There was no answer. I moved through the space, fully taking it in for the first time now that it was empty of customers, and I wasn’t covered in beer. It looked surprisingly good. Whoever had remodeled the interior had done an incredible job. The floors were cement with an artfully distressed finish. The bar itself a perfect juxtaposition of gleaming redwood on the top and what looked to be roughed-up reclaimed barnwood on the front. Above it hung Edison lights that brought out the warmth of the wood and the red in the brick walls.

Maybe my brother had sunk the bar’s whole budget into redoing the interior, thinking it would fix all our problems. I needed to go over the books. A stylish setting was important, but a successful bar and restaurant was so much more than that.

I rounded the bar and headed down a hallway covered in photos from generations of Hardys and our employees, both celebrations and everyday snapshots. Memories of running down this hall to visit my dad danced in my head. Hunter and I would race each other, yelling our heads off as we went, my father consumed by laughter by the time we reached his office.

My hand hovered over the familiar red door. I gave two quick knocks.

“Come in.”

I pushed open the door. Isabelle sat behind the same desk my father had for my entire childhood, her hair piled on top of her head, held up by what looked like two pens. She was surrounded by papers and a computer that looked to be a decade past its prime. I couldn’t help but drink her in. She was unrecognizable yet undeniably familiar. The multiple piercings lining her ears were new, and a glimpse of a tattoo peeked out from the scooped neck of her tee. Those curves that filled out the shirt definitely hadn’t been there eleven years ago. Shit. I could not be seeing Trouble in this way.

And I shouldn’t be calling her that, even in my head. Not anymore.

As if she could read my mind, Isabelle’s green eyes flashed, a hint of anger and defiance dancing in their depths. She quickly covered it. I hated the action. The girl who used to tell me everything was now a woman hiding it all away and out of my reach. I got that, but it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

“Hey, Isabelle.” My voice came out rusty, as though it hadn’t been used in weeks.

She flinched. “Call me Bell, everyone else does.”

“Okay…Bell.” I forced the name to curve around my tongue. It didn’t feel quite as weird to say it as I’d thought it would. But I found myself wondering if the name fit the woman before me and if I’d ever have the opportunity to find out.

She cleared her throat. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be in today.”