Bullies Sl-apped the Waitress in a Bar — She Dropped Him Instantly Like a Strike
Chapter 5
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About 20 minutes later, Margaret Doyle walked in, right on schedule, wearing her good coat, carrying her small purse close to her chest. She took her usual seat near the window. She ordered her usual dinner, and she sat there quietly the way she always did, enjoying a little bit of company without needing anyone to talk to her directly.Brett noticed her. Maybe it was the beer working on him. Maybe it was just who he already was underneath it. Either way, he leaned back in his chair and raised his voice loud enough for half the room to hear."Hey, look at that. Grandma's out on a date. Where's your husband tonight, ma'am? He stand you up?"His friends laughed. Margaret's face went pale. She looked down at her plate and said nothing.Wren, standing near the bar, felt her whole body go still. She had learned a long time ago how to read a room the way most people read a book: slow, careful, missing nothing. And this room had just shifted.Brett wasn't finished. "Ma'am, you sure you're in the right place? This ain't exactly bingo night." More laughter from his table.At the bar, Walter set down his coffee cup hard enough that it rattled against the saucer. His jaw tightened, but he was 78 years old and Brett was 30, and Walter knew exactly how that math worked out if it came to anything physical. So, Walter did what he'd learned to do a long time ago: he watched, he waited, he hoped somebody braver or younger or in a better position would step in.Near the corner of the bar, Frank set down his own drink and glanced over, his jaw tight, though he stayed in his seat the same as everyone else.That somebody turned out to be Wren.She walked over to Margaret's table first: calm, steady, like she was simply doing her job."Everything all right over here, Mrs. Doyle?"Margaret's eyes were glassy, but she managed a small nod. "I'm fine, dear."Wren gave her hand a gentle squeeze. Then she turned and walked straight toward Brett's table. There was no anger in her face, no drama, just the calm, level look of someone who had faced down things far more dangerous than a drunk man in a bar."Can I help you with something?" she asked him.Brett grinned up at her. "Depends what you're offering.""I'm offering you a chance to enjoy your beer and leave that woman alone," Wren said. "That's all."The table went quiet for a second. One of Brett's friends let out a low whistle, like he couldn't believe she'd actually said it.Brett's grin faded into something colder. "You know who my family is?" he asked."I don't need to," Wren said. "I just need you to be decent for the next 20 minutes."A few people at the bar chuckled under their breath—not loud, but enough for Brett to hear it. And that, more than anything, is what set him off. Because in this town, nobody laughed at Brett Whitmore. Not out loud, not where he could hear it.He stood up fast, his chair scraping hard against the floor.