The Alpha's Diversion

Cat. “I think we’re actually ready!” Leo turned from the bar with one eyebrow raised, daring Cat to say otherwise. She chuckled, resting her hands on her hips as she surveyed the renovated space. “It would certainly appear that way. I guess we’ll find out tonight. What time are you coming back?” “I’m at your disposal, boss.” Cat was always careful not to flirt with Leo. His playful personality made it easy to slip into dangerous territory. She hadn’t dated since college and wasn’t interested in starting now. In her limited experience, men were nothing but a hassle and she’d found she was happier without them. “How about six? I don’t think we’ll see much traffic before then.” “Sounds good,” he said as he grabbed his backpack from behind the bar. "Hey, Leo,” Cat called, making him pause at the door. “Thanks for all of your help. I couldn’t have done this without you.” “My pleasure, Cat,” he responded with a wink. The bell on the door jingled as it closed behind him and a sigh of satisfaction escaped as she studied the art studio turned bar. My dad warned me that my degree in Art History wouldn’t pay, she thought to herself with a smile. If it hadn’t been for the gift she’d gotten from her late grandfather, he’d have been right. Cat’s mother was an artist, but it was her granddad who had instilled the love of the arts in her. When he died a few weeks before her college graduation, he left her a large inheritance and a few of his favorite pieces. He had lived into his nineties, so his passing wasn’t unexpected. But it was still difficult for Cat. Growing up, he was the only family member who she didn’t have to monitor herself around. Her family had been fractured since childhood and although she loved her parents, she sometimes felt stuck between them. Her folks couldn’t be more different. Her mother, Wren, was a free spirit in every sense of the word. She was loud, adventurous, dabbled in different art forms and moved when she got bored, never settling in one place or with one lover for long. While her mom was spontaneous, Cat’s dad, Carson, was dependable and conventional. Wren came into his life a few years after college graduation, similar to the way a tornado enters a safe Suburban neighborhood. He had been precisely where he should be in life at the time. It should have made him happy, but instead he found himself in the midst of an existential crisis. He worried that he was becoming his father. He’d never got along with his Dad, and felt he was a bit of a disappointment to the old man. At the time, he was split between proving him wrong by being wildly successful or proverbially spitting in his face by rejecting all of his ideals, even the ones Carson actually agreed with. After a long day at the office, and on the verge of a mental breakdown, he had stopped at a dive bar, a safe distance from his apartment, where he wouldn’t run into anyone he knew. And there she was, tending bar. They talked until closing time. She made him forget everything else. Wren was exactly what he’d needed at the time- which was exactly the opposite of everything in his life up to that point. She made him feel free to reject it all, to let loose, to be irresponsible if he wanted. He’d moved in with her by the end of the first week, quit his job after three weeks, and had taken up painting within a couple of months, although he was no good. Wren called his work “inspired outsider art”. A few months later, when Wren discovered she was pregnant, they married- the only instance that Wren had compromised with Carson. Catalina’s entrance into the world awakened Carson to the frivolousness of his choices. How could he live like this when there was a little person depending on him to take care of her? After this realization, it was only a matter of time before he and Wren split up. In truth, falling in love with his daughter always meant that he would fall out of love with his wife. There was no reconciling the two. Cat never felt guilt over their split, even though they were both as honest as their filters allowed them to be. It was easy to see she was only the catalyst for the inevitable. Carson remarried quickly, to mild-natured and nurturing Annie, who shared his views and values. She took care of the house, volunteered at different organizations, and was an enjoyable conversationalist at Carson’s business functions. Cat loved her and her stepsister, Blake, and spent holidays and school breaks with them in Arizona. She stayed mostly with her mom, not because she was her favorite, but because Cat sensed she needed her more. Wren went through boyfriends like seasons, but Cat felt it was less an act of liberation and more an attempt to avoid being vulnerable. Her current boyfriend was her longest relationship. She and Franco, an artist ten years her junior, lived in New Mexico and had been together for six years. He was confident and emotionally stable, but adventurous enough to go along with most of Wren’s crazy plans. It worked for them. And that made Cat happy. It was her paternal grandfather, Franklin, whom she depended on most. He was her anchor. He had the utmost respect and confidence in her, while not demanding a thing. Her experience with the man was vastly different from what her father described of his formative years with the patriarch. He was loving, charming, intelligent, honest, and giving. He alone could challenge her without ruffling her feathers. She didn’t have to agree with him to gain his love or acceptance. And if she wanted to be alone, he wasn’t offended. She never once felt the need to sooth his feelings. In her family, that was a welcome gift. Several times a year, he would arrange for them to spend a long weekend together- trips to the Smithsonian, the Uffizi Gallery, and the Hermitage Museum. Mona Lisa’s gaze followed her around the room at the Louvre. She got lost in the Starry Night in Amsterdam, and marveled at the statue of David at an age when most girls would have blushed. Franklin opened worlds for her. And with his last gift, he made her current world possible. Granted, it was a much smaller world than the one he had shown her growing up. But she loved it nonetheless, and somehow knew he would have approved. She was carving her own path. Moontrot was a small town about an hour outside of Denver, known for a thriving main street with no corporate stores. She’d fallen in love with the place the first time she visited while on a holiday break with her best friend, Jo, whose parents lived a few miles outside of city limits. The town was frequented not just by locals, but by those seeking to get away from the bigger cities for a few hours. It was an eclectic group of people who enjoyed the town and Cat ventured that there was enough foot traffic to support an art gallery. When she visited after graduation and saw the building with a For Sale sign in the window, she quickly arranged a viewing with the real estate agent. As the door opened to reveal the space, Cat knew it was her future. The downstairs portion had a large open area with an office and bathroom to the side. Stairs in the back led to an upstairs apartment- a cozy space bright with natural light and two balconies on opposite corners of the building, where Cat could sit at night with a glass of wine and quietly enjoy the town. Her parents had come, at separate times, to help her prepare the space. She’d made a small circle of friends here and Jo’s parents affectionately called her their adopted daughter. Bobby, Jo’s dad, was an enthusiastic handyman. Since retiring as a well-known publicist, he spent his hours working on their cabin and tinkering in his shop. His assistance had been invaluable to Cat. After a few months, she was ready to open, and The Village Vault was embraced by townspeople and tourists; she sold a lot of local art. But the revenue from the shop wouldn’t support her long-term without dipping into her inheritance money. It was Leo that suggested opening the gallery a few nights a week as a bar. She had to rethink the space- and the hours of operation. But she liked the idea. Bobby mounted the artwork on moving panels hooked up to a rail system that could be shifted higher during bar hours. They built the bar behind the counter and hung heavy curtains to pull closed during the daytime. The two velvet couches and chairs would stay, working for both scenes. For now, the tables and chairs were stacked in her office during gallery hours. All in all, it took an hour to transform the gallery into a bar- if Leo was there to help. The bar would operate Friday through Sunday night and the gallery Wednesday through Saturday. That meant the weekends would be long hours for Cat, but she didn’t mind. She had never been adverse to working hard. Instead, the challenge invigorated her.