Adjusting the neckline of her dress, she detoured to the bar and pulled up a stool while she waited for Jared to be done. From past experience, it could take a while.
The bartender was busy serving other people and gave her an I-see-you nod. Hungry, Kayla took a handful of salted cashews from the bowl on the counter. The only thing she’d had to eat in hours was a couple of mouthfuls of pureed carrots left over from the kids’ dinner.
“Is this seat taken?”
The guy was in his late thirties, smoothly polite, wearing a suit and tie that suggested a career in law or dentistry. Not handsome but assured.
“Go ahead. There seems to be a back-up with service.”
They chatted about the weather and the Christmas traffic.
The bartender arrived to take her order. “One mulled wine,” she said. “And a Guinness.” She’d seen Jared’s struggle with warm ale. This would have to be his last, he was driving her home. That was why he’d caught a cab from a jam session with his bandmates.
“You’re here with someone?” her bar companion asked casually.
“Bob and I are on a first date.” She gestured to Jared, the center of a throng of enthusiastic women.
“He’s a lucky guy.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
“Bob?” On the other side of the counter, the bartender held a Guinness schooner glass up to the light. “You know who he really is, right? Why those women made a beeline for him?”
Kayla affected surprise. “Well, Bob…” her brain scrambled for a surname “…Builder is very cute and they are very drunk.” Oh lord, she was hopeless at undercover.
The bartender frowned as he angled the schooner under the spout and eased the beer tap open. “Is that really the name he gave you?” He was a thin, intense guy with expressive eyebrows.
“There might have been a silent ‘the’ in there somewhere,” Kayla conceded, embracing the ridiculous.
The guy beside her laughed. So he had kids, then. No wedding ring either, so probably divorced. That saddened her. She wanted—needed—to believe in happy endings. Wasn’t that why she was here? To reclaim hers.
“He’s Jared Walker, the guy in that reality show last year,” the bartender said helpfully. “He was picked up as the bass player for Rage.” He placed the schooner on the counter and lifted the lid on what looked like a fancy crockpot. Steam rose fragrant with oranges and spices and sweetness.
“I don’t watch much TV.” Weren’t bartenders supposed to be discreet like priests and hairdressers? She’d never get used to strangers discussing her life as though it was a soap opera.
Expertly, he ladled mulled wine into a clean glass mug. “You’ve gotta know Rage, it’s a mega rock band.”
“I prefer yodeling, myself.” Kayla accepted her drinks and handed him a fifty-dollar bill.
He paused en route to the cash register. “Even on a Swiss mountaintop, you’d have heard about the lead singer, Zander Freedman. He’s been all over the news. Lip-syncing live concerts, everyone’s trying to get their money refunded.”
“That’s bullshit…I mean, it sounds like a media beat-up.”
“No,” he argued, making no further move to the till. If the bill had been less than a fifty, she would have told him to keep the change. “Freedman admitted to lip-syncing at a charity fundraiser.”
“The fundraiser, not the concerts,” she corrected, unable to stop herself. “The charity would have lost a lot of money otherwise…I hear. Shouldn’t you have your Christmas decorations up?”
“Hey, I’m a big fan,” the bartender finally went to the cash register. “I’ll be lining up to buy tickets when Freedman recovers from vocal surgery.”
Kayla said nothing. It wasn’t public knowledge that Zander’s singing voice might not recover.
“I never listen to entertainment gossip,” said the guy beside her and she rewarded him with a smile. “What interests me as a lawyer is Freedman’s tour insurers saying his vocal issues are pre-existing. If they don’t pay out tour cancellation insurance, he’s screwed financially.”
“I really do think this place needs Christmas decorations.” Kayla held out her hand for the change.
“Anyway, your hot date?” The bartender counted her change on her palm, lots of small bills for a tip. “It’s Jared Walker…no, don’t take the Guinness yet. Now the bubbles have settled I can pour the head.” Picking up the glass, he returned to the pump.
Reluctantly Kayla climbed back onto her stool, wishing she’d ordered a Bud.
A redheaded waitress put her tray on the counter. “Oh, I loved him on that reality show when he was auditioning for Rage. And his story was so moving. His wife entered him in the audition without his knowledge. And he wrote her that beautiful song. Soooo romantic.”