16 Lighthouse Road. Debbie Macomber
were simply that. Dreams. Bobby’s idea of setting her up for the future was talking to his boss and getting her a job at the same restaurant where he worked. Being a hostess and cocktail waitress wasn’t how Cecilia wanted to spend the next few decades, but it was all too easy to imagine. Without intending it, she’d let her entire life get sidetracked.
Now she was about to be divorced, up to her ears in debt and utterly miserable. Her illusions about her father and men in general had been shattered. Bobby wanted to be her friend, but as badly as Cecilia needed a friend, she needed a father more.
One day, she vowed, she’d find a way to attend college but first she had to figure out how to pay for it. With the legal fees and what it’d cost to bury her daughter, she suspected she’d be at least thirty before she could afford to get an education. Bobby couldn’t help her out financially; he’d made that completely clear.
In an effort to supplement her income, she was putting in extra hours on weekends, serving drinks in the bar once the dining room closed at ten. Often she wasn’t home until two-thirty in the morning.
When she showed up for work late Friday afternoon, she knew she was in for a hectic shift. The aircraft carrier, The Carl Vinson, was in town, which meant a crew of 2,500 sailors. The Captain’s Galley served the best seafood in the area and the bar was a popular meeting place.
It was here that Ian had come for a drink one night last January. He’d had his eye on her, and she’d been watching him just as avidly. Then he—She gave herself a mental shake. Cecilia didn’t want to think about her husband, and tried to push him from her mind. It didn’t work.
She hadn’t seen or heard from him since he’d charged out of her apartment a week earlier. They hadn’t made any decisions about what to do next. That was typical of him, she thought angrily. He left every decision to her. If they were going ahead with this divorce, then their best option was the Dispute Resolution Center. Not that their dispute could ever be resolved… She sighed in resignation. Obviously, she’d have to make the appointment. Ian’s so-called suggestion that they pretend to be divorced was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous!
The bar was already hopping when the restaurant closed. Cecilia collected her tray and joined Beverly and Carla, the two other cocktail waitresses. The lounge was thick with cigarette smoke and the smell of beer hung in the air, trapped by the smoke. The music came from a jukebox and was earsplitting loud. Cecilia had to struggle to hear her customers’ orders.
One man who drank alone seemed to speak softly in an effort to force her to lean closer. He was older, at least forty, and he sent out all the signals—he was interested in her. He gave her the creeps and Cecilia did her best to ignore him. The way his eyes followed her about the room made her skin crawl.
By closing time only a few patrons lingered; unfortunately her admirer was one of them. Cecilia’s feet hurt and her eyes smarted from the smoke. She was eager to collect her tips and head home. Just when she thought she was finished for the night, Ian and Andrew Lackey, another sailor, walked into the bar.
Cecilia tensed, especially when she noticed Ian’s demeanor. It was obvious The Captain’s Galley hadn’t been his first stop. Her husband didn’t hold his liquor well, never had, and generally avoided anything stronger than beer.
Her attention was on Ian when she should have been keeping closer tabs on the loner whose gaze had been glued to her for the last four hours.
“You wanna bite to eat?” The husky male voice spoke from behind her.
Cecilia whirled around.
“I’m Bart, and you’re Cecilia, right?”
“Right.” She watched Ian and his friend stroll up to the bar. Her husband seemed to be pretending she wasn’t there. But then, that was his preferred approach to anything awkward or inconvenient, wasn’t it? “Actually it’s been a long night,” she answered, her gaze flicking back to Bart. “Another time.” In your dreams, she added silently.
“You’ve gotta be hungry.”
“Ah…”
Ian finally glanced in her direction, and his eyes narrowed when he saw her talking to the other man.
“Hey, it’s no big deal. Breakfast, conversation.” Bart continued the pressure. “You look like you could use a friend and I can be a very good…friend.”
Cecilia was more concerned about Ian than ditching Bart. “I don’t think so.”
“Tomorrow then, just you and me.”
“I…” Her gaze flew from Bart to Ian, who was scowling heavily. She was afraid he’d cause a scene, which she wanted to avoid, for everyone’s sake.
Ian leaned toward his friend and whispered, but Andrew adamantly shook his head. Cecilia could see that Ian was looking for trouble and his friend was trying to dissuade him.
“Perhaps another night,” Cecilia said quickly, putting Bart off. That seemed the best way of getting rid of him before Ian did something stupid.
Her husband stepped away from the bar. “Is he bothering you?” he demanded, his words half-slurred.
“Butt out,” Bart snarled, angry at the interruption. He seemed to think he was making progress with Cecilia. He wasn’t, but Ian didn’t know that and apparently neither did he.
Andrew tried to stop him, but Ian shook off his hand and advanced a menacing step. He wasn’t about to back down, even if Bart outweighed him by fifty pounds. “In case you didn’t know it, you’re trying to pick up my wife.”
Bart glanced at Cecilia as if to gauge the truth. She didn’t dare meet his look.
“We’re divorced, remember?” she taunted, reminding her husband that it’d been his idea to pretend they were no longer married.
“The hell we are.”
“You’re the one who said we should just get on with our lives.”
“I…I…” Ian sputtered, searching for a satisfactory reply.
“Why should you care if I date another man?”
“Because until a judge says otherwise, you’re legally my wife!”
“Are you married or not?” Bart muttered.
“Married!” Ian shouted.
“Separated,” Cecilia said.
Bart reached for his jacket. “In that case, let’s go.”
“The hell she will.” Ian started toward Bart, but Andrew stepped between them.
“Anytime, buddy,” Bart growled.
“Right now sounds good to me,” Ian said, raising his clenched fists.
“Get out,” Cecilia cried. “Both of you! I have no intention of going anywhere with either one of you.” She ran toward the back room where her father had conveniently disappeared, supposedly checking inventory.
“What’s happening out there?” Bobby Merrick asked as if he wasn’t aware of the situation he’d left her to deal with on her own. Ian and Bobby had never gotten along, and Bobby avoided any confrontation between them by making himself scarce.
Cecilia shook her head. “Nothing.”
“Everything okay?”
“Ian’s here, looking for a fight. That’s all.”
Her father stared back, frowning. “I don’t want any trouble here. Tell him to take it outside.”
“Yeah.” Cecilia sighed wearily. “I did. And now I’m leaving.”
“Get rid of Ian first.”
“Not to worry, I’m sure he’s left.”
She retrieved her coat and purse,