Mel shot Tony a grateful smile. Despite his infamous reputation as a ladies’ man, he was also known about the small farming town of Rabbits Leap as being something of a gentleman and had quite the knack of making you feel at ease, which, considering her current heightened state of irritation, was quite a feat.
‘You’re still not taking a sip, or a slug. And, well, it sounds like you needed a slug.’
Mel narrowed her eyes at Tony, hoping to scare him into shutting up with a stern look. ‘What did I say about getting mouthy? And teasing for that matter?’
‘I’m not teasing. You look pale. Paler than usual, and you know you’re pretty pale, so you’re almost translucent right now. Even the bright streaks of pink in your hair are looking a little less hot.’
‘You pay attention to my hair colour?’ Mel’s hand unconsciously went to her hair and tucked a stray lock behind her ears. Tony looked at her hair? Since when? She’d always assumed he’d seen her as nothing more than a regular customer, a friendly acquaintance, not someone to take notice of. Sure, they got along well enough, would chat for a moment or two if they passed each other on the street, or if it was quiet in the pub, but that was the extent of their relationship.
‘Well, you’re about the most exciting thing to happen in this place for the last ten years…’
‘Me? Exciting?’ A tingle of pleasure stirred within her.
Tony winked and turned that tingle into a zing. Since her last boyfriend, the local vet, had taken off to care for animals overseas, Mel hadn’t had any action, let alone a compliment, from a man. And apparently, if that unexpected zing frenzy that had zipped through her body was anything to go by, she’d been craving it.
‘Yeah, exciting.’ Tony’s glance lingered on her face, as if drinking her in. ‘And pretty, too.’
She rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the way her body reacted to the words of approval. She picked up her glass and took the suggested slug. She was being stupid. Tony wasn’t calling her exciting, just her hair. And the only reason he was calling her pretty was because that’s what he did; he called women pretty, he charmed them, he took them to bed, and that was that. And she’d had enough of her love life – heck, her life in general – ending with ‘that was that’ to be interested in someone who’d pretty much created the phrase.
‘Feel better?’ His eyes, usually dancing with humour, were crinkled at the corners with concern.
‘Not really.’
‘Have another slug.’
As she lifted the glass she glanced around the bar, taking in the bar leaners with their tired, ring-stained, laminated tops and obsolete ashtrays in their centres. The tall stools next to them looked rickety from decades of propping up farmers, the pool table needed a resurface, and as for the dartboard… it was covered in so many tiny pin holes it was amazing a dart could stay wedged in it. The village chatter was right, Tony was doing it tough…
Her eyes fell on a machine sitting at the far end of the bar. All shiny and silvery and gleaming with newness. That shouldn’t be there.
Her blood heated up, and not in an ‘oh swoon, a man just complimented me’ kind of way.
‘What is that?’ Mel seethed through gritted teeth.
She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. What was he thinking? Did he have it in for her, too? Was it ‘Let’s Piss Off Mel Day’? She’d moved to Rabbits Leap just over a year ago to try and create a sense of security for herself. A place she could settle down in, call home, maybe even meet a nice, normal guy she could fall in love with. And in one day what little security she’d carefully built was in danger of being blown apart. First her mother calling to tell her she was coming to town and bringing her special brand of crazy with her, and now this?
‘What’s what?’ The crinkles of concern further deepened.
‘That.’ She pointed to the cause of her ire.
‘The coffee machine?’
‘Yeah, the coffee machine. The coffee machine that should not be in your bar, because I have a coffee machine. In my café. The only café in the village. You remember that? The one place a person can get a good cup of coffee? The place that just happens to be my livelihood, and you want to screw with it?’
Tony took a step back as if he’d been hit with a barrage of arrows. Good. His eyebrows gathered in a frown. But he didn’t look sorry. Why didn’t he look sorry? And why had he straightened up and stopped looking stricken?
‘It’s just business, Mel.’
‘And it’s just a small village, Tony.’
She looked at her wine and considered throwing the contents of it over him, then remembered how much it had cost. Taking the glass she brought it to her mouth and tipped it back, swallowing the lot in one long gulp.
She set the glass back on the bar, gently, so he wouldn’t see how shaken she was. ‘There’s only enough room in this village for one coffee machine.’ She mentally slapped herself as the words came out with a wobble, not as the threat she’d intended.
‘And what does that mean?’ Tony folded his arms and leant in towards her, his eyebrow raised.
Mel gulped. He wanted her to throw down the gauntlet? Fine then. ‘It means you can try to make coffee. You can spend hours trying to get it right, make thousands of cups, whatever. But your coffee will never be as good as mine and all you’ll have is a big hunk of expensive metal sitting unloved at the end of your bar.’
‘Sounds like you’re challenging me to a coffee-off.’
How could Tony be so cavalier? So unfazed by the truth? He’d spent a ton of money on something he’d only end up regretting.
Mel took a deep breath, picked up her wallet and walked to the door. She spun round to face her adversary.
‘There’s no challenge here. All you’re good for is pulling a pint or three. Coffee? That’s for the adults. You leave coffee to me.’
She leant into the old pub door, pushed it with all her might and lurched over the threshold into the watery, late-winter sun and shivered. Could today get any worse?
***
Had he done the wrong thing? Was buying that ridiculous monstrosity and installing it in the pub a stupid idea? He’d spent the last decent chunk of money he had to get it. What if it didn’t fly? What would happen next? He couldn’t keep the place open on the smell of a beer-soaked carpet, but he couldn’t fail either. It was all he had left to remind him of his family. The Bullion had been his dad’s baby. The one thing that had kept his dad sane after his mother had passed away. More than that, it was where what few solid memories he had of his mother were. Her smiling at him as he sat at the kitchen table munching on a biscuit while she cooked in the pub’s kitchen. The violet scent of her perfume as she’d pulled his four-year-old self into a cuddle after he’d fallen from a bar stool while on an ambitious mountaineering expedition.
Then there was the promise he’d made to his father, the final words they’d shared as his father breathed his last. His vow to preserve The Bullion’s history, to keep her alive. Dread tugged at his heart. What if he couldn’t keep that promise?
God, why couldn’t his father have been more open, more honest with him about their financial situation? Why couldn’t he have put away his pride for one second and seen a bank manager, cap in hand, asked for a… Tony shoved the idea away. No. That wasn’t an option. Not then. Not now. The McArthurs don’t ask for help. That was his dad’s number-one rule. A rule his father had also drilled into him. No, he wasn’t going cap in hand to a bank manager. He didn’t even own a cap, anyway. He just had to come up with some new ideas