Page 38 of The Reluctant Roommate

A server brought their tapas and a basket of bread.

“This is massive. I don’t know about you, but half of this is more than I usually eat for dinner. The FlyInn isn’t known for their generous portions.”

Morgan took a piece of warm bread and wiped it through the taramosalata. Sometimes, she’d come here after work with Manuela and a couple of the guys, and they’d shared a tapas platter and a bottle of wine before heading home. Those dayswere gone. Luckily, six was too early for anyone from Mattingley to be here. She refocused back on Heidi, who was spearing a meatball with her fork.

For a few moments, they were silent as they ate. Heidi did everything with gusto, it seemed. Eating, hiking, even working at her shitty job. Right now, appreciative hums came from her as her lips closed over an olive, and her gaze roamed the platter for what to try next. She was as delicious as the food. What sort of idiot was Serena to screw her over?

Heidi looked across. “You’re not eating?”

“I am.” She reached out blindly and picked some walnuts from the plate. Took a sip of wine. Tried to figure out exactly when she’d started to find Heidi so compelling.

It had to be that she saw no one else most days. That was it. She was people-deprived, which was like sleep deprivation and probably made you just as weird.

“Hey, Morgan. I thought that was you.”

Morgan froze. Had she summoned Manuela by thinking about her? She closed her eyes, but when she opened them, Manuela was leaning against the bar next to her.

“Hi, Manuela. It’s good to see you.” She stood, grasped her shoulder, and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek.

“You too. You’re looking well.” The tiny wrinkle between Manuela’s eyes gave away the lie.

Morgan forced a smile. She wore less makeup these days, and the dark circles under her eyes were more evident. “You too.” Her nerves jangled. How could she steer the conversation so Heidi didn’t realize who Manuela was? Didn’t find out exactly where Morgan didn’t work anymore? Her armpits instantly felt clammy despite her forty-eight-hour antiperspirant. She picked up her fork and stabbed a meatball.

“I’ve missed our lunches,” Manuela said. “It’s not the same at work without you.”

She flicked a glance at Heidi, who was watching them with the sort of polite smile someone wears when they’re waiting to be introduced, then refocused on Manuela. “I’ve missed you too. Why don’t we try and have lunch next week?”

“That would be good. I’ll call you. I’ll need to check my calendar, but I think Wednesday is looking good.”

“I’ll work on that.”

Manuela pushed away from the bar. “I’m obviously interrupting your date. There’s a couple of us from work in the next room. If you’ve got time to say hello, I’m sure they’d love to see you.” To Heidi, she said, “I’m sorry to interrupt your date.”

“No worries,” Heidi said with a polite smile.

“I’ll look forward to your call. Bye, Manuela.” People from Mattingley in the next room? They were never here this early. Morgan waited until Manuela was out of earshot before turning to Heidi. “Sorry about that. Manuela is someone I used to work with.”

“I gathered that. How long ago did you work together?”

“It was a while ago now,” she lied. “I can’t remember exactly.”

“If you want to go and talk to your old coworkers, don’t worry about me.” Heidi tilted her empty glass. “I’ll sit here and have another glass of wine while I wait for you.”

Like hell she’d go and talk to anyone from Mattingley. See their awkward, pitying expressions, field questions about where she was working, and probably answer questions about her old accounts. “No way.” She punched Heidi on the biceps. “We’re out together tonight. I don’t want to talk with people I used to know.” She broke the last piece of bread in two and gave half to Heidi. “Let’s finish this scraping of hummus and go check out Oscar’s Tavern.”

The best dive bar in Denver had to be better than talking with anyone from Mattingley.

Chapter 20

The Best Dive Bar in Denver

Morgan looked around as they entered the unassuming brick building. From the outside, Oscar’s Tavern wasn’t too different from any other rather shabby local bar. Inside, though, the place was jumping, which for not even seven on a weekday evening was pretty good. The chalkboard for the pool table had a long list of names, and the place was abuzz with conversation and shouts of laughter. Two bartenders worked the small bar, adeptly dodging around each other, seemingly by telepathy.

The Park Grille was Morgan’s sort of bar. From Heidi’s rapt expression, Oscar’s Tavern was hers.

“My turn to get the drinks,” Morgan said.

They found a high table near the shuffleboard. The server hustled over. “Whatcha want?”