pull up her contact information, and call.

“Frances residence.”

Recognizing the voice of Irene, one of her caretakers, I say, “This is Banner Regent. I could feel Myrna missing me all the way from New York.”

“Ms. Regent, it’s good to hear from you. Let me see if Mrs. Frances is available to speak with you.”

I roll my eyes. “We both know she’s going to say no, even though she wants to say yes. Tell her it’s Smith College wanting to discuss naming a building after her.”

A few beats of silence pass before Irene replies. “I’m going to tell her you lied to me, you know.”

A chuckle rises up from my chest, already lightening my mood. “Perfect.”

“Hold, please.”

I wait sixty seconds before Myrna’s familiar raspy voice comes through.

“I’m not giving you any more damn money, if that’s what you’re asking.”

My lips stretch in a smile. “Color me shocked, Myrna. And here I thought you were going to give me all your millions after I was evicted.”

“Who is this? Because you sound like that ungrateful girl who used to live across the hall from me.”

“The one and only. You know you’ve missed me. Come on . . . you can admit it.”

“Please tell me you’re not homeless and hooking on the street.”

That pulls a full-blown laugh from me. “I’m really not. I’m in Kentucky, trying on the small-town life.” That should knock her back in her rocking chair. I didn’t tell Frau Frances where I was going before I left New York, because I was still pissed at her for tattling on me to the board.

“Kentucky?” The shock in her voice comes through loud and clear. “Why in God’s name would you go there?”

“I needed a cheap place to live so I don’t end up homeless and hooking,” I say, throwing her words back at her.

“Do they even fluorinate their water? It can’t be remotely civilized. You’ll probably get eaten by some strange animal.”

I’m not sure Myrna has left New York in twenty years, so her priceless reaction is just the comic relief I needed.

“So far the only thing that’s been eaten is my—”

She cuts me off before I can finish. “Gah! Still haven’t learned to keep your legs closed, you—”

Laughter bursts from my lips, drowning out whatever she says next, which is probably for the best. I wipe the tears from my eyes with the sides of my fingers so I don’t smear my eyeliner.

“Thank you, Myrna, for giving me exactly what I needed. You don’t have to admit it, but I know you miss me.”

She harrumphs, and it’s almost as good through the phone as in person. “If I did miss you, it’s only because the couple who moved in across the hall have a fondness for curry, and I’m choking to death on air freshener to get rid of the smell. If I die from this, I’m blaming you.”

Surprisingly, I don’t actually want to argue that it’s her own fault she’s stuck with the scent of curry.

“Good night, Myrna. I hope you wake up tomorrow.”

“If you feel the urge to bother me again, do it at a decent hour.”

The phone clicks, and I’m left with a small smile on my face. I really do miss the old lady. I always know how she’s going to treat me, because she never veers from it.

Unlike Logan lately.

My smile fades away, and I give myself a mental slap for thinking about him. What I need is another distraction. One that serves alcohol.

Greer said there is a bowling alley within walking distance from here. A hike, but walkable. I shift the car in reverse, determination rising to the surface.

It’s time to see what Gold Haven has to offer in the way of distractions.





Chapter 29


Banner


The neon sign says PINTS AND PINS, but the N in PINTS is unlit, so it reads PI TS AND PINS. Considering the peeling paint on the outside of the building and the rutted gravel parking lot, this place has definitely seen better days.

But beggars can’t be choosers, and this is the top of my list of options, especially because it seems to be the only thing open in this town. I’m not going back to that hair salon to knock on the window and ask Logan to keep me occupied tonight, that’s for damn sure.

As I walk inside, I wonder if my skinny jeans and even skinnier heels are a bad choice. You can see through my long black blouse to the black lacy cami beneath. In New York, I would have gone more scandalous, wearing only a bra under it, but I don’t want to cause any heart attacks in this town. From the looks I’m getting as I walk in the door, apparently my idea of conservative and Gold Haven’s idea of conservative are two different things.

The curious eyes scanning me from head to toe belong to both men and women, but I don’t slow my stride. I go directly to the bar. A woman is singing karaoke on a small stage, and I’m reminded that this is where Holly Wix got her start. Quaint.

“You look like trouble,” the bartender tells me.

She’s a heck of a lot tougher looking than I am . . . or maybe that’s just the impression her scar gives off. It starts at her jaw and wraps around to the opposite side of the base of her throat. Her dark hair is pulled away from her face in a bun, but not a messy, sexy one you might see on a bartender in Manhattan. Hers is tight and no nonsense.

I meet her direct stare. “I’m really not that much trouble.”

She sets a shot glass on the old wooden bar in front of me, scans me from head to toe, and then turns to grab a bottle of Ketel One from the top shelf. She pours the shot and slides it toward me.

“What’s this for?”

“It’s not on the house, if that’s what you’re thinking. That shit comes out of my paycheck, which is a joke to begin with.”

“So why would you give me something I didn’t order?”

“You were going to order some kind of fancy vodka cocktail that I don’t have the patience to google, so I’m cutting out all the time we would waste going through that song and dance.”

Surprisingly, I like her gruff, take-no-shit attitude, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let her think she knows anything about me.

“What is it with bartenders thinking they know everything? I mean, I could’ve come in here looking for a cold beer.”

She shakes her head, and her brown eyes meet mine. “You’re so full of shit. I’d bet all my tips tonight that you never order beer.”

I think about ordering one just to prove her wrong, but it’s a waste of posturing. “You’re right. I wouldn’t.”

I pick up the shot glass and pour the vodka down my throat. The burn and then the warmth it leaves in its wake both give me the distraction I’m needing tonight.

“Another?” she asks.

“You’re not going to assume?”

She gives me a single shake of her head. “Nah. That party trick only works once.” She wipes off her hands with the bar rag and holds one out to me. “I’m Nicole.”

I shake her hand and realize it’s one of the only sincere greetings I’ve gotten in this town. “Banner.”

Her eyes widen. “No shit? I’ve already heard of you.”