Stay with Me Forever. Farrah Rochon
Paxton was so stunned by his boldness that she’d laughed in his face. She’d hoped her remarks about eating little tiger cubs like him for breakfast would have put an end to his pursuit, but apparently not.
While his grandson hung the artwork, Paxton threaded her arm through Harlon’s and took him on a tour. A ribbon of pride curled around her as he remarked on all the changes that had been done in the past couple of days.
“Girl, you are amazing. You turned this old dump into a palace.”
“This bar has never been a dump. You always took good care of it. We just spruced it up a bit.”
“Spruced it up, my foot. This place looks a hundred times better than it did before. A thousand. You did good by your mama, girl. I’m proud of you. She deserves this.”
Paxton barely managed to swallow the lump of emotion wedged in her throat. She coughed, ready to lay claim to the cold her mother had accused her of catching. Sentimental public displays had never been her style, and the sincerity in Harlon’s voice brought her close to the brink.
“Owning her own place has been a dream of hers for a long time,” Paxton said. “Thank you for selling it to us at such a reasonable price.”
He waved that off. “I’m sorry I had to sell it to you at all. If I’d been better at tucking money away, I would have given it to her.”
“She never would have taken it from you,” Paxton said.
She and Belinda had a lot of things in common, but that stubborn streak of pride was, by far, the strongest thread tying them together. The Joneses did not accept charity. Ever. They worked hard for what they wanted, and if they couldn’t get it on their own, then they weren’t meant to have it.
Paxton had lived by that simple philosophy all her life. It compelled her to never settle for second-best, because there was nothing like basking in the satisfaction of seeing your hard work pay off.
Like right now. The pure joy emanating from her mother as she swept a floor she’d swept thousands of times over the past two decades warmed every part of Paxton’s heart, and it made all the hard work and sacrifice it would take to pay for this bar worth it.
“Look at that smile on her face,” Paxton whispered in Harlon’s ear as they both stared at her mother.
“Not sure when I last saw her like this. Maybe when you walked across the stage to pick up that fancy college degree.” He nudged Paxton’s shoulder. “You just make sure she lets me come in and work every now and then.”
“She wouldn’t let you work when you owned the place,” Paxton said with a laugh. “I don’t know why you think things would change now.”
She guided Harlon to the new kitchen that had been added onto the bar. It had been under construction for the past month. With the installation of the three-part sink this morning, it was officially operational.
Donovan walked in and braced both hands high against the doorjamb. His shirt hem lifted slightly, exposing a set of tawny, well-defined abs. For a half second Paxton was intrigued, but then she remembered she used to change this kid’s diapers.
The momentary flourish of awareness was an understandable physical reaction considering the drought she’d been in over the past six months. The handheld device she brought to bed at night wasn’t doing the job it used to do.
“You need some help in here?” Donovan asked, winking again.
Then again, maybe she just needed to refresh the batteries.
“You’d better get that eye checked out,” Paxton told him. “All that twitching can’t be healthy.”
He entered the kitchen, stepping up to her. “Why are you giving me such a hard time? I’m not a little boy anymore. I can rock your world.”
Harlon knocked him upside the head with his baseball cap again.
“Dude.” Donovan rubbed his ear. He scowled at his grandfather. “Stop blocking my game, Grandpa. I’m trying to get something going here.”
“It will never happen,” Paxton told him.
“We’ll see,” Donovan said, a cocky smile tilting up the corner of his mouth.
Harlon shook his head. “Hormones got that one acting a damn fool. If he gets too vexing once he starts working here, just strangle him.”
“Hopefully he’ll be too busy helping customers to bother me with his tired pickup lines,” she said.
Her mother had hired Donovan to help out at the bar while he took yet another semester off from college to “explore his options.” Paxton was about 96 percent sure that she would, in fact, have to strangle the little Casanova before she returned to Little Rock.
If she returned to Little Rock.
She stifled a sigh. She had only been back in town for two days and already the should I stay, should I go back dance was getting the best of her. It happened every single time she came home to visit. But Paxton knew it was better to have some distance between herself and Gauthier, especially now that a certain someone was back in town. Permanently.
The rumble of a diesel engine and tires crunching over gravel came through the open doorway, tearing her attention away from those thoughts she had no desire to explore at the moment.
“Finally,” Paxton said, making her way past Donovan and through the kitchen. “That must be the TVs.”
She exited the side door and rounded the front of the building, waving at the delivery truck driver. Thankfully, the rain had lightened to a steady but weaker sprinkle.
“Over here,” Paxton called, waving her hands.
A loud bark came from just behind her a second before Heinz, the huge mutt she’d nursed back to health after he’d gotten into a fight with a coyote, came barreling into her legs. Paxton’s fingers automatically scratched the scruff behind his ear.
“What in the world,” Belinda said as she came down the stairs, followed closely by Harlon and Donovan. The four of them stood to the side, surveying the deliverymen as they carted a fifty-five-inch LCD TV into the building.
Harlon pointed to the delivery truck’s raised gate. “What did you do, girl? Buy out the entire store?”
“You can’t have a sports bar with that little black-and-white television behind the bar,” Paxton said.
“How many TVs did you buy?” Belinda asked, her voice a combination of awe and trepidation.
Bracing herself for her mother’s reaction, Paxton said, “Eight.”
“Eight!” Belinda’s screech echoed around the open clearing. “No, no, no.” She held her hands out in an attempt to stop the deliverymen. They bypassed her and carried in the second television. “There’s not enough room in this bar for eight TVs.”
“We’ll make them fit,” Paxton said. “Oh, I forgot to mention that the guy from the satellite company will be a little late, but it should be installed by tonight.”
“Oh, yeah,” Donovan said, rubbing his hands together. “You got the football package?”
“Of course.” Paxton nodded. “And I’ve already ordered the NBA package, too.”
“This place is gonna be fiyah. Maybe I don’t need to worry about college. I can just work here.”
Belinda grasped Paxton’s forearm and gave it a slight squeeze. “How much is all of this costing you?” she asked.
Despite the genuine concern in her mother’s voice, Paxton ignored the question, just as she had ignored it the 542 times Belinda had inquired about the cost of all of this in the months since Harlon decided to retire and sell the bar.
She knew her mother was concerned about the money. She was always concerned