I surveyed the waitresses and the dancers and even the multiple men in blue shirts and black trousers. None of them were thin, pale, sunken-cheeked, glassy-eyed or appeared woebegone in any way.

They all seemed simply to be at work and the waitresses quite often smiled what looked to be genuine smiles at their customers while they moved amongst the tables and booths.

Yes. Glancing around Jake Spear’s establishment, I realized I had done precisely what he said I’d done.

I’d been judgmental.

That sour taste came back to my mouth.

I washed it away with a sip of my drink.

Five minutes later, the large man who the bartender spoke to walked through the club to me.

He stopped close, leaned in and said, “Mr. Spear is unavailable, Ms. Malone. Can I give him a message?”

I was not surprised he was unavailable. If someone had treated me as I had treated him, I would be unavailable too.

I shook my head but elevated my voice to be heard over the music in order to say, “No, but thank you.”

He nodded and moved away.

I sipped at my drink, watched the goings-on at a tasteful strip club and did so considering my dilemma.

I needed to apologize (again).

And I needed answers.

I sighed, knowing I had no choice because Jake Spear wasn’t giving me one and I didn’t blame him. I wouldn’t give me one either.

I reached into my purse on the bar, pulled out my phone, found his number and hit the screen to connect.

I put a finger in my other ear and listened as it rang five times before I heard his rumbling voice command, “Spear. Leave a message.”

I got the beep and said into my phone, “Mr. Spear…uh, Jake, this is Josephine Malone. I’m calling because I’d very much like the opportunity to apologize for my behavior and the things I said to you this morning. Also, I’d like the opportunity to discuss, well…other, erm…things. You’ve every right to be angry at me for I’ve behaved very badly. But I’d be most grateful if you gave me the chance to, um…rectify matters.” I paused, not knowing how to end it then I decided on, “I hope to hear from you. Do take care.”

I disconnected, put the phone back in my purse and again took up my glass. I sipped at my drink until I finished it, thinking I really wished I’d have the opportunity to talk to the redhead about her choice in hair color. If she was dead set on red, a deep auburn would suit her much better.

There was also a blonde who would benefit from a keratin treatment. Her hair was lovely but there was a good deal of it, it was quite long and it was clear she did her own blowout. This was not clear because it was done poorly, just that it wasn’t as sleek as she was likely going for. With that amount of hair, it had to take her ages to do it. And the way she used it with her dancing, straightened and softened, it would make quite a splash and perhaps up her—from what I could tell protruding from her G-string—still rather plentiful tips.

She might drive a Corvette and it was clear she was far from the least talented dancer but everyone enjoyed having more money.

With a sigh, I put my finished glass to the bar, waited until I caught the bartender’s eyes and gave him a grateful smile.

He returned it, tipping up his chin. I dug in my purse, got my wallet and slid a five-dollar bill under my glass then slid from my stool and made my way out of the club.

Once outside, the man by the door invited me to “have a good evening.”

I returned the sentiment then promptly tripped over my pumps when I saw Jake Spear resting lean jeans-clad hips against my driver’s side door, his black leather jacket covered arms crossed on the wide wall of his white shirt covered chest.

When I tripped, he looked to his feet and I lost his face in the shadows. Luckily, by that time, I’d righted myself without hitting the pavement but I did this mentally cursing my infernal clumsiness.

I moved to him with no further incident (thankfully) and stopped three feet away.

When he lifted his impassive eyes to me, I greeted, “Hello, Jake.”

“She finally uses my name,” he muttered in return.

I pressed my lips tight, uncertain what to make of this.

“Got your message, babe,” he said.

Well, that didn’t take long.

“Good,” I replied quietly.

“Hauled your ass to a titty bar to see me,” he noted.

“Uh…yes,” I agreed to the obvious seeing as we were both standing outside said titty bar.

“Classed up the joint in there, Josie,” he went on to remark and I blinked.

“You saw me?”

“Got cameras everywhere, inside and out,” he stated, jerking his head toward the building.

“Of course. Yes. I noticed the ones outside. It’s quite good you have an eye to the security and safety for your establishment.”

His lips twitched before he returned, “Yeah, good for my establishment when drunk, horny assholes wanna do shit that makes them even bigger assholes, someone sees it, it stops before it starts.”

I found his comment intriguing and thus observed, “You seem not to have a great deal of respect for your clientele.”

“Most of them pay for their drinks, give the girls bills to pay for their show, got no problem with them. It’s the drunk, horny assholes who suck.”

I would imagine this was true.

“Of course,” I murmured.

He said nothing, just held my eyes.

I found this uncomfortable and didn’t know how to begin to say all the things I needed to say.

Therefore, unfortunately, I decided to stall.

“Well, Jake, I don’t know if you have advisors that see to this kind of thing, I would guess you do as your club is quite refined, but I’d have a word with them, whoever they are. The redhead is very attractive but with her skin tone, a darker auburn would suit her far better. That said, she’d make a striking brunette.”

He stopped holding my eyes and started staring at me. There was a nuance of difference but I could sense that difference. Most definitely.

“And,” I sallied forth when he made no reply, “the blonde could use a keratin treatment. Her hair is remarkable but she’d find it much more manageable on a day to day basis and with her, well…moves, I believe she’d also find it quite beneficial with her…um, work.”

He again said nothing, simply kept staring at me.

I, for some unhinged reason, kept chattering.

“It was well-chosen, the platform pumps for your waitresses. Platforms elongate the legs beautifully but they’re also very comfortable. Further, they’re attractive.”

When I finished this inane statement, he burst out laughing, the deep richness of it ringing through the cool night air.

I decided again to press my lips together as this would stop me from speaking.

When he’d stopped laughing but was still smiling, he caught my eyes again and whispered, “Lydie was right. Adorable.”

“Pardon?”

“Nothin’, babe,” he murmured but his voice was stronger when he said, “You got something to say?”

Well, here it was. I could delay no more and not only couldn’t I, I shouldn’t as I was making a fool of myself.

“This morning I behaved badly—”

“Yeah,” he interrupted me, his voice gentle. “You mentioned that shit on the phone, Josie. Heard it. Got it. We can move on from that.”

That was very kind.

I nodded while taking in a deep breath.

Then I said, “I’d like for you to come to Lavender House for dinner tomorrow night.”

His head tipped to the side and he asked, “Yeah?”

“Yes, I think…” I hesitated then admitted, “Actually, I don’t know what I think except for the fact that you’re correct. Gran clearly very much wanted us to get to know each other and, well…we should do that.”

“Yeah,” he said again and it was gentle again. “We should.”

Now was the hard part.

“I, well…I’m just uncertain how she wanted us to get to know each other and we should probably discuss that. But I…well, that is to say I believe—”