The Bar Owner with Ghosts in His Smile
- Phyllis Horne
- Sep 29
- 2 min read
What if the safest person to trust is the one who knows exactly why you shouldn't?
Bar owners read people. But Jake Brusey, standing behind the polished cypress bar at Enola's on the Têche, has a greater gift born of loss. You can see it in the careful way he pours a mint julep.
When a desperate woman walks into his establishment, something in her controlled panic speaks to something in his practiced calm. What happens next will change both their lives—but first, you need to understand why Jake was always going to be the one she chose.
1. The inheritance he never wanted.
"Kinda young to own a place like this," strangers often observe. Jake's response never varies. His father passed it on when he died. But watch Jake’s hands when he says it—the way they pause midpour, the slight tightening around the bottle. Enola's comes with more than just libations and repeat clientele. Some legacies can't be refused, only managed. And Jake has spent his entire adult life managing his with the precision of a tightrope walker.
2. Enola’s on the Têche isn’t on Bayou Têche.
Ask Jake that question and his easy smile dims. The story involves fire, intention, and the kind of loss that teaches you to recognize desperation in others. "You have to really want to burn down a 150-year-old, cypress-wood building in this humidity," he'll say, voice controlled. But it's what he doesn't say that matters—about who wanted it gone; how it was rebuilt; and, what it really cost him.
3. The careful distance he keeps.
In a small Louisiana town where everyone knows everyone's third cousin, Jake maintains an unusual independence. He visits the library to check out mysteries and chat with the librarian, who just happens to be a favorite old teacher. Crafts perfect cocktails. Hasn’t dated much. But watch how certain names make him stiffen, how certain conversations get redirected. His greatest strength might be what he's spent a lifetime avoiding.
The moment everything shifts: When Mia finally asks for his help, Jake's response reveals everything—frustration at being pulled into something dangerous, recognition of genuine desperation, and an inability to turn away that surprises even him. "Lady, I'm still calling you AW—anonymous woman," he says, caught between self-preservation and compassion.
Some people become trustworthy not because they're innocent, but because they understand the true cost of getting involved. Jake Brusey is one of them.
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