Christmas Rings Page 3

  “Shaken, please.” Denim Eyes’ cheeks had turned bright red. Or, Mr. Marsh, she thought. He shifted in his chair and scratched behind his ear as he looked away from the stage.

  “Olives or twists?” Alissa asked.

  “I like them dirty, as dirty as they come,” Gray Hair said before whipping his head back to the stage where Gayle was making her entrance in a naughty nurse outfit to the tune of “Hurts So Good.”

  “Twist for me, please,” Marsh said, not meeting Alissa’s gaze.

  The other two asked for olives, without the sexual innuendo.

  Alissa scurried off to the bar. Rif tended bar on Friday nights, along with Marty, a crusty former sailor who Alissa adored.

  “Four Marsh martinis, up. One with a twist, the other three with olives. One dirty.”

  “You got it, little lady,” Marty said. He was the type who could call a woman little lady and get away with it—at least with her. He was from a different time, so Alissa cut him some slack. Her sisters Stevie and Jo would not have. They had no patience for that kind of thing.

  Rif set a pitcher of beer on the counter.

  “See that table?” she said, indicating with a slight nudge toward Marsh and his friends. “Do you know him? The young, cute one?”

  “Sure. That’s Jed Marsh. Of Marsh Vodka,” Rif said. “He comes in during the day usually—just to do business. I’ve never seen him here at night.”

  “I got the feeling he’s entertaining clients,” Alissa said. “And that he’s not thrilled to be here.”

  “He’s a straight-and-narrow type of guy,” Rif said. “His old man runs the show but supposedly the business will be passed down to him in the next few years.”

  While the guys fixed the drinks, she took the pitcher of beer to a table of men who looked like they belonged in a fraternity house. By the time she returned, Rif had four martinis on a platter for her.

  “Marsh hasn’t taken his eyes off you,” Rif said.

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, you. Be careful,” Rif said. “His mother’s the dragon lady. Runs off every woman he’s ever met.”

  “How do you know?” Alissa asked.

  “He’s been selling me vodka for a long time,” Rif said. “We talk, you know, how men do. I complain about my wife. He complains about his mother. Good man, that one, but his old man’s a real piece of work. Throw the mother in there and no wonder he’s single.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said. “Not that I’m available or anything.”

  “You’re not?” Rif asked.

  “Who dates a girl that works in a place like this?” Alissa asked.

  Rif clutched the front of his shirt. “I’m hurt.”

  “You know what I mean,” she said. “Look at this outfit. Am I the type you take home to mama?”

  “You’re a kindergarten teacher,” Marty said.

  “By day,” Alissa said. “But at night I’m a cocktail waitress in a questionable club.” She grinned to let them know she was teasing. Kind of, anyway.

  “Off with you,” Rif said. “I’ve had enough of your sassy mouth.”

  Here’s what Alissa had learned during her tenure at the club. People, like Rif and Marty—good people—were in all walks of life. One didn’t have to be a pastor to be a good person. In fact, one’s profession had nothing to do with the compassion of one’s heart. Maddie had always taught them to be openminded, to remember that it was not a human’s right to judge another. That right was reserved for God. This lesson had been hammered into Alissa’s consciousness since the first night she put on her waitress uniform and met some of the other girls. Before this experience, she might have judged them for their choice of work. Not now. She liked this about herself, that she could see below the surface of a thing and understand that life was complicated. One’s journey was not always the straight path one wished it to be. There were boulders that crushed, mountains to climb, rivers to cross.

  We were survivors, she’d often thought over the years. The experiences of her sisters and Maddie were proof. What she and her sisters had survived, prior to Maddie making them a family, had changed them, marked them forever. Yet, all the good and bad mingled together to form the complex, phenomenal women they all were.

  Even me, she thought, as she dabbed a wet spot on the side of one of the martini glasses. She might not be as smart or ambitious as her sisters, but she had a calling. Those little ones in her class, especially the ones from families struggling financially, inspired her to bring her all every single day. The foundation she gave them would take them through their whole lives. Someday, she would look back and know she’d impacted the world in her small way.

  She lifted the tray of martinis, thanking Rif, and headed back to Marsh and his companions. At the table, she placed the extra dirty one next to the dirty old man, careful not to get close enough that his hand could grab her bottom. She set the other two martinis in front of the generic suit guys, then gave the last one to Marsh.

  “That’s a balancing act,” Marsh said, gesticulating toward her tray. “My family appreciates your care. We think every drop of our vodka is precious.” He said this with a self-deprecating smile that matched his vocal tone. She liked him, this handsome Marsh, with his kind eyes and good manners. There was a quality about him, perhaps the precise way he moved and his squared shoulders, that reminded her of another era. A time when men kept their eyes focused on a woman’s face instead of her chest.

  The others at the table? Not so much. At times like this, she wanted to grab the nearest jacket and slip it over her shoulders.

  No whining, she told herself. This was the only way to help Sophie.

  She smiled sweetly and asked if they’d like anything else.

  “We’re good for now,” Marsh said. “Thank you.”

  They exchanged a quick smile before she scooted off to the next table. The rest of the night passed quickly. Jed Marsh and his friends stayed for another round of drinks before leaving around midnight. As expected, Marsh paid the bill. She smiled to see the thirty percent tip he left her.

  After closing time, she counted her tips at the bar, while Rif and Marty cleaned and put away glasses and mugs. It had been a good night. The dancers were always wound up by the end of the night, so those who didn’t have to be home right away were enjoying a cocktail at one of the empty tables. She would have expected them to be too tired to talk, but they chatted away about this and that. Alissa was too tired to even listen but enjoyed the familiar cadence of their voices and their laughter.

  “Jed Marsh asked about you,” Rif said.

  “He did?” She cringed at the high-pitched schoolgirl tone of her words.

  “I told him you were single,” Rif said. “But that you’re one of a kind and perfect, so if he’s interested, he has to prove his worthiness first.”

  “Rif, you didn’t?”

  “If he’s worth his salt, then he’ll rise to the challenge,” Rif said, shrugging.

  “Who exactly does he have to prove his worth to?” Alissa smiled, knowing the answer.

  “Me, for one,” Rif said. “I can’t have him waltzing in here and thinking he can take you out just because he’s rich.”

  “Me, for two,” Marty said.

  “And what does this dog and pony show look like?” Her grandmother, Nan, used that phrase, and it always made Alissa laugh, imagining a dog and a pony dancing a jig.

  “I told him what’s necessary,” Rif said. “The first step is flowers, with a request for a dinner date. I made sure he understood you would not be picked up so that he could murder you in his car.”

  “Rif, I don’t think he’s a murderer,” Alissa said, laughing.

  “Until we know for sure, you will meet him at the restaurant.”

  “He hasn’t even asked me out yet.”

  “If he does as asked, there will be flowers and a card delivered here tomorrow,” Rif said. “We’ll wait and see.”

  “You two probably scared him away.”r />
  “So, you would go out with him?” Marty asked.

  “I mean, I guess so. He’s cute and has exceptional manners. Other than the goon he was with, he seemed nice.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Rif said.

  Alissa gathered her bills and blew both men a kiss. “I’ll see you tomorrow evening.” They really were the dearest, sweetest guys around, even though they were ridiculously overprotective of her and the dancers. She could remember her father being that way too, joking that she wouldn’t be allowed to date until she was thirty.

  In the dressing room, she peeled her uniform from her tired body and pulled on her jeans and sweatshirt. Rif had a rule that they were not to walk to their cars alone. Millie was ready to go, thankfully.

  “Let’s do it, girl,” Millie said. “I could sleep for a week.”

  “Me too,” Alissa said. She clocked out, calling good-night to the girls who were removing makeup at the bank of mirrors in the dressing room. They all gave friendly waves before Alissa and Millie stepped out the back door.

  It was raining, as usual. Seattle was a fine town, other than the rain and the fact that normal people couldn’t afford the rent. Under the protection of the awning, she rummaged for her umbrella in her handbag and realized she’d left it at home.

  “Where are you?” Alissa asked, as she scanned the cars and trucks in the mostly empty parking lot.

  “Just two from you,” Millie said. “My car broke down last week, so I bought a new one. Not that I could afford it with tuition due, but I have to get around.”

  “I hear you,” Alissa said. “I’m worried I’ll need to do the same soon. Last week, mine wouldn’t start and I panicked.”

  “How’s Sophie?” Millie asked, as they made a run for their cars.

  Everyone knew the story of Sophie’s accident. They’d all been rooting for her recovery.

  “She’s much better.” Rain pelted Alissa’s face and drenched her hair. She really should have worn a coat. Spring in Seattle was temperamental. Cherry trees bloomed in brilliant pink, but the days were as cold and damp as they had been for months. “They let her out of traction finally. She’s home but still not able to get around much. The physical therapist will help once the casts come off but that’s another month away.”

  “What a nightmare.”

  “It has been, yes.”

  They were at Millie’s car by now. “Does that mean another month for you here?” Millie asked.

  “At least.”

  “You’re a good friend,” Millie called out, as they parted ways for their cars. “Sophie’s lucky to have you.”

  Alissa thanked her and sprinted the rest of the way to her car. Once inside, she locked the doors and waved to Millie that she was good. She set her bag on the passenger seat and wiped her face with a tissue she kept in the console. Shivering, she blinked as Millie’s lights illuminated the interior of her car. She put the key in the ignition and turned. The car’s engine sputtered. She cursed and tried again. Same sputtering sound. The engine would not turn over. One more time, she turned the key. Nothing.

  She smacked the steering wheel. Rif or Marty would have to give her a ride home—but they were probably thirty minutes away from closing up for the night. She sighed, weary and feeling a tiny bit sorry for herself. Okay, a lot sorry for herself. All she wanted was her bed.

  A tap on the passenger’s-side window caused her to jump, then scream. A face appeared, blurred by the rivulets of rain down the window.

  Jed Marsh. She could just make out his square jaw and dark hair. If he was a serial killer, she was about to find out.

  She cracked the window. “You scared me half to death,” she blurted out, her heart still pounding hard in her chest.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I forgot my overcoat and had my driver circle back to pick it up after we dropped the guys at the hotel downtown.”

  She narrowed her eyes. His hair was completely wet. Droplets of water pooled on his long, black coat. Even with his dark locks plastered against his forehead, he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen.

  “I’m Jed Marsh, from earlier. I was at your table.”

  “I remember,” she said. “It was mere minutes ago.”

  “Right.” He wiped water from his eyes as the rain continued to pound him.

  “What can I do for you?” Did he think she was the type of girl who offered her services for a fee? How dare he think so, just because she worked at Rif’s. “I’m not for sale, in case you wondered.”

  His eyes widened in what she could only interpret as horror. “What? Oh my God, no. I didn’t wonder that. Not at all. What did you think? I was about to proposition you?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “Why else would you show up at my car and frighten me out of my mind?”

  “I noticed your car wouldn’t start. And wondered if I could help. Or give you a lift home?”

  “One of the guys can take me home,” she said.

  He hesitated, glancing toward the entrance. For the first time, she noticed a limo parked near the front of the club. “May I come inside? I’m getting soaked out here.”

  Please, Jesus, don’t let him be a killer. She nodded and unlocked the door. He slipped inside, shivering. She became conscious of the worn cloth seats and ugly plastic dashboard.

  “What seems to be the problem?” Jed asked. “I mean, with the car.” He smelled so good, like vintage shaving cream. The kind her father had shaved with. When she was small, she’d sat on the closed toilet and watched him shave. She remembered the cold ceramic against the backs of her thighs.

  “It won’t start,” she said. “She’s old and tired.”

  That made him smile. “Does she have this problem often?”

  “Just last week. But then she started again, so I put off putting her in the shop. It’s so much money every time I take the old lady in.”

  “I don’t know anything about cars, but I can have Thomas drive you home,” he said.

  “Thomas?”

  “My driver.”

  “Oh, right. That’s your limo?” She gestured to the long black car.

  He pushed his dripping hair away from his face. “The limo isn’t mine. We just rented it for the night. Those guys I was with own a high-end restaurant conglomerate and wanted to paint the town, so to speak. I’m not the type to frequent clubs.”

  “I had a feeling.” Should she be offended?

  “Not that there’s anything wrong with it.” His hands fidgeted in his lap. “Those ladies are very talented.”

  She laughed despite wanting to dislike him because of his limo and manicured fingernails. “They are.”

  “You carry that tray like nobody’s business. I couldn’t help but notice the muscles in your arms.” He flushed and shook his head as he looked away. “Sorry. I’m not sure why I just said that.” He shivered again.

  “Are you cold?” she asked.

  “Very. You?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Please, let us take you home. The limo is nice and warm. I even have a few towels in there.”

  “Okay, I guess so. You’re not going to murder me, are you?”

  “Definitely not. Thomas won’t either.” He smiled as he ran both hands through his wet hair. “I’ll just wave him over.”

  While they waited for the limo to arrive, Alissa texted Rif to let him know she’d gotten a ride home. She didn’t want them to worry when they saw her car.

  Seconds later, the limo came their direction. The driver, Thomas, dressed in a black suit, got out of the limo and opened the side door for them. Next thing she knew, she was seated across from Jed Marsh. She’d never been in a limo before tonight. This one had black leather bench-like seats along both sides. To her, leather smelled like money. Plastic bottles of water were tucked into cup holders. A container of Marsh Vodka nestled in a bucket of ice.

  “Where to, Miss Mann?” Jed asked.

  “How do you know my last name?”

  “I asked Rif
,” he said. “I’ve known him for years. Because of work.”

  She gave him the address of her apartment. Jed knocked on the window that separated Thomas and the rest of the limo. The glass came down, and Jed passed on the information to him.

  “Yes, sir,” Thomas said. “Shall I turn the heat up?”

  “That would be wonderful,” Jed said. “Thank you.”

  Alissa took the dry towel he offered and patted her face and hair. Jed did the same, rubbing his head with the towel like he’d just gotten out of the shower. Messy, damp hair made him seem younger and more approachable.

  “I thought you’d be a Seattle-proper kind of girl,” he said.

  She raised one eyebrow. “Do you think I’d be working at a club if I could afford Seattle?” She lived in an apartment building near the elementary school where she worked.

  “Rif told me you’re a kindergarten teacher. In addition to your waitressing job.”

  “That’s correct.”

  He wrapped his towel around his neck. “Would you care for a drink? Something to take the chill off?”

  “I’m not much of a drinker,” she said.

  “Not even when offered the finest vodka ever made?” He shed his coat, revealing his expensively tailored blue suit. After folding his overcoat in two and placing it on the seat, he shrugged out of his suit jacket. The same neat folding and tucking away hinted at an orderly, tidy man. She liked that in a person.

  “I love your modesty,” she said.

  He laughed and reached for the bottle. “I’ll add some flavored sparkling water to it if you like.” The muscles of his thighs pressed against the fabric of his pants.

  She swallowed, trying to focus. “I didn’t say I wanted any.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Sorry, you’re correct. I’m usually a better listener. You’re so pretty you make me nervous.”

  She could say the same about him. But she wouldn’t. He probably heard the same line from a lot of women. This was a man who had it all—good looks, wealth, obvious intelligence. She didn’t need to feed his ego by letting him know how attracted she was to him.