Sugar and Spice

Chapter 2

Closing time usually is a time for me to breathe after the hectic day. It's a time for me to sit and draw up numbers for sales, figure out what I need to replace by order, and to clean up any and all messes. My hero decides to stick around for another Guinness as I clean and count, and I can't say I'm not grateful for his company.

When I have a moment before doing final lock-down, I sit with him to talk. Know this about me, my heart is all bitter-patter but I can rein that shit in when it's necessary. Holding a normal conversation when I have other things on my mind is almost a specialty of mine.

"Alright, big guy, what's your story? What brings you wandering in here, saving damsels in distress?" I begin, causing him to chuckle after he'd just taken a sip of his beer. He clears his throat and replies:

"I'm actually done with work for a while. In between jobs, so to speak. So I figure I hit the road, do some traveling and wound up here. It's a cute place, do you know the owner?" he asks, drinking a bit faster now that the crowd is gone and he's more relaxed.

I smile at his question and answer with:

"Well, I guess you could say I know the owner. I mean, as much as one person can know themselves."

He points a finger at me with a wide grin.

"You? You own this? Wow! And I mean that with all the respect I have, owning an establishment all the way out her is impressive. You go in with anyone, partner or anything?" he inquired.

"No. I had a pretty solid childhood. College was on the table for me to do something important, but I went into business and economics. Two years. Graduated and had a bunch of money saved up for a wedding that didn't happen. So I took the money and left.

"I found this place," I continued as I poured myself a shot and sat back down next to my audience. "The owner was selling, getting out of Dodge, he said, and I bought it up. I cleaned it up pretty well, and here we are."

"So, do you live close by or something? You realize I'm walking you home as well, right?" he asks. I laugh as I put my hand on his shoulder to stand.

"No worries there. I live here, downstairs I set up an actual apartment for myself. I also set up a guest room, if you have no where else to go tonight?"

Bold move, me. I don't mean anything TERRIBLE by it, I genuinely am enjoying his company.

He looks at me with those piercing eyes, studying me as he drains the last of the beer from his glass. Setting it down, he looks over at me again and smiles.

"Nah, I noticed a hotel just down the road. I figure I'll check in and crash there. Maybe I'll stop by in the morning to see how things are?" He stands as I do as he asks his question.

"I'd like that," I respond, reaching out a hand to him. He grasps it firmly in one hand, turns it over so my hand is on his and covers it gently with his other hand, holding it as he looks into my eyes again.

"If you need anything, call the hotel. Anything at all. I don't care if the wind picks up and sounds suspicious, call me," his eyes plead into mine and his tone is serious. Man, he's so sexy when he gets scary serious like that. My heart does another leap and my mind races.

Calm and cool on the outside I assure him.

"You have my word. But..." I begin but feel ridiculous for having to point out the obvious. "If I have to call.. What name do I ask for?"

This big, brawny man does the cutest "dork-stamp" slap against his forehead and laughs.

"Jason," he answers.

"Momoa... You're Jason Momoa!" I cry out, my cool mask slipping as the shock of who it is in my bar hits me like a Louisville slugger to the face. He blushes and laughs.

"Yeah well... I take for granted that people know me right from the start. It surprised me when you asked. You didn't know who I was when you offered your guest room?" He asks, teasing me with his tone.

"Honestly the recognition was there but I couldn't place it. You realize I watch little television so it takes me a bit to know who the famous people are. And you," I look him up and down, "you're definitely famous."

He laughs again and kisses my cheek.

"Well, that's who to call if there's any trouble. I shall see you tomorrow if not sooner."

"Goodbye. And, Jason?" I call to him. He turns in question as his hand rests on the door.

"Thank you. For everything, thank you. In fact, here," I reach around the counter and grasp a bottle of Guinness just for him. I walk to the door and push it into his hands.

"Now I won't take no for an answer, it isn't much and it's not worth nearly what you deserve but please, take it as a token of my appreciation?"

Jason leans over me and kisses my cheek once again.

"You're welcome," he answers. He lingers a bit looking at me before he looks down, shakes his head in a chuckle and walks out the door. I lock the door behind him and wave when he looks back with a smile.

Sighing, I collapse into the nearest chair, laughing at the whole ordeal. I met Jason Momoa. He kissed me twice and he protected me from a horny douche. AND he's coming back to check up on me in the morning!!

My giggles were of the school-girl persuasion and they filled the empty bar for a full few minutes until I collected myself and went about sweeping and mopping my floors. Chores were never ending for the owner of such a place, always cleaning to keep ahead of disaster.

After I clean the last of the dishes and turn off the lights, I head downstairs and lock the door leading to my living area. Permits aren't too strict where I live, enabling me an easy way to make sure I have a home where I work. Not only is it secure, with a camera on both the entrance and the exit out back, but it cuts out morning commute to work.

I turn on the shower as I undress and step into steaming hot water, letting it flow from the crown of my head, down my body and into the drain. My muscles are sore from the day and as I look, I notice my offended wrist is bruised.

"Stupid, drunken bastard," I curse. I know I'm lucky that Jason was there. I probably wouldn't have shot the dumb ass but I hate knowing that because I'm a woman, it could have come to that point. I've been lucky so far, all things considered. I haven't had to shoot anyone, brandishing it has proven a deterrent enough. I fear for the day it doesn't.

I step out of the shower and dry off, glad to be feeling human once more. My long, brunette hair takes forever to dry and I'm feeling pretty exhausted from the ups and downs of the night, so I opt to skip out on the blow dryer and tie it up in a bun after towel-drying it. I throw on a pair of boy shorts and a larger than life teeshirt before going into my fridge and finding sandwich meat to throw together some semblance of dinner.

After putting it together, I walk to my couch and prepare to sit when I notice on one of the security cameras, someone was outside my bar.

"Oh, shit," I mutter. I run up the stairs and into the bar, grabbing my shotgun before I get to the door. I check it to make sure it's loaded and I peer out the window before grabbing the door handle and shoving the business end of the shotgun right into the surprised face of...

Jason Momoa.

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