Chapter Text
You know, hindsight is always 20/20. Unless, of course, your rear view mirror has a crack in it.
“That man just flipped you off, Wynonna.”
“He can eat a dick. The highway is for sharing .”
Scratchy static tumbles out of the car radio. Different radio stations bumble together, weaving a nonsensical story out of a few pop songs and someone’s opinion on the weather.
“Ugh, this thing sucks.” Wynonna grumbles.
“You were the one who couldn’t say no to the pink monstrosity.” Waverly sighs.
“Hey, it was cheap and we needed a ride. This saves us money for our spa trip.”
Touché. The car bumps and rattles along the rolling, east coast highway. To their right, the guy who flipped Wynonna off pulls out of their lane and speeds around them.
“Dick!” Wynonna shouts.
“His windows are up.”
“He can read my lips.”
“Sure, alright then.” Waverly smiles and leans back on the worn, cream leather of her seat. The air conditioner is broken and though they have the windows down, the skin of her thighs and shoulders is still sticking to the seat.
“Tell me again why we bought a car without working air conditioning in the summer?” Waverly taps her fingers on the car’s lifeless console.
“You’re not making the car feel any better by insulting it.” Wynonna laughs, and then splutters because a thick strand of her hair is blown into her mouth. “Anyway, this car has character.”
The car, as if to agree, jerks forward. Waverly grabs her door handle. From somewhere on the dashboard, there is an ominous ‘ding’. They share a glance.
“What was that?” Wynonna asks. The engine releases a horrible groan.
“Wynonna.” Waverly says, eyes wide, “Take the next exit.”
“What?”
“Take the next exit!” Panic colors Wynonna’s driving as she pushes the moaning engine to switch lanes without a thought of a blinker. Honks follow their wild diagonal path, but, hey, they don’t cause an accident, so when the car rattles off the highway, Waverly counts it as a victory.
The engine continues to make keening noises while Wynonna’s hands clutch the steering wheel and guide it around the curve of the exit. She slides her eyes to Waverly with a tight smile.
“What are we going to do?” She says through her teeth.
“Um,” Waverly’s hands hang in the air as she stares around the interior of the car. Two empty soda bottles, a pack of gum, a paper bag with recently purchased whiskey, and their cell phones...oh! And the map that is spread across her legs.
She grabs it, “Okay, follow this road and then take a right.”
Wynonna follows her directions while grumbling what seems to be a string of prayers and curses with each cough of the engine. The road quickly becomes uneven, bumping them up and down like helpless puppets. There is no guardrail on the side of the road beyond a build up of sand and foliage and then, further back, trees. The occasional house flashes by, but there no point in appreciating the scenery when the car is practically driving itself. It groans again.
“Shit, shit, shit! Waverly, where am I going?” Wynonna yelps.
“Uhh, just keep driving straight.” Waverly says. Another cough sounds from the engine and a cloud of dark smoke billows out from under the rusted pink hood. “Oh, crap.”
They make it about two miles when the car finally quits and slowly rolls to a smokey stop, dying in a way completely unworthy of its flamboyant colors. Wynonna smacks the steering wheel in frustration and throws the door open, stomping out onto the side of the road.
“Wynonna!” Waverly calls, sliding out of her side, “Calm down!”
“I’m fine, I’m totally relaxed right now.” Wynonna growls.
“Look, it’s not that bad. The map says there’s a town about a half a mile from here.” Waverly points down the road. Wynonna swings her arms miserably.
“Noooo,” She moans, “I’m not walking that far.”
“Come on! We’ll just take the important stuff out of the car, lock it, and then go get help.” Waverly says. It’s not like they could push the car there. For a second, it looks like Wynonna’s going to argue, but then she holds up her hands in weary defeat and shoots a venomous glare at the car. Waverly shoves her door open, walks back to the trunk, and then yanks it open, rummaging around to pull out her small backpack, just so she has something to carry her wallet in.
Wynonna reappears from the side of the car with her sunglasses on, the keys sticking out of her back pocket, and the paper bag of whiskey under her arm. Waverly pulls a face at her.
“What? You said take the important stuff.” Her sister shrugs.
“I meant like, I don’t know, a wallet?”
“Oh, right!” Wynonna gasps, disappearing and then returning with her simple leather wallet in her free hand, “Got it.”
“Good priorities.” Waverly rolls her eyes. “Come on.”
It’s warm out, enough that even in tank tops and shorts they start sweating five minutes into the walk. It only takes seven minutes for Wynonna to open the whiskey. That said, the road is empty and there are birds chattering under the early morning sun, so it could be worse. Plus, as they walk, it becomes apparent just how close they are to the ocean.
“Wynonna, look!” Through the gradually thinning trees, slivers of shining blue begin to peek through. Waverly bounds ahead of her sister and around the nearest curve of the road. What she sees is stunning.
The Atlantic ocean stretches out endlessly in front of her, sparkling and shifting as waves crash on the shore. Where she stands is only separated from the water by the crests and dips of a landscape of sand dunes and waving sea grass. Seagulls wheel through the cloudless sky and swoop and spin, completely and utterly free. It’s beautiful.
Wonderment diffuses through Waverly as she takes in the scene. She stares unabashedly at it, soaking in the colors. Not even the scuff of Wynonna’s boots on the sandy pavement breaks her focus.
“Hm, nice.” Wynonna says.
“It’s gorgeous.” Waverly whispers.
“Are you gonna go over there?”
Disquiet immediately sinks in Waverly’s gut. She looks at Wynonna and then back at the pretty picture in front of her, feeling the wheels of her mind stutter and halt at the question.
“No! Um, I mean, no, we have to get to town. Fix the car.”
“Uh, okay...” Wynonna frowns, “You can go look at it if you want, Waves. We’re on vacation, there’s no set schedule.”
“I think the car may disagree.” Waverly claps her hands nervously and turns on her heel, “Let’s go get help.”
She strides off down the road, leaving Wynonna to jog to catch up. The squawks of the seagulls follow behind her, turning from natural to mocking as Waverly books it down the pavement. Nope. She’s gotta focus on the car, that’s all.
Walking parallel to the ocean is a lot easier than facing it down, so Waverly keeps her eye on the cracked yellow line in front of her. Wynonna sidles up next to her and bumps their shoulders together. They walk in silence.
A few minutes later, they pass a sign. It’s large and wooden, faded with age, and proclaims ‘WELCOME TO GHOST RIVER BEACH’ in chipping letters. The posts holding it up have nearly been overtaken by tall strands of seagrass that brush the underside of the wood. It has it’s charm, though.
Soon after passing the sign, the small town of Ghost River Beach comes into sight. First, it’s quaint houses with ordinary, well-kept yards but, gradually, the manicured grass starts giving way to sand and sand scrub. It’s not long until they arrive at what presumably must be the Ghost River.
It’s wide and slow, with mud-sand banks on each side and a two lane bridge arching across it. Floating on the far side are several small fishing boats and rickety personal docks. And, though they’ve been passing houses, it’s clear that the main part of town laid on the other side of the bridge, essential making it its own little island in between the ocean and the river.
To the west, the river curved away as the land rose into spruce-covered hills. Between those and the ocean to the east, Ghost River Beach seemed to be comfortably sheltered on all sides from the outside world.
“Damn. This looks like a postcard.” Wynonna laughs as they walk over the bridge. A few cars flash past them while they weave through a group of children jumping off its highest part with shrill screams. Wynonna tucks the whiskey under her armpit near the kids.
The bridge deposits them on the main road of town, which runs parallel to the ocean. It’s lined by blue, yellow, and white storefronts that look like they fit right in with these sandy sidewalks. But, there is little help to be found in any of these stores, as they are all still closed for the morning.
“This is what we get for leaving the motel at the ass-crack of dawn.”
“Let’s just find someone who looks capable.” Waverly offers. That should be easy, right? Wrong. The only people out are runners with headphones in who ignore them as they pass and one woman pushing a three-toddler stroller who looks too stressed to be helpful anyway. Their search takes them down nearly the entirety of Main Street, but it’s hopeless.
“We’ve run out of beach here, Wave.” Wynonna points out, and she’s right. The beach has given way to a marina full of docks and boats. There are a few more stores stretching further down the road, but all are lifeless. “Why don’t we try our luck on that place?”
Waverly follows her sister’s gaze to the grey-shingled building sitting half on land, half over the docks. It’s two stories, with a waterfront porch wrapping around the whole first floor. It also looks like a dump.
“That place?” Waverly snorts incredulously, “Out of all the stores we just passed?”
“Those places were way too preppy for me.” Wynonna grimaces, “Plus, that looks like it’s a bar, which I like.”
“Alright.” Waverly allows. They walk up to to the entrance, which is just two white bay doors and a section of the shingles that is noticeably darker than those around it, probably because the building was missing a sign. Wynonna peers through the glass of the door and tugs on the handle. It opens freely.
“Huh.” She says. Waverly peeks over her shoulder. The interior matches the exterior; sparse. Wood floors, a central bar, random scattering of tables and chairs, all of them empty. Except for one.
There is a man, passed out, leaning back in one of the chairs with his booted feet on the table. He has a cowboy hat pulled down over his eyes and one hand nearly touching the floor.
“Um, hello?” Wynonna says, gently placing the whiskey bag on a table. “Sir?”
“You’re not gonna get anything from him,” a voice says, “he’s sleeping off a hangover.”
“Well, I’ve been there.” Wynonna mutters. Both sisters turn and look at the back of the bar where a tall, muscular man is striding up the basement stairs. He has a box under his arm and a guarded look on his face.
“Can I help you?” The man says.
“Yes.” Waverly says, stepping around Wynonna, “We’ve been looking for someone to help with our car. It broke down outside of town.”
The man sets the box down on the bar. Then, he crosses his arms. “So, you came to a bar to get your car fixed?”
“‘Bar’ is generous.” Wynonna snorts under her breath. Clearly, the tall man catches it, because he tightens even more if that was possible.
“The lady seems unimpressed with our establishment, Dolls.” Waverly and Wynonna jump. The seemingly sleeping man pushes his hat back and flashes them a charming smile. “Quite a shame.”
“‘Ours’ is also generous.” The other man, Dolls, grumbles. “Though, I’m surprised you can even form thoughts this morning.”
“Now, Dolls, you know I can hold my liquor.”
“Yet, you can’t hold a job--”
“Um, guys!” Waverly cuts in. Both pause mid-insult and stare at her. “We just need a mechanic.”
A few pointed looks are exchanged between the two men before they finally give their full attention to their guests. Wynonna rolls her eyes and rests a hand on her whiskey with pleading eyes at Waverly.
“Y’all are going to have to see the Blacksmith.” The cowboy says, pushing himself up from his seat. He saunters over to Wynonna and offers her his hand. “I’m Doc, by the way. Charmed.”
“Yeah, ‘charmed’ or whatever.” Wynonna frowns, “Unfortunately, we said ‘car’, not horse and chariot, so we’re going to need something a little less medieval than a blacksmith.”
“That’s just her nickname.” Dolls sighs.
“What’s her real name?” Waverly asks. The men exchange glances again.
“We don’t know.”
“Great.” Wynonna groans. “Well, where is she?”
“She’s either at her garage on Harvard off of Main, or the docks. The third dock to the right specifically, ‘cause she says she like the smell of that one the most. I dunno, she’s a odd bird.” Doc says, scratching at his chin.
“Uh huh, thanks. Waves, you wanna check the dock and I’ll check the garage?” Wynonna asks, but not really because she’s already walking out the front door. “Meet back here. And you, Doc, don’t touch my whiskey.”
Doc falls back into his seat with an affronted look and Waverly tries to keep up with this turn of event, desperate but unable to convey to Wynonna how much she doesn’t want to be the one going to the docks, how it makes her skin crawl at the thought. But the door is already shutting, leaving her alone with Dolls and Doc, who both look completely at a loss.
“You can get to the docks quicker from out the back door.” Dolls offers. Waverly blinks at him.
“Sure, thanks.” She says blankly. She takes one step towards the back door and then pauses, turns back, and steals a healthy swig of Wynonna’s whiskey. Dolls raises his eyebrows at that, but the glare Waverly sends him keeps him quiet. Only then does she make her way out the back door and down the short staircase to the docks.
As soon as her foot touches the first wood slate, Waverly’s insides are twisting around. She sucks in a deep breath and keeps her eyes down, praying that Dolls and Doc aren’t watching her.
It’s just that the ocean is right there . All around her. The logical part of her brain is telling her that docks are made to be above the water, to support people. Yet, the illogical part--the part that is smelling the salt and the heady scent of low tide and listening to the current lap at the siding--is losing its mind. And she hasn’t even walked out on an actual dock yet.
“C’mon, Waverly.” She mumbles to herself. Tensely, she raises her eyes and attempts to count the docks without looking at the water. Doc had said the third to right and the bar was conveniently situated at the far right side of the marina. Though her throat was tightening with every second, Waverly manages to pick out the third dock quick enough. It only has three boats anchored near it.
She breathes in. She can do this. It’s just a dock, it’s still attached to land. She’s Waverly Earp, she can walk across some wood. Leg’s heavy, she drags her stone feet forward, inching toward the dock, one step at a time. A slate creaks under her foot and she nearly passes out, imagining herself plunging through the weak wood and into the dark, murky water underneath. But she doesn’t.
In fact, she makes it out onto the dock, granted that her eyes are practically glued to the ground and her hands are shaking uncontrollably. What’s important is that she did it. Fear is clawing up her throat as she shoots furtive glances at the first two boats, with no sign of this ‘Blacksmith’ woman. It’s so horrible to be out there that she almost gives up hope and drags herself back to solid ground when movement on the third boat catches her eye.
“Oh! Hi, can I help you?” A woman pops out of the hull of the large sailboat, hair in a messy braid. She’s redheaded and gorgeous, Waverly notices, which is nice change compared to the watery dread surrounding her. The watery dread that is beating against the dock every second
“Are you the Blacksmith?” Waverly calls over, jaw clenched. A seagull lands near her and pecks uselessly at the bare wood.
“No,” The woman says, hoisting herself up to the deck of the boat. “I’m not.”
“Then no, you can’t help me.” Waverly spits, panic overwhelming her. She spins around, barely registering the disgruntled look on the woman’s face, and practically sprints down the dock. Sure, a part of her feels bad to leave so abruptly, but it’s crushed by the pure relief that washes over her as soon as she crosses the threshold of land and sea. She doesn’t even spare a glance back, instead choosing just to run up the stairs of the bar and try to control her heart rate.
Dolls, Doc, and Wynonna are all there when she throws the doors open with surprising strength and she questions exactly how long she spent psyching herself up to do a simple task. Three pairs of eyes stare at her, well, four actually if Waverly counts the ethereal-looking woman she has to assume is the Blacksmith. The greasy work gloves sticking out of her jeans may give it away.
“Whoa, Waverly, where’ve you been?” Wynonna frowns. At a loss to answer, Waverly just waves her hands helplessly.
“Y’get lost on the docks?” Doc smiles, glass of alcohol in hand, even at this hour.
“No. I’m fine.” Waverly says, immediately cursing herself, “I mean, it was fine. Is this the Blacksmith?”
“Yes, hello.” The woman approaches her easily and clasps her hand with both of her own. She meets Waverly’s eyes in a way that borders on intrusive, but her palm is warm and her smile is kind. Still, Waverly slides her hand free as soon as she can. “It seems you have troubles.”
Oh, how right she was.
“She’s gonna tow the car, Wave.” Wynonna says, “And she’s gonna drop us off so we can grab our stuff.”
“Oh, great!” The last vestiges of fear slowly melt off of Waverly now that she has something else to think about. It relaxes her muscles back to their normal positions and lets her breathe fully again.
“Shall we go?’ The Blacksmith says.
“Yes, please.” Waverly replies.
The ride back to their car with the Blacksmith is...well, it’s a bit uncomfortable. It’s completely silent yet somehow it feels like they are under a microscope the whole time or, at least, that’s how it feels for Waverly. The seating order goes Blacksmith, Waverly, Wynonna, the middle seat being shunted to the ‘smallest’ even though it was the cab of a tow truck, not the back seat of a sedan.
It may have been socially acceptable to start up some small talk, but the Blacksmith’s calm, quiet demeanor didn’t exactly lend to that endeavor. And, you know what, if she was okay with silence, Waverly was okay with silence. She needed a minute to decompress from the incident at the dock. Embarassment burns the tips of her ears. She’s a grown woman, for Christ’s sake. She shouldn’t go into throes over some water.
A bump in the road knocks her into Wynonna, who takes the brunt of it with her shoulder and pushes back good naturedly. Thankfully, they’ve nearly arrived. The gaudy pink paint comes into view within the next few second. The Blacksmith pulls over and kills her engine.
“That’s quite the car you have there.” She chuckles.
“It has character.” Waverly defends.
“And value.” Wynonna seconds.
“I don’t disagree.” The Blacksmith laughs again. “Go load your things into the truck bed while I look under the hood.”
“Sure thing.” They each go about their individual tasks, though Wynonna is finished once she loads her single duffel bag. Waverly, on the other hand, has two heavy suitcases.
“I don’t know why you brought so much stuff. We were going to a spa, you’re naked at those most of the time, right?” Wynonna asks as she lifts the largest one.
“It doesn’t hurt to be prepared.” Waverly says simply, relieving her sister of the weight and loading it herself. Wynonna just shrugs. Over by their car, the Blacksmith is setting up the tow, humming to herself.
“Does she make you feel...” Waverly trails off.
“Vulnerable?” Wynonna fills in. “Back at the bar, she told me my aura was ‘unsteady’ and ‘aimless’. Like I need some voodoo mechanic to tell me I’m a disaster.”
“You’re not a disaster.”
“You’re my sister, you have to say that.” Wynonna smiles, patting Waverly on the back. She walks away, returning to the truck’s cab, leaving her younger sibling to study their mechanic with wariness creeping down the nape of her neck.
“Alright.” The Blacksmith says, startling Waverly when she meets her eyes, “We’re ready to go.”
Predictably, the ride back to the garage is even more unbearable than the one there. The Blacksmith hums the whole time. The Earp sisters are mute. They pull into the garage and the first break in the quiet is the Blacksmith’s clear and simple directions to the only motel in town. She helps them unload their luggage and waves them off, but that’s it. Waverly has never seen Wynonna leave somebody’s company fast enough.
Unfortunately, their respite from the knowing eyes of the Blacksmith is soured by the filmy, beady eyes of the man who owned the motel.
“Most people round ‘ere rent houses. They n’er need ol’ Bill’s motel.” He laments to them as he sucks on a cigarette that stays balanced in the gap of a missing tooth. The ‘motel’ is Bill’s ramshackle home and the row of four smaller, equally questionable ‘rooms’ that really seemed to just be sheds with doors on them.
“Do the rooms lock?” Wynonna asks.
“Nope.” Bill sneers.
They don’t stay at the motel.
The sun is going down by the time they haul their luggage back to the main street, at a loss for what to do. Wynonna had suggested asking the Blacksmith to sleep in their car for the night, but Waverly had wrestled that down to a last option.
“We need somewhere to sleep. I’ll sleep on the beach, I don’t care.” Wynonna moans. She yanks Waverly’s second suitcase aggressively over the curb of the sidewalk. “Can we go back to that bar. That Doc guy said he’d give me a free drink.”
“I don’t know if he has the authority to do that. I think Dolls actually owns the bar.”
“Then I’ll convince him I’ve earned a free drink, too. Maybe I’ll get two.”
“Okay.”
A short meander leads them and their bags back to the front doors of the bar, which is cast in the darkening hues of the sky. Wynonna throws both doors open, noisily announcing their presence to absolutely no one. The bar is empty.
“What the heck?” She frowns, “Where is everybody? It’s been happy hour for three frickin’ hours.”
Waverly stands up her suitcase and puts her hands on her hips. Out of the corner of her eye, she catches Dolls bounding up the basement stairs, face set with a slightly forced smile that falls away as soon as he realizes who has arrived in his bar.
“Oh, I thought--”
“Where are your customers?” Wynonna says incredulously. She drops her duffel on the floor with disgust. “Are you closed or something?”
“We have no customers.” Doc says, arriving from the basement with practiced flair. Dolls face hardens into an annoyed grimace.
“We are in a period of transition--”
“No, we’re not.” Doc cuts him off, “Nobody comes here.”
“Why?” Waverly asks, though she would be willing to guess that the general state of disrepair of the building had something to do with the lack of customers.
“Well,” Doc chuckles, “that would be because when I owned the building, it was empty. I owned it, but I had little interest in doin’ anything with it. I don’t like to be tied down to property and such.”
“He left it basically abandoned while he cowboy-ed around wherever the wind blew him.” Dolls states plainly.
“ However ,” Doc growls, “the property was mine . Little do I know, when I return to town after a few years, that my land has been sold to none other than Mr. Dolls here. Without my permission.”
“Who did that?” Waverly asks.
“A goddamn witch --” Doc spits, before Dolls raises a hand to stop him.
“A real estate agent who falsely lead me to believe that the owner had basically forfeited his property rights and then allowed me to buy it. Which I did.”
“So who owns it?” Wynonna’s eyebrows are furrowed. Clearly, she’s having equally as hard a time as Waverly in following this explanation.
“I do.” Both men say in unison and then glare at each other.
“What Doc didn’t mention to you is that he can’t afford to try and buy the building back.” Dolls says smugly.
“And what Dolls didn’t mention is that it’s illegal for him to kick me out ‘cause my name’s still on the deed, too. An’ he knows it.” Doc fires back, moustache twitching..
“Wow, I feel like I just stepped into a reality TV show.” Wynonna says, shaking her head, “Do you have a liquor license or what?”
“Yes.”
“Great, then here’s your first customer.” Wynonna taps herself on the chest. She beelines to a bar stool and groans with pleasure at her feet being off the ground. Waverly smiles to herself. She joins her sister and watches Dolls move confidently behind the bar.
“What would you like?” He asks, already reaching for the whiskey.
“You know how to make a New York Sour?” Wynonna grins. Dolls nods and looks at Waverly.
“A Sea Breeze?” She says, because it felt ironic enough to laugh.
“Sure thing.” Dolls gets to work quickly while Doc hops up onto the stool next to Waverly. Instead of requesting something from Dolls, he just reaches over the counter and pours himself a straight glass of bourbon. Dolls doesn’t comment, focusing on his drink making. And he’s quick--their glasses are set in front of them in record time.
Wynonna thanks him and promptly knocks back a massive gulp of her drink, to unknown consequences. Her face contorts when the liquid hits her tongue and she chokes, hunching over with her eyes wide. Struggling, she swallows and gasps for air and waves her hands in front of her tongue.
“Jesus!” She wheezes.
“Are you okay?” Waverly slaps her on the back with concern, wondering if nobody came to Dolls’ bar because he poisoned his patron.
“Talk about a heavy pour! That was nearly all alcohol!” Wynonna hacks, groping for something to relieve the burn in her throat. “I’m used to a stiff drink, but, damn, I wasn’t ready for that.”
Dolls hands her a plastic cup of water and sweeps the offending drink away. As a precaution, Waverly sniffs her own cocktail and reels back with the sheer scent of booze wafting off of it nearly strips her eyebrows off. She pushes it to Dolls without a word.
“Have you ever mixed a drink before?” She asks him.
“Yes.”
“He hasn’t drank one though.” Doc chuckles into his bourbon.
“What?” Wynonna coughs.
“Yes, it’s true, your barkeep doesn’t drink.” Gleeful light plays in Doc’s eyes. Dolls looks ready to leap across the bar and strangle him
“And you own a bar?”
“Yes.”
“Jeez.” Wynonna takes a ginger sip from her water. “You boys need help.”
“We do not--”
“Yeah, you do. You need someone with experience. Is Gordon Ramsay hiding on the second floor? Because he could be of use.”
“Nah, there’s only furniture up there.” Doc offers unhelpfully.
“Is there a bed?” Waverly sighs out loud, though that was supposed to be more of a tired thought than an actual question. Her cheeks color when the others catch her words.
“Actually there is.” Doc swirls his drink, “But that’s not--”
“Hold up, cowboy.” Wynonna says, “How available is this bed?”
“Wait. Do you two not have a place to stay?” Dolls frowns before Doc can let loose the inappropriate comment on the tip of his tongue. Wynonna and Waverly look at each other. It’s this or creepy Bill.
“No. And before you say anything, I have an idea.” Wynonna raise two fingers, “Hear me out here: If you two let me and Waverly stay here tonight while our car is getting fixed, we will give you some tips on how to run a bar.”
“And how do you know how to run a bar?”
“A family friend of ours owned one before he passed and we both spent most of our lives in that place.”
“I was the only one with a real job there though.” Waverly corrects. Unless Wynonna is counting hanging around and being the resident pool shark as a job.
“Hey!” Wynonna pouts, before returning her attention to the boys, “Contrary to what Waverly said, I do know how to run a good bar, trust me.”
And maybe Wynonna wasn’t lying. She had always lacked any true career ambitions, but her sister was smarter than she gave herself credit for, especially concerning the thing she was best at dealing with: alcohol. Had Gus not sold the bar, maybe Wynonna would have found her calling.
“I’m fine with it, Dolls.” Doc shrugs, unusually agreeable with letting strangers sleep on ‘his’ property.
“We’re great house guests.” Wynonna adds with her classic ‘I’m trustworthy’ grin. Dolls closes his eyes and folds his arms, breathing in.
“Fine.” He says when the air comes rushing out. “You can stay.”
Waverly opens her mouth to thank them for their kindness when the slam of the back door makes all four of them jump.
“Hey, Dolls, can I get a protein shake?” Oh, dear. Embarrassment plops down on Waverly’s chest. Standing in the back doorway is none other than the redheaded woman from the docks, looking freshly showered and glowing with a light tan. Waverly twists around in her seat, hunkers down over the bar, and lets her hair fall in front of her face.
“Hey, Nicole.” She hears Dolls say, but doesn’t dare look up. Oh, God, Nicole is such a pretty name. A pretty name that she didn’t even bother to learn before being so rude on the dock. Okay, fair, she had been panicking pretty severely, but this woman probably thought Waverly was some kind of asshole jerk.
“Doc,” Dolls voice has moved further away, “can you go check on the upstairs for our guests?”
“Anything for two pretty ladies.” Doc’s voice fades away, too. Waverly stares at the wood grain. The slap of flip flops travels from the door towards the bar, muffled only slightly by the buzz of Dolls turning on a blender. Oh, crap.
Waverly can sense the woman when she takes over Doc’s empty stool. She keeps her head down. There was nothing worse than knowing that a random stranger had seen her mid-panic. The blender shuts off. A glass clinks on the bar when Dolls sets it down. Waverly takes a chance to shoot a quick glance at her neighbor...who is looking right at her.
“Uh, hi?” Nicole says.
Crap.
“Ha, hi.” Waverly winces at the way her voice cracks. She straightens up and brushes her hair to the side. Immediately, the open, friendly look on Nicole’s face shifts to one of cool disinterest.
“Oh. It’s you.” Nicole grumbles. She turns her attention away to the smoothie in her hands. Waverly wants to sink through the floorboards. Wynonna is no help either. She’s busied herself with reading a messily done cocktail menu.
Minutes tick by--agonizing, uncomfortable minutes. Waverly counts and categorizes every bottle of alcohol on the bar’s shelf and then mentally alphabetizes them. It’s not enough to distract from the chilly way Nicole is sipping her protein shake. Thankfully, Doc comes clumping through the front door to rescue her.
“Okay, you two are good to go. I made sure the windows were still attached to the frames and all that. Stairs are outside to the right.” He says, swiping more bourbon from behind the bar.
“Great. Thanks. We’ll talk bar in the morning, yeah? We’ve had a long day.” Wynonna is already standing up and gathering her things. Waverly bolts to follow her.
“Sure. Doc will be in the basement if you need anything before I get here in the morning.” Dolls nods.
They each bid their goodnights (with the exception of Nicole) as Waverly practically sprints out the front door with her suitcases, Wynonna following at a much more leisurely pace. The sun has gone down, so they step outside under the yellow glow of lamp lights. But, before either can get a foot on the outdoor stairs, Waverly freezes in place.
“Wave? You gonna go?”
“One second.” Waverly leaves her suitcases where they stand and rushes back in the bar. Nicole freezes mid conversation with Dolls and Doc. Before her brain can tell her not to, Waverly walks up to the other woman and looks her dead in the eye.
“I’m sorry I was rude to you on the dock. I was...stressed out about my car breaking down.” She rushes out. Surprise dances across Nicole’s face. Her mouth hangs open, but Waverly never hears if anything comes out--she’s already taken off back outside. Her suitcases are shockingly easy to carry up the stairs with mortification driving her to get away.
Wynonna is waiting for her upstairs.
“You alright?”
“M’fine.”
“Okay...well, there’s a bathroom and I’m using it first.” Her sister says over her shoulder. Waverly collapses on a lumpy blue armchair without answer.
Wow. One of the windows is open and through it she can distantly hear the white noise of ocean waves taunting her. Go to hell , she thinks, leave me alone . Predictably, the ocean carries on. She could be at a spa right now. That had been the plan. So much for that.
Waverly closes her eyes and leans back further in the chair. Or at least she tries to, before getting up and shutting the window and the ocean out. Only then can she breath easily. Just one more day.