Naughty or Nice?

3. Kendall

CHAPTER 3

Kendall

The Uber drops me off in the heart of downtown Morrow. The last time Nate and I were in town, we didn’t have much time to explore. We’d only had time to eat at one of the local restaurants and do some Black Friday shopping.

Tonight is different. I peer down the street lined with bars and restaurants, each one adorned by twinkling Christmas lights, and try to decide where to go first.

I end up going to a place called Brewster. The door swings open to a barroom full of people in party hats, drinks in hand, mingling to loud Christmas music. Several of them look up as I walk in, their instant confusion scribbled on their faces.

“I’m sorry, doll. This is a private party,” calls one of the women. “Invite only!”

“Oh. Um, my bad. Sorry.” I back up without looking, accidentally stepping into a man behind me and spilling his spiked eggnog on the front of his shirt. “Shoot, sorry. Here, let me help?—”

“Don’t,” he snaps, wiping at his shirt with a square napkin. “Just get out of my way.”

“No need to be an ass. It was an accident.”

Thrown by the less-than-warm reception, I roll my eyes and dart toward the exit.

The second bar isn’t a much better option— it’s closed .

I pull on the door handle to the Lion’s Den only to realize it’s locked. Then I notice the sign on the window that reads it’ll be closed for the remainder of the year.

“Okay,” I mutter under my breath. “Maybe this was a mistake.”

The third bar is open, and not by invitation only, but from the moment I enter, I’m sure it’s not the place for me either. Cigarette smoke hazes the air, and a man sits slumped at the bar counter, clutching a beer bottle like he’s on the verge of passing out. Another pair of men are in the far corner shooting pool while a couple sits in a booth sucking on cigarettes that no doubt contribute to the bar’s cloudy air.

I cough at the smoke, my lungs feeling strangled.

“Can I fix you a drink?” asks the bartender, wiping down a counter that’s sticky.

“Um, no… that’s okay. I think I have the wrong place.”

Before the bartender can ask any more questions, I’m ditching the place.

Back to square one.

I sigh, looking up and down the street. Most of the restaurants have already started closing for the night and the boutiques have too.

This was probably a bad idea. I should’ve bought some wine from the local market and drank by myself in the Airbnb. I turn to go, deciding that I’ll take an Uber and spend the rest of the night binge watching Netflix.

The golden neon glare of a sign from across the street catches my eye first. It’s a frothy pint of beer overflowing to spell out the name of the bar.

Short and simple.

The Tavern.

The lights are on and the glowing front window shows a couple patrons inside. Nothing too crowded like Brewster but nothing underwhelming and off-putting like the second bar I’d gone into.

“Might as well check it out,” I mumble.

Crossing the street to the other side, I tug my coat tighter about myself and push open the swinging door. It flaps open to the scene I’d anticipated from watching across the street—a warm, cozy, fire-lit bar with a couple customers and a casual vibe.

Finally.

A decent bar.

The interior resembles a cabin with wood-paneled walls and log-style furnishings. A giant Christmas tree stands tall by the window and there’s an authentic bearskin rug lying flush on the ground in the center of the barroom. I tug off my gloves and approach the bar counter, eyeing the various taps available.

And the impressive variety of liquor readily available along the back wall.

Sliding onto the leather-cushioned stool, I glance up and down the bar counter for the one thing missing in The Tavern—the bartender.

No one’s behind the counter.

But none of the patrons seem to notice nor care. They chat away in their private circles or sway to the Christmas classics playing over the speakers. I recognize Eartha Kitt’s sultry voice crooning “Santa Baby”.

Another couple minutes go by with no bartender in sight. My patience starts to wane as I pull out my phone to check the time and consider ordering an Uber after all.

So much for this being the bar for me…

“Kendall?”

“Nicholas?!”

My insides flip in surprise as none other than Nate’s father appears from a backroom in the bar. He’s wiping off his hands on a dishrag that he slaps over his broad shoulder. He approaches the counter from the opposite end from where I’m seated, revealing what I should’ve known from the moment I stepped into The Tavern.

He’s the bartender.

He’s the bartender because it’s his bar.

How the hell could I forget Nate’s dad owned a bar in Morrow? One of many around the state, as he’s opened up several Taverns in North Carolina and even started his own brewing company. It’s how he’s also expanded with residential properties like the one I’m currently staying in.

All info I learned last Thanksgiving when I visited the Whittler family the first time.

But info that escaped me in the mind-muddling wake of my breakup with Nate.

He cracks a grin, stopping directly in front of me behind the bar counter. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

“Probably because I didn’t plan on it. I’m so sorry. I forgot this was your bar.”

“Why would you be sorry? It’s a free country. You and everyone else has the right to stop by for a drink.”

“Yeah but… you’re…”

He cocks a thick white brow. “I’m what? Nate’s father?”

“Well… um… yeah…”

“Does it bother you that I am? Does it make you want to leave The Tavern?”

I think on his question a second. “I’m not sure. It just seems awkward.”

“Darling, it’s only awkward if you make it awkward,” he answers, his crooked grin cause for another flip of my stomach. “How about I fix you a drink? What’s your poison of choice?”

“What do you have on tap?”

“Take your pick. We’ve got twenty-two different selections. Are you a beer drinker?”

My face falls, my tone weighted down by mourning. “Not really. Except when Nate and I went to sports games.”

“Light or dark? Ale or lager?”

“I’m not sure. Which would you recommend?”

He chuckles, but not out of condescension. The sound’s hearty and thick, almost like he’s endeared.

“Tell you what. I’ve got some Leinenkugel Bock on tap. It’s a German lager that’s a little darker but has some great flavors to it. Some sweetness with a hint of toffee and roasted nuts. Nothing too strong. A lot of my female patrons enjoy it.”

“Okay,” I say, offering him a small smile. “I’ll try it. I’m not even sure why I came out tonight. I should probably be home… at your home. I found a flight out tomorrow afternoon.”

“Did you? Back to Atlanta?” He grabs a pint glass and steps to the side, gripping the lever to the tap for the lager he’s suggested. The dark cherry-brown liquor flows into the glass ’til it’s reaching the rim.

“No, South Carolina. I couldn’t find anything direct to Atlanta right now. Curse of traveling so close to Christmas.”

“You know you don’t have to leave Morrow immediately, right? You can stay in the Airbnb as long as you need...”

“Trust me, it’s better I get the hell out of here,” I answer without thinking. Then my eyes widen and I quickly backtrack. “I mean… I’m sorry, not to say I don’t appreciate your hospitality. Thank you so much for letting me stay in your house. Seriously, I’m not even sure what I would’ve done if you hadn’t stepped in. I’d probably be crying on some park bench somewhere.”

The grin fades from his face for a tighter expression. The kind of furrowed-brow expression of a concerned father… or father figure.

“That wouldn’t have happened,” he says after a couple seconds. “I wouldn’t have allowed it. Even if I had to kick Nate out for you to stay. You were the one done wrong in this situation. He asked for your hand in marriage, had you fly down here, and then decided to try to drop you on a whim. It’s not right, and I’m not pleased with him. I raised him better than to treat the women in his life like they’re disposable.”

He slides the Leinenkugel across the bar counter at me and then presumably goes to fill up a second mug for himself.

But I’m more stuck on what he’s said.

“You… you knew we were engaged?”

“Of course I did. Nate came to me for advice before he asked you. I told him to make sure he’s serious. Some good that did.”

“He was serious. Serious about the promotion he was seeking at work.”

As my chest twinges painfully at the topic of our breakup, I reach to take my first sip of the lager. Nicholas was right when he said it wasn’t a strong beer, more so light and sweet. Perfect for sipping on.

He raises his own mug in a mock cheers and then swallows a mouthful. “If it makes you feel any better, you’re not the first girlfriend he’s had commitment issues with. I’ve never understood where he gets it from. Laura and I were together for twenty-five years. Never once did either of us waver on our vows.”

A tortured look passes over Nicholas’s face, his voice strained to match.

I frown, remembering what Nate had told me about his mother’s untimely passing. His father had been devastated. It had taken him years to get over the loss. In fact, sitting across the bar counter from him now, it seems like one of those things that will always be difficult for him.

“I’m…” I pause for a sad shake of my head, his grief resonating with me, even if mine is entirely different. “I’m so sorry for your loss. I know it’s none of my business and I didn’t know you at the time. But Nate told me about what happened. How the illness came out of nowhere.”

“The doctors did what they could. We enjoyed what time we had left before she went.” He shakes back his ear-length white locks and then releases a deep sigh. His usual easy, almost effortlessly reassuring air returns as he meets my gaze. So does the twinkle in his eye. “The point is, I didn’t raise Nate like that. But you should know you’ll be fine. You’ll move on and he’ll regret letting you go.”

“You really think so? You’re not just saying it?”

“I don’t think so, darling. I know so.”

“But he’s your son…”

He shrugs. “I call it like I see it. And I know how Nate works. He’ll grow bored with the secretary and then want what he can’t have. That’ll be you. Because by then, you’ll have moved on. You’ll be thriving more than ever.”

“Wow.”

“Hmmm?” he grunts.

I smile despite myself, tempted to laugh. “I mean, you would’ve been an amazing father-in-law. It almost makes me more disappointed the engagement’s over.”

“The two of you might not be together anymore, but I’m always here for you. The rest of the family is too. Everybody’s on your side except Frank. He’s trying to stick up for his cousin. But Amy and Jennifer gave Nate an earful for hours.”

“That means a lot. Thank you.”

“I’m relieved to see the return of your smile. Cheers on that.”

Nicholas raises his pint, and I take him up on his offer. The two of us toast to the moment, gazes linked, a warmth in the air.

Two hours later, The Tavern is emptying, but Nicholas and I haven’t moved from our spot at the bar counter. I’ve moved onto mulled wine (my second glass) while he’s switched from the Leinenkugel to a stronger ale that’s much more of an acquired taste.

We’ve long since drifted from the topic of Nate and our breakup. For that I’m grateful. I’ve had enough of feeling pitiful and pathetic to last me a lifetime. The last twenty-four hours have been more than enough.

As a pleasant warmth settles over me and I hit just the right amount of tipsiness, I’m enjoying myself. I’m dabbling in great conversation with an interesting older man that just so happens to be my ex’s father.

But who really cares?

It’s not like we’re not allowed to chat. It’s not as if I didn’t genuinely happen upon The Tavern and run into him at the bar counter.

Nicholas Whittler is unlike his son in many ways.

From his thick, hearty laugh and addictive sense of humor to his easygoing yet tough and masculine nature. He’s the kind of man who could chop down a tree and heave an armful of heavy logs inside to start a fire, and then wind up laughing with you over hot cocoa.

It doesn’t hurt that he’s attractive for an older man. Not just for a man in his fifties either, but a man of any age, really.

His white beard frames his square face and offsets his twinkling hazel eyes. The wrinkles he does have, like the slight lines bracketing his eyes and furrowing his brow, are signs of his age, but in an attractive silver fox sort of way. They denote his maturity. His wisdom and experience.

He’s a man who knows what he likes. What he wants.

Who he is.

The total opposite of Nate in that regard, who’s chasing after promotions at work and making marriage proposals he doesn’t mean.

We laugh over a story Nicholas tells me about first starting The Tavern. He’d struggled deciding on a name for the bar.

“I tried being a smartass,” he explains. “I figured I’d name the bar… Bar. Simple, right? Easy to remember. Then I realized what a challenge it would be any time someone tried to Google my place. You try finding a restaurant titled Restaurant. Doesn’t work, does it?”

I laugh, sipping from my spiced mulled wine. “So you decided The Tavern was better?”

“Less common. Plus, look around you. The place looks like a tavern. It seemed fitting.”

“It’s very cozy. I like it. I felt comfortable as soon as I came in.”

He grins at me. “Good to hear. Especially from a woman coming out for drinks alone.”

“Something I’ve never done before. I’m not even a big drinker.”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret.” He leans halfway over the counter and drops his voice to a whisper. “Me neither.”

“Really? But you own a bar. Several bars around the state.”

“Which makes me a good judge of character on the business. I can view it from a professional, not personal, point of view. Don’t get me wrong—I enjoy a good ale every so often.” He raises his half-full pint before he takes another swig. “But I keep it to a minimum. My health’s more important.”

I smirk. “I see. You’re in excellent shape for your age.”

“For my age? I forget I’m no spring chicken anymore.” He chuckles good-naturedly.

“I didn’t mean it like that. Actually, you’re in better shape than a lot of guys in their twenties. Way too many of them have beer guts.”

“No need to explain. I’m not ashamed of my age. I’m grateful to be fifty-four. It’s a blessing that I consider myself fortunate to have achieved.”

“Most women like an older man,” I blurt out.

“That’s good to know. Too bad I haven’t had the guts to pursue anyone since Laura—or any interest to either.”

“We’re in the same boat. I’m not sure I’ll be interested in another man anytime soon.”

“Doesn’t mean other men won’t be interested in you.” He winks at me, taking another drink from his ale.

My whole face warms up. “You really should stop complimenting me. Nate told me I’m not his type. His exact words.”

“Nate doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about. Any man can take one look at you and see you’re a catch.”

I’m suddenly aware of the fact that we’re alone .

That everyone else in The Tavern has trickled out one by one over time. The last man waved at Nicholas a few minutes ago as he headed toward the door and stepped out into the winter cold.

It’s just the two of us remaining, drinking to the backdrop of Christmas tunes. I find myself acutely aware of how warm the barroom feels. Even more aware of how my belly flutters for some inexplicable reason and of how I can’t stop smiling anytime Nicholas looks at me.

The more wine I sip, the harder it becomes to stay composed.

To remind myself I was out for one drink and one drink only.

I’m supposed to be moping. Grieving the death of my relationship with Nate.

Sure, I said I was coming out tonight to prove I didn’t need him, but deep down, it was more so a coping mechanism. Some distraction I could use to pass the time ’til my flight tomorrow.

Yet as I sit on the bar stool across from Nicholas, his father , I’m incapable of pulling away. I’m invested in our conversation, seeking more of our exchange.

I’d stay here all night if he didn’t close.

Nicholas checks the time on his watch as if reading my mind. “Damn, I was supposed to close thirty minutes ago. I didn’t mean to keep you this long, darling. I’m sure you want to head out.”

“Oh. Right. It’s getting late.”

“If you wait a few minutes, I can give you a ride.”

I sit idly by as Nicholas launches into a quick cleanup of the bar counter, washing the last few glasses and locking up the backroom and cash register.

“Do you mind turning off the stereo?” he asks from over his shoulder. “I’ve just got a couple more things.”

“Sure.”

I slide off the barstool and cross the room to cut off the music playing. Eartha Kitt’s “Santa Baby” has started again for the third time tonight. I press the button I believe is the ‘off’ button, only to somehow turn up the volume.

“Oh, shoot,” I mumble, fiddling with the controls. “Which one would it be?”

“It’s tricky. None of the buttons are labeled. Here.”

Nicholas comes out from behind the counter, all six foot two inches of him. His stride is quick and assertive as he approaches and then overtakes me with his large stature. I’m left breathless as he reaches over me, his thick, hairy arm grazing mine reaching for the controls. I go still, a hot wave crashing over me.

“It’s this button to cut it off,” he says, his voice so damn husky and smooth.

It does things to me. Makes me flustered as I glance up and find him already peering down at me.

We’re so close, we’re touching.

We’re standing up against each other, with my back to his front. My head tilted up toward his and his bowed down toward mine. His arm’s outstretched over mine, our hands an inch apart.

Nicholas seems to notice all the same things I have in the exact same moment.

His large hand wraps around mine. Warm tingles surge through me at his touch.

Yet I don’t pull away. I don’t look away as he slowly turns me so that I’m facing him. Neither of us utter a word as we become aware of the inevitable.

We know what’s going to happen before it does.

In the second that follows, I close my eyes and brace for his kiss. His lips that are warm and inviting as soon as they touch mine.