Autumn's phone buzzed on the bar. She looked at it, and turned as red as her hair.
Then she stretched and let out the biggest, fakest yawn I'd ever seen. "Oh man. Today really wore me out. Last days are so chaotic. I think I should head home."
I glared at her.
"What?" She squirmed guiltily.
"Was that Cole?" I reached for her phone.
She snatched it away, turning even redder.
"This is a blatant newlywed booty call if I've ever seen one." I laughed. "Fine. Go home. Fuck your husband, it's fine."
Autumn was almost magenta as she gathered up her things, which made me laugh even harder. "Have you done it in the basement yet?" I called after her as she scurried out the door. "Try the basement this time!"
I was still laughing as the door slammed behind her.
But my laugh died away as I tried not to feel jealous.
"She sure left fast." My father sidled up to me and grabbed Autumn's half-empty glass. "Didn't even finish her drink."
"It bothers you when people leave drinks undrunk, doesn't it?"
"No skin off my back. They pay for it either way."
"You don't charge Autumn to drink here."
"Guess I'm an idiot then." He shrugged.
I sat up in a protective huff. "Stop. You're not an idiot. You know I hate it when you talk like that."
"Yeah, well, I have my idiotic moments," he amended. His voice was a little softer, and a little heavier. With that raggedness around the edges I hated to hear.
"Stop it." I smacked the bar in front of him. "Snap out of it."
"I'm fine," my dad grumbled.
"You sure? You're not thinking about her?"
"I think about your mother every goddamn day. Doesn't do anything, doesn't mean anything."
My cheeks heated with that familiar, righteous rage. "Sure it does."
"I know you would like me to just go in here with a melon baller." He tapped his bald head. "And scoop out the part that was with her for all those years. But I can't do that, Brynn. Your mother's not like an appendix. I can't just remove her and feel fine. She was my wife for eighteen years."
"She still IS your wife. Wherever she is."
"Don't you start on me."
"I'm not starting. I'm reminding. The divorce papers are all worked out. Just waiting for you to sign them. You have ample grounds on abandonment."
"Yes. Well." My dad wiped at a nonexistent spot on the bar. "I have a feeling that's not what she wants."
"She doesn't get to have what she wants," I seethed, trying and failing to keep the anger out of my voice. "She already got that. If she wanted us to consider her feelings, she should have considered yours. Ours. She should have stayed."
My dad didn't say anything. And all at once I felt like an asshole. "Hey, go home," I blurted. "Take the night off. It's not too busy in here."
"Really?" My dad's eyebrows did that arching thing again. "This is your first night of summer and you want to spend it in my smelly old bar?"
"I love your smelly old bar." I grabbed his rag and flicked him with it. "Come on, take advantage of this. How often do I offer?"
"Fine. Don't burn the place down."
"Don't give me any ideas!" I called as I slid behind the counter. My father muttered all the way out to his car.
I grinned.
I wiped a few glasses and refilled a few drinks, but on the whole the night was quiet. I even considered closing up early. But it was the last night before tourist season. The last night our town would really belong to us.
I wanted to stay open for the locals as long as possible.
But as the clock crept closer and closer to eleven, I wondered if I should just pack it in. No one was coming.
I had just made my decision when the door slammed open. I looked up, irritated at the latecomer.
Then I stood up a little straighter when Everett McCabe walked in.
A dark shadow of stubble made the angle of his jaw even sharper, and his usually neat chestnut waves stood up at crazy angles like head been running his fingers through them all day. But somehow, he was even more handsome when he was rumpled like this. Seeing Everett looking less than perfectly composed dragged me back in time to New Year's Eve.
The last time he'd lost his composure.
We didn't talk about it. Hadn't talked about it. I sometimes wondered if it had even happened.
The only way I knew for sure it was real was the new way my heart skipped a beat whenever I saw him. First outside of my house - protective and strong. Now here at the bar - rumpled and messy.
I swallowed. Hard. "You look like you've had a pretty shitty day." I remarked as he sat on a stool.
It was true. Along with his messy hair, there were dark circles under his eyes, and his normally crisp shirt was wrinkled and faded looking.
But he still made my breath quicken.
He ran his fingers through his hair again, sending it into new crazy angles.
"What would my Boy Scout security detail like to drink?" I prompted. I needed to do something. Something with my hands. I needed to hold something.
I imagined holding winter coats and blushed.
"Just give me something strong." He sounded exhausted.
"Good idea." Drinking something strong would give me something to do with my hands. I reached for the top shelf bourbon.
He perked up a little. "A master saleswoman, upselling me the top shelf stuff, huh?"
"Come on. I know you have more money than God."
"You do? How would you know that?"
"Small town. I probably know way more about you than you'd like me to." Like how much you enjoy oral sex, I didn't say.
He coughed into the back of his hand like he was thinking the same thing. And that it embarrassed him for me to know that. "Now you've got me curious." Was that a twinkle in his eye? Did Rett's eyes actually twinkle? Or would he consider letting them do that frivolous and against some internal set of rules?
I set the bottle down in front of him. He looked down and then back up at me. "I'm only drinking this if you drink with me."
There was a deep dimpled that shadowed his left cheek, giving a slight asymmetry to his normally smooth and too perfect face. When he smiled, the mask he wore came off. I smiled right back, remembering how he'd come alive that New Year's... in the closet.
"What the hell?" I'd planned on drinking anyway. I needed to if he was going to sit this close to me. "I'm not actually working. I don't even have a job right now."
"I'll drink to that." Rett lifted his glass after I poured. "Are we doing this as a shot?"
"Oh yeah?" I looked down at the shot glass. "Right. You're probably supposed to sip the good stuff."
"Whatever. Drink," he ordered.
We both tossed them back.
"Ah, that hits the spot," Rett sighed as I coughed. "Glad I came by here."
"You're just using me to get free drinks."
He tilted his head. "You used me on New Year's."
It was the first he'd mentioned it. I'd wondered if he'd forgotten. Or forced himself to push it down. I wasn't ashamed of what we'd done.
I hoped he wasn't either.
I licked my lips. "I did, didn't I? You're very useful." I knocked back another shot. "And you were useful last night, too."
Rett nodded. "I pride myself on being useful."
"Like a Swiss Army knife."
He patted his pocket. "I have one of those, you know."
Feeling the effects of the alcohol, I rested my elbows on the bar. "Oh? Is that what you call it?" I asked, biting my lip.
I expected him to go red and back off, but to my surprise, he leaned in too. "I don't know. You saw it that night. Is that how you'd describe it?"
"It was dark," I stammered and succumbed to the blush that was crawling up my cheeks.
He smiled and sipped his drink as I poured mine right down my throat. He let the awkward silence stretch out a beat too long before he finally asked, "Were you closing?"
"I was about to, yeah." I nodded too vigorously.
"Did you walk here?"
I nodded again. "My place is only three blocks away."'
"I know." He stood up. "I'll walk you home. Since you're tipsy."
My first instinct was to wave him off. I didn't like being a bother and I definitely didn't like when people fussed over me. And I doubly definitely didn't like when people fussed over me because I'm a girl and needed to be protected of whatever. Only my dad and Cal were allowed to do that.
But there was something in Everett's tone that made it impossible for me to argue with him.
So I tried to tease him instead. "Now I'm using you as my security detail."
He smiled. Then stretched out his hand, beckoning me without a word. I locked up, and set the alarm.
Then, for some reason I didn't quite understand, I let him lead me.
Rett moved his hand until it rested lightly on the small of my back. Casual enough to be friendly, but somehow... not.
"As your security detail, I need to know. Are you feeling secure?"
I stumbled as my right foot caught my left. "Yes," I giggled. "But I don't feel very steady on my feet." Without meaning to, I pressed up against him. His hand slid up to grip my upper arm, steadying me.
He held me so tight and firm. It was like leaning against a tree trunk. I felt the warmth of his skin under his dress shirt. The mingled scents of bourbon, his laundry detergent, and his aftershave hung in the air, along with something undefined that just smelled like him.
I'd last gotten a good lungful of it that night in the closet, and it was a scent that made me feel safe, but also wary.
We walked quietly. I leaned on him as he helped me navigate the cracked city pavement. As we walked out of town, it turned into a rutted gutter, then a field, before we turned the corner to my street.
By some unspoken agreement, we both slowed as we reached my house. I didn't want him to stop holding me. And he didn't seem eager to let go.
But once we walked up the steps to my porch, my motion sensor light clicked on. The sudden illumination seemed to click my thoughts back into place. Like waking up startled from a dream. "Well, thanks," I said, stepping away from him and trying to figure out why my head was swirling.
But Rett wasn't looking at me. "Do you have boots?" he asked.
"Boots? Yeah, I have a bunch of boots. I love boots. I'm a bit of a boot addict." Why was I babbling?
Rett pursed his lips and pointed. "With tread like that?"
There just under my front window, was a single boot print, sunk deeply into the mud.
"No." I swallowed and my voice grew fainter. "That's not mine."