Whiskey Wit and Wonder

By Robin Reid

Claire Donovan has always lived by the book—her calendar meticulously organized, her speeches practiced to perfection, and her life as predictable as a city council meeting. But when she steps into The Blue Tavern one fateful night, everything she thought she knew about control and order starts to unravel. Enter Wes Archer, the charming, maddeningly carefree bar owner with a devilish grin and a knack for throwing Claire off her game. What starts as a simple favor—helping Wes survive a nerve-wracking fundraiser speech—quickly spirals into something much more complicated. With each late-night strategy session and every shared laugh over greasy bar food, Claire finds herself drawn to Wes's world, a place where plans are made to be broken and connections are formed in the most unexpected ways. As the lines between professionalism and attraction blur, Claire is forced to confront the chaos Wes brings into her perfectly curated life. Is she ready to risk her carefully built world for a chance at something real? Or will she stick to her well-worn path, missing out on the possibility of love, whiskey, and a little bit of wonder?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robin Reid
• Release date: Sep 14, 2024
• ISBN: 9798227655837

Book preview

Chapter 1:

My footsteps were unsteady, my heart racing as I approached the bar. The warmth of the room contrasted sharply with the chill that had settled over me during the meeting. I could feel the whiskey-soaked atmosphere seeping into my pores, pulling me into a world that felt simultaneously alien and intriguing.

Wes’s eyes followed me as I drew closer, a lazy, knowing gaze that seemed to see right through me. When I reached the bar, he flashed that crooked grin again, the kind that suggested he was in on a secret that the rest of the world was blissfully ignorant of. Evening, he drawled, his voice smooth and rich, like honey mixed with a hint of mischief. What can I get for you?

I hesitated, unsure of what to say. My usual choices were confined to the realm of coffee or sparkling water, nothing so bold as the amber liquid glistening in the bottles behind him. Just water, I managed, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace.

He raised an eyebrow, his smile widening. Water? You sure you don’t want to try something a bit stronger? It’s that kind of night.

I could feel the amusement in his voice, a playful challenge that danced on the edge of our conversation. I’m not sure that’s a good idea, I replied, trying to match his tone but failing to conceal the nervous tremor in my voice.

He laughed, a low, rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate through the air, making my nerves tingle. Suit yourself. But if you change your mind, you know where to find me. He turned his attention to the tap, filling a glass with cool, clear water, his movements fluid and practiced.

As he handed me the glass, our fingers brushed briefly. The contact was electric, sending a jolt through me that I tried to ignore. I took a sip, hoping to steady myself. The water was refreshing, but it did little to calm the fluttering in my chest or the heightened awareness of Wes’s presence.

I glanced around, taking in the eclectic mix of patrons who seemed to inhabit this space as naturally as the furniture. There was a sense of camaraderie here, a shared understanding of unspoken rules that I felt utterly unqualified to decipher. It was a far cry from the sterile environments of my daily life, and yet, there was something undeniably magnetic about it.

So, Wes said, leaning against the bar, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. What brings you here on a night like this? You don’t strike me as the usual crowd.

I hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. Just a favor for a colleague, I said finally. I’m here to meet someone, but I didn’t expect it to be so... different.

Wes’s smile softened into something more genuine, a hint of empathy in his eyes. Different can be good, he said. Sometimes it’s just what you need.

There was something in his voice, a sincerity that made me believe he understood more than he let on. I found myself wanting to confide in him, to share the frustrations and trivialities of my world, but I wasn’t sure where to start.

Before I could respond, the door to the tavern swung open with a jingle, and a new group of patrons stumbled in, their laughter and boisterous conversation filling the room with a fresh burst of energy. Wes’s attention shifted to them, his easygoing demeanor never faltering. He greeted them with a nod and a warm welcome, his presence commanding a quiet respect from the crowd.

As I watched him interact with the new arrivals, I felt a strange sense of familiarity. It was as if he belonged to this place as much as the worn leather stools and the faded photographs on the walls. His ease with the patrons, the way he seemed to know just what they needed before they even asked—it was impressive and oddly comforting.

I took another sip of my water, the cool liquid soothing my nerves. Wes caught my eye again, his smile tinged with curiosity. You know, he said, you don’t have to stay in the shadows. If you’re here for a reason, maybe you should make the most of it. Sometimes the best conversations happen when you’re least expecting them.

His words lingered in the air between us, a subtle invitation that made me question my own reservations. I was used to planning every detail of my life, to orchestrating encounters with precision. But here, in this dimly lit bar with its uneven floorboards and smoky atmosphere, the rules seemed different. The idea of letting go, of embracing the unpredictability of the night, was both terrifying and exhilarating.

I looked at Wes, seeing not just the bartender but a man who seemed to understand the nuances of this place better than anyone else. His eyes, warm and inviting, suggested that perhaps he was more than just a fixture behind the bar. Maybe he was a key to unlocking a world I had always been hesitant to explore.

For a moment, I allowed myself to consider the possibility. What if tonight could be more than just a duty fulfilled, more than a simple favor? What if, in the midst of the chaos and the unfamiliarity, there was something to discover—something that could change the way I saw the world? The thought was as intoxicating as any drink, and I found myself wondering what it would be like to embrace it fully, to step out of my carefully controlled existence and into the mystery that Wes seemed to offer.

I glanced back at Wes, who was now busying himself with rearranging a row of bottles. There was something undeniably magnetic about him, an ease that seemed to draw everyone in. I could see why this place had its charm; it wasn’t just about the drinks or the atmosphere, but about Wes himself. He seemed to be the heart of this little universe, and I found myself inexplicably drawn to him, despite my best efforts to remain detached.

I was contemplating this unexpected fascination when Wes broke the silence. So, what’s a city council member doing in a place like this at midnight? Don’t you have better places to be?

His casual tone caught me off guard, and I had to chuckle, though it felt a bit strained. It’s a favor for a colleague. Networking, you know? Not my usual scene.

Networking, huh? Wes said, his smile widening as he leaned on the bar, clearly intrigued. I’d have thought you’d be more comfortable in a high-rise office than in a place like this.

I’m just here to meet someone. That’s all, I said, trying to keep the conversation on a professional note, but the way he looked at me—curious, amused—made it difficult to stay in that frame of mind.

Well, if you’re looking for someone, you found me. Wes Archer, owner and resident bartender of The Blue Tavern. He gave a slight bow, as though introducing himself was a grand performance. And you are?

Claire, I said, extending a hand, which he shook with a firm yet gentle grip. There was a strange comfort in that simple gesture, something that felt warm and reassuring, like a promise of good things to come.

Nice to meet you, Claire. His voice was soft, but it carried a depth that made my name sound like it was more than just a label. So, what’s the real reason you’re here? I’ve got a feeling it’s not just to sip on water.

I hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. But there was something disarmingly sincere in his gaze that made me want to open up. Honestly? I’m not even sure. Maybe it’s because I needed a change of pace. The meeting was... exhausting.

Sounds like it, Wes said, nodding sympathetically. Sometimes we all need a break from the routine, a chance to escape.

His words resonated with me, and for a moment, I felt as if I were no longer a city council member but simply a person in need of a reprieve. I wasn’t sure if it was the atmosphere, the late hour, or just the way he looked at me, but I found myself lowering my defenses. What about you? Do you ever feel the need to escape?

Wes’s smile softened, and he looked out over the room, his gaze distant as if lost in thought. I guess this place is my escape. It’s where I come to unwind, to connect with people who walk through that door and leave their worries behind. It’s not a bad gig, really.

There was a bittersweet undertone to his words, a hint of something deeper that I couldn’t quite grasp. I wanted to ask more, to dig into the layers of his seemingly carefree persona, but the moment was interrupted by the sound of the door swinging open and a rush of cold air.

A group of friends stumbled in, laughing loudly, their vibrant energy filling the room and momentarily breaking our intimate conversation. Wes’s attention shifted to them, and he seamlessly slipped back into his role, greeting them with the same easygoing charm he had shown me.

As I watched him interact with his customers, I realized how much he thrived in this environment. There was a genuine warmth in the way he made each person feel welcome, as though they were the most important person in the room. I admired that quality, the way he seemed to effortlessly bridge the gap between people’s worlds.

When the group finally settled at a nearby table, Wes returned to the bar, catching my eye with a curious look. So, Claire, tell me more about this networking mission of yours. What’s it really about?

I took a deep breath, feeling oddly comfortable sharing more with him than I had intended. It’s about community engagement. We’re trying to create better connections between local businesses and the city council. It’s supposed to be about building partnerships, but sometimes it just feels like... a lot of talk with little action.

Sounds like a challenge, Wes said thoughtfully. But maybe that’s where places like this come in. Sometimes the best connections happen outside of formal settings.

I nodded, considering his words. There was a truth to them that I hadn’t fully appreciated before. Maybe Wes was right. Maybe genuine connections were made not in conference rooms but in places like The Blue Tavern, where people came to be themselves, away from the constraints of their daily lives.

Maybe you’re onto something, I said, meeting his gaze with a newfound sense of clarity. Maybe it’s about finding those moments of real connection, wherever they may be.

Wes’s smile was warm and knowing. You might just be right. And who knows? Maybe this evening will turn out to be more than just another networking event.

As he turned away to tend to his duties, I realized that my initial reluctance was melting away. There was something undeniably captivating about this place—and about Wes Archer—that made me feel as though I had stumbled into a story that was just beginning to unfold.

The night at The Blue Tavern had been an unexpected whirlwind, one that I hadn’t anticipated when I first walked in. Wes was far from the image I had conjured in my head—a stereotypical bar owner with a facade of community spirit. Instead, he was refreshingly candid, with a sharp wit that danced around the edges of our conversation. The usual pretense that I encountered in my professional world was conspicuously absent in him.

From the moment I had first exchanged words with him, Wes had a way of cutting through the formality with ease. He seemed to thrive on teasing, and his remarks were laced with a humor that was both disarming and, if I’m honest, slightly infuriating. As we talked, his eyes sparkled with mischief, a far cry from the carefully measured respect I was accustomed to.

You know, he said with a smirk as he wiped down the bar, for someone who’s all about improving community relations, you sure do seem like you’ve got a stick up your—

I cut him off, laughing despite myself. You really don’t hold back, do you?

Not even a little, he replied, leaning in closer. I figure, why bother with pretenses? Life’s too short to be anything but honest.

His words had an unexpected effect on me. I was used to dealing with people who were cautious around me, who measured their words and actions with precision. Wes, however, was anything but cautious. His ability to challenge me, to question my every point with a playful smirk, was both refreshing and exasperating.

For most of the evening, we sparred back and forth. I’d start with my earnest pitch about the need for better community engagement, and he’d counter with a sarcastic remark that made me pause. It was a game of verbal tennis, where each of us tried to outwit the other. Wes’s criticisms were sharp but not malicious. It was as if he enjoyed the intellectual challenge of seeing if he could make me second-guess my own convictions.

You know, he said at one point, leaning against the bar with a casual air, you might be more convincing if you didn’t sound like you’re giving a speech at a fundraising gala.

I raised an eyebrow. And how exactly should I sound?

Less like you’re reciting a script and more like you actually believe in what you’re saying. People can tell when you’re just going through the motions.

His words struck a chord, and I found myself momentarily lost in thought. He was right, of course. The passion I usually brought to these conversations had been dulled by the repetitive nature of my job, and Wes’s bluntness was forcing me to confront that reality.

You know, it’s not as easy as it looks, I said, trying to keep my voice steady. Sometimes, you have to play the part to get things done.

Wes shook his head, a smile playing on his lips. Playing the part is fine, but it shouldn’t replace actually caring about the part you’re playing. That’s where people get lost.

His insight was unexpected and unsettling. I had always prided myself on my ability to navigate the complexities of my role with grace and effectiveness, but Wes’s challenge made me question if there was more to my job than just the surface-level tasks. I wasn’t used to having someone push back so aggressively against my professional persona, and it left me feeling vulnerable.

By the time I left The Blue Tavern, the night air felt cooler, a stark contrast to the warm, intimate atmosphere inside. The tension between Wes and me had created a whirlwind of emotions that I wasn’t quite ready to unpack. His ability to provoke me, to make me question my own convictions, was something I hadn’t encountered before. It was disorienting but also oddly exhilarating.

As I walked to my car, the glow of the tavern’s neon sign faded behind me, leaving me with a lingering sense of curiosity. Wes Archer had managed to turn a simple networking favor into an evening of unexpected revelations. I wasn’t sure what to make of him yet, but one thing was clear: he had ignited something in me that I couldn’t ignore.

The hours slipped away unnoticed as we continued our back-and-forth, each of Wes’s remarks chipping away at my carefully constructed facade. He had a way of making me feel like I was stepping out of my own skin, revealing vulnerabilities I wasn’t used to showing. I found myself laughing more than I had in months, my usual reserves of control slipping with each easy jibe.

At one point, he leaned against the bar, his eyes sparkling with mischief. You know, I’d think a person in your position would be better at handling a little friendly banter. But you seem like you’re about to short-circuit any minute.

I shook my head, trying to suppress a smile. Maybe it’s not that I can’t handle it. Maybe it’s just that I don’t expect to have my political ideals challenged by a bartender.

Oh, is that what I am now? Wes grinned. Just a bartender?

It’s not the title, I said, feeling a warmth in my cheeks that I hoped he wouldn’t notice. It’s the fact that you’re so—unconventional. I’m used to people playing it safe, sticking to the script.

And where’s the fun in that? he asked, pouring himself a drink from a nearby bottle. Life’s too short to follow scripts. You should know that, considering you’re the one who’s always talking about ‘connecting with the community.’

His words hung in the air, and I found myself considering them more deeply than I intended. I was used to presenting a polished image, a version of myself that fit neatly into my role. Wes’s refusal to adhere to any sort of script was a breath of fresh air, but it also left me feeling strangely exposed.

As the night wore on, I couldn’t help but notice the way Wes’s laughter seemed to resonate through the room, the way his presence seemed to command attention without demanding it. It was as though he was a natural part of this place, an integral piece that made everything else fall into place. And yet, there was something about him that felt like an enigma, something I was both drawn to and intimidated by.

Okay, enough about politics, Wes said, abruptly shifting the topic. Tell me something about yourself that’s not on your LinkedIn profile.

I hesitated, unsure of how to respond. The question seemed deceptively simple, but it felt like a challenge in its own right. I’m not sure what you want to know, I said, trying to sound nonchalant.

Just a bit of the real you, he said, leaning in as if my answer was something he genuinely wanted to hear. Something that makes you, well, you.

I found myself thinking about how little I had shared with anyone recently, how my world had become a series of meetings and presentations rather than genuine connections. I guess... I used to be really into painting, I said, surprising myself with the admission. It was something I did when I wanted to escape from everything else.

Wes’s eyes lit up with genuine interest. Painting? That’s not what I expected. What kind of stuff did you paint?

Mostly landscapes, I said, feeling a sense of nostalgia as I spoke. It was a way to create my own little worlds, away from all the noise.

Sounds like you’ve got a creative side, he remarked. Maybe that’s why you’re so good at spinning those political speeches. You paint with words.

His comment struck me in an unexpected way, making me feel both seen and understood. There was something refreshing about his ability to draw out parts of me I had forgotten.

As the night grew later, I realized how much I had come to enjoy our exchange. Wes’s presence was like a spark that illuminated corners of my life I hadn’t acknowledged in ages. The playful banter, the challenge, the way he seemed to effortlessly peel away layers of pretense—it all combined into a feeling that was both exhilarating and unnerving.

When it was finally time to leave, I found myself lingering by the bar, reluctant to break the spell that Wes had cast over the evening. I should probably head out, I said, looking at my watch. It’s getting late.

Wes nodded, his expression softening as he set down the glass he was cleaning. Yeah, I guess it is. But it was nice, you know? Having a real conversation for once.

I smiled, a mix of emotions swirling inside me. It was. Thanks for the... unexpected night.

He returned the smile, a look of genuine warmth in his eyes. Anytime, Claire. Anytime.

As I walked out of The Blue Tavern, the cool night air hit me with a bracing clarity. My head was still spinning, not just from the