Claret and Present Danger, page 3
He produced two tickets from the back pocket of his jeans. “I’ve got a couple right here. They’re yours if you want them.”
“Really?” I said with a thrill of excitement.
He nudged them across the bar to me. “All yours.” He winked at me and then picked up the beers. “Enjoy.”
“Thank you!” I called as he and Minerva headed across the room to join their colleagues.
“You look like you won the lottery,” Damien observed as he came around behind the bar. He’d just delivered a tray full of cocktails to two tables across the room.
I held up the tickets, a big smile on my face. “Ozzie Stone gave me free tickets to one of his shows!”
Damien grabbed a cocktail shaker and a bottle of Scotch. “The illusionist?”
“He came in with his girlfriend. It turns out he’s from Knoxville.”
I dashed into the kitchen with the order slip and then tended to a table of three women in their twenties. I returned to the bar to get their drinks. Damien was still there, mixing a cocktail I’d named the Malt in Our Stars. It was made from Scotch whiskey, lemon juice, and ginger ale.
“I don’t plan on going to the faire myself,” he said as he worked, “but my daughters are excited about it. I got them tickets for tonight’s show, which must be over now if Ozzie’s here.” Damien was a single father of two teenage girls. He pulled his phone out from beneath the bar. “Just checking to make sure they’re home now.”
They must have been, because he tucked his phone away again without showing any hint of worry or irritation.
“That was lucky about the tickets,” I said after he’d delivered the drink and returned to the bar. “I tried to get some this morning, and they were all sold out.”
“I ordered them online last week, before the faire arrived in town.”
“That was smart.”
“But things have worked out for you too.”
I studied the tickets more closely. My excitement drained away. “Except the show’s in the evening. I’ll be busy with work.”
Damien collected empty glasses from the other end of the bar. “I’d offer to handle everything myself, but with the way business is these days . . .”
“I know,” I said, disappointment weighing on my shoulders. “It’s too much for one person.”
“Maybe Mel will take on an extra shift.”
“Maybe,” I said.
I wasn’t holding out much hope, though. Between her afternoon shifts here at the Inkwell and all the work she was doing on her mural, I suspected she already had enough on her plate. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to ask.
I tucked the tickets into the drawer of the cash register for safekeeping. I’d text Mel later to see what she said. In the meantime, I had drinks to mix and customers to serve.
The kitchen shut down for the night shortly after I delivered Ozzie and Minerva’s food order to them. The crowd thinned out slightly after that, but within one hour of closing, the pub was still half full.
Two men at the end of the bar were both on their second pint of beer. I gathered from the snippets of conversation I’d overheard that they were both musicians working at the faire. The shorter of the two men had thinning light brown hair and a rotund build. He didn’t seem to be in a bad mood until Ozzie and Minerva got up from their table and headed out of the pub.
The musician watched them go with a scowl on his face. “He’s going to ruin the faire for everyone,” he grumbled.
“Who?” the second man asked with surprise. “Ozzie?” This man appeared to be several years younger and more physically fit than his companion. “He’s bringing in more people. Isn’t that a good thing?”
“He steals the show.”
The younger man nudged him with his elbow. “Come on, Hamish. I don’t think that’s true. He’s good for the faire.”
Hamish glowered at his beer. “All anybody cares about is Ozzie Stone now. People barely listen to my music.”
“That’s nothing new.” The man said it jokingly, but his smile faded when he saw that Hamish wasn’t impressed.
“Everything started going downhill when Rachael took over,” Hamish groused.
“I disagree, man. She’s injected new life into the faire.”
“New life? We used to be a traditional Ren faire. Now look at us. A circus? Mermaids? Mermaids don’t belong at a Renaissance faire.”
“Why not?” his friend asked. “People love them.”
Hamish muttered something that I couldn’t make out.
His friend got up from his stool. “Let’s go, Hamish. I think you need to sleep off your bad mood.”
I expected Hamish to grumble some more, but instead he drained the last of his beer and followed his companion out of the pub.
Maybe Hamish didn’t like the fact that the illusionist was the star of the faire, but I still wished I could use the free tickets Ozzie had given me.
Chapter 4
When I opened the pub at noon the next day, I propped open the front door to allow the gentle summer breeze to waft into the old gristmill. I’d likely have to turn on the air-conditioning before too long, but at the moment the outdoor temperature was still pleasant, and I wanted to make the most of it.
I took a moment to stand in the doorway and enjoy the fresh air. I also took the opportunity to give my white-haired, blue-eyed cat, Wimsey, a pat on the head. He was perched on one of the two whiskey barrels that flanked the front door of the pub. It was one of his favorite places to hang out. Although he mostly preferred to cuddle only on cold winter evenings, he enjoyed watching customers come and go from his kingdom, and he didn’t mind having his silky fur stroked occasionally.
I just had to make sure that he didn’t venture into the pub while the door was open. I didn’t want to get in trouble for any health violations. He didn’t look like he planned on going anywhere at the moment, though. He was half asleep, his cute pink tongue sticking out partway.
Before heading inside to await the first customers of the day, I ventured out onto the lawn and snapped a picture of Wimsey on his barrel. With colorful flowers blooming in pots by the whiskey barrels, the photo of the front of the gristmill could have been used on a postcard. At the moment, it was destined for my social media accounts.
I uploaded the picture and was about to head back indoors when my aunt Gilda came across the footbridge toward me. She had her auburn hair tied up in a fancy knot, and she wore a summery outfit of white capris and a flowy blue top. I greeted her with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, always happy to see her. I’d come to visit my favorite aunt the previous summer, after breaking up with my boyfriend and losing my job to a merger. She’d provided me with a place to stay and a shoulder to cry on. I’d never expected to remain in Shady Creek permanently, but I’d fallen in love with the old gristmill, which had happened to be up for sale at the time.
Now I was grateful for the series of events that had led me to this town, as difficult as they might have been at the time. I was happy and at home in Shady Creek, and I’d forged some great friendships here in the past year.
“You’re my first customer of the day,” I told Aunt Gilda.
“That means I’ve got you all to myself. For the moment, at least.”
“Absolutely,” I agreed.
Gilda paused to greet Wimsey but then followed me into the pub. She requested a Red Cabbage of Courage salad and a cup of coffee, so I headed to the kitchen while she took a seat at a table by one of the windows. Former college football player Booker James was working the afternoon shift in the kitchen. When I relayed Aunt Gilda’s order to him, he acknowledged it with a playful salute and then went back to singing John Lennon’s “Imagine.” Booker was a talented musician as well as a great chef, and I didn’t think he ever worked a shift at the Inkwell without humming or singing at least one song.
Mel was on shift for the afternoon too, and she’d already poured Aunt Gilda a cup of coffee. I was about to sit down and join my aunt when half a dozen customers wandered into the pub. By the time I took their orders, three more customers had arrived.
“Go ahead and spend some time with Gilda,” Mel told me as she poured two glasses of white wine. “I’ve got things covered for the moment.”
“Thanks, Mel,” I said with a grateful smile.
I dashed into the kitchen and fetched Aunt Gilda’s salad of red cabbage, crispy ramen noodles, almonds, sunflower seeds, and delicious seasoning. I set the plate in front of her and joined her at the table. Outside the window, the sun shone brightly and the green leaves of a maple tree swayed in the breeze.
“How was the faire?” Aunt Gilda asked as she started in on her salad. “Did you have a good time with Shontelle and Kiandra?”
“I had a great time,” I said. I proceeded to tell her about the acrobats and other performers we’d seen. “And the next night, illusionist Ozzie Stone came into the Inkwell.”
“I’ve heard he puts on a great show,” Gilda said.
“I’ve heard that too, and I really wanted to catch one of his performances. The tickets are all sold out, but Ozzie gave me a couple of free ones when he was here. It turns out he’s from Knoxville.”
“I didn’t realize he was a Tennessee boy. So you’re going to the show?”
My shoulders sagged as I remembered my dilemma. “No, I can’t. I have to work. I asked Mel if she could take on an extra shift, but she’s got too much on her plate at the moment.”
Gilda nodded. “She’s working on that beautiful mural.”
“And teaching a girls’ boxing class at the community center,” I added. “Would you like the tickets? You could take Betty or another friend with you.”
Betty worked in Aunt Gilda’s hair salon and was her closest friend in Shady Creek.
“I have a better idea,” Gilda said. “You go to the show, and I’ll help out Damien here at the pub.”
“I couldn’t ask you to do that,” I protested.
“You aren’t asking. I’m offering. I might not know how to mix all the cocktails on the menu, but Damien can take care of that. I can easily pour wine and beer, take orders, and deliver meals. Don’t forget that I used to waitress at Calhoun’s back in the day.”
Calhoun’s was a popular eatery in Knoxville that had been around for decades. Gilda had worked there while she trained to become a hairstylist.
“I know you’d do a good job, but I don’t want to impose,” I said.
“Honey, it’s not an imposition. I think I’d find it quite fun. And I want you to go to the show.” She picked up her coffee mug. “Take Grayson with you. The two of you haven’t had enough time together recently.”
That was certainly true. Grayson and I had started seeing each other two months ago, but since then we hadn’t managed to fit in as many dates as either of us would have liked. The Inkwell kept me busy, and Grayson’s brewery was also enjoying a steady stream of visitors. His already popular craft brewery had recently enjoyed some great nationwide publicity, in the form of an episode of the television show Craft Nation, which featured craft breweries across the country.
The episode had aired a couple of weeks earlier, and already visitors were mentioning to his staff that they’d chosen to come to Shady Creek after seeing the Spirit Hill Brewery on the TV show. The episode had also led to many requests for interviews with Grayson from newspapers and other media outlets. He’d made several recent trips to Boston, New York City, and Toronto, Ontario, for related interviews and meetings. Even when he was at home, he barely had a spare moment.
I understood how time consuming it could be to run a business, but I still wished we could see more of each other. It felt like our relationship had barely had a chance to get off the ground.
“You’re right,” I said to Aunt Gilda. “Grayson and I haven’t been spending enough time together. I’d love to go to Ozzie’s show with him.”
“Then that’s settled. What time do you need me here?”
“Around six, maybe,” I said. “But I have to talk to Grayson before we make any concrete plans. He might not even have time to go to the show.”
“I’m sure he’ll make time if he’s able.”
“I hope so.” I pushed back my chair. “I’ll text him right now.”
I sent him a quick message, asking if he was free to go to the show with me that evening. It was probably a good thing that I didn’t have time to sit around waiting for a response to come in. The pub was getting busier by the minute, keeping me and Mel constantly on the go.
It wasn’t until a couple of hours later that I was able to check my phone.
I smiled when I saw Grayson’s response.
It looked as though I’d be attending Ozzie Stone’s show that night, after all.
Chapter 5
Aunt Gilda insisted on taking over for me at the Inkwell shortly after four o’clock so Grayson and I would have time to take in the sights at the faire before Ozzie’s show started at seven. After she arrived and got to work helping Mel, I ran upstairs to my apartment to put out some food for Wimsey, much to his delight, and to change my clothes. I decided to wear a pistachio-green sundress with a pattern of tiny white daisies. Flat sandals completed my outfit. There was no way I wanted to walk around the fairgrounds all evening in heels. Once dressed, I applied sunscreen and grabbed my sunglasses before deciding I was ready to go.
I left the gristmill through the back door, so I wouldn’t be tempted to help with taking orders or mixing drinks on my way out. I knew that Aunt Gilda and Mel—and later Damien—could handle everything, but sometimes it was still difficult for me to take time away from the pub when business was hopping. At least I had my phone with me, so they could text me in case of emergency. I hoped that wouldn’t be necessary.
As I crossed the footbridge, I greeted a group of four adults who were heading to the Inkwell. I didn’t recognize them and figured they were tourists. My suspicion was confirmed when I overheard them exclaiming about the scenic nature of the old gristmill. I couldn’t help but smile with pride when they stopped to snap photos of the building.
My smile brightened further when I reached Creekside Road. Grayson was walking toward me, dressed in jeans and a blue T-shirt that matched the color of his eyes. He was clean shaven, and his dark hair was tousled in its usual way. As he drew closer, I realized that the design on the front of his shirt was the logo for the Spirit Hill Brewery.
“You look amazing,” Grayson said, reaching for my hands.
I greeted him with a kiss. I’d meant to compliment his appearance as well—he always looked great, in my opinion—but all thoughts of conversation disappeared as our kiss deepened.
When we finally drew apart, Grayson grinned at me, setting off a fluttering of butterfly wings in my chest.
“In case you couldn’t tell, I really missed you,” he said.
I smiled at that. “I really missed you too. I’m so glad you were free tonight.”
He kept hold of one of my hands as we set off along Creekside Road, heading for the park where the Renaissance faire was taking place.
“I was about to call you when I saw your text,” he said. “I was hoping to see you tonight, even if it meant sitting at the bar while you worked.”
I gave his hand a squeeze. “You’re welcome to do that anytime, but I’m glad to be going to the show with you.”
We paused for a car to go by and then crossed the street.
“How have you been?” I asked.
We’d exchanged text messages over the past few days, but we hadn’t had a real conversation since the previous week.
“Crazy busy, but good. A craft brewing club from Boston called. They wanted to book private tours for later this month. They’ve got thirty-two members who want to come.”
“That’s awesome!”
“It is,” he agreed. “And with all the tourists already in town, I don’t think business is going to slow down anytime soon.”
“That’s a good thing.”
“Definitely. As long as I still get to spend time with you.”
My heart danced a happy jig in my chest. I was so glad he wanted to spend time with me as much as I did with him.
We’d reached the park, so we got in line at the gates and waited for our turn to buy tickets to enter the fairgrounds. Some of the people in the line wore Renaissance costumes, but most people were dressed in modern clothes like me and Grayson. When we passed through the gates a few minutes later, my stomach gave a loud rumble. I hoped Grayson hadn’t heard it, but his brief chuckle dashed those hopes.
Heat rushed to my cheeks. “I haven’t eaten since this morning,” I confessed. “I didn’t have a chance to take a break after opening the pub.”
“I’m hungry too.” Grayson took in the sight of the nearest food vendors. “Looks like we’ve got some good choices for dinner. Why don’t we eat early?”
I wasn’t going to argue with that suggestion.
Before we could take another step, a curvy woman wearing a Renaissance-style dress with a very revealing neckline threw herself into Grayson’s arms, almost knocking him off balance.
“My Lord,” she said, clutching at his shirt and gazing up into his eyes, “art thou desiring of some passion this fine night?”
Even though I didn’t have any food in my mouth, I almost choked.
“Mayhap,” Grayson replied smoothly. “But not with thee.”
The woman gasped, as if mortally insulted. She pulled back from Grayson. “Which mistress hath stolen thy affections?” She aimed her sharp gaze at me. I knew my cheeks had already gone bright red, thanks to Grayson’s words and their possible meaning.
The woman was about to say something to me when a costumed man rushed over and grabbed her arm.
“Impertinent wench!” The man tugged her away from us. “Get thee to the tavern and fetch yon ale!”
The woman hurled insults at him as he pulled her into the tavern.
Several people had filmed the exchange with their phones, laughing as they watched. I hoped I hadn’t been caught on video.
Grayson seemed amused but unruffled by the incident.
“How did she not take you by surprise?” I asked as he took my hand and we continued walking.
