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He picks it up and holds it up. “To old times.” He clicks my glass with his before taking a sip and then grimaces. “There is no alcohol in this.” We both laugh at him. “What is this?”
“Soda water,” I say, and he looks at the glass like it’s the most disgusting thing he’s ever tasted in his life.
“Why?” He shakes his head, and Autumn walks to the end of the bar and pours him some whiskey in a small tumbler before handing it to him. “Now, this is a color I like.” He takes a sip and then sighs. “Tastes like heaven.” He looks over at Autumn. “So what’s new?”
“Same old, same old,” she says, her answer guarded. I would imagine she’s still pissed at him for lying when the accident happened. He sided with the Cartwrights. Why? We had no idea; I didn’t care enough at the time to question it. After the accident, it seemed the four of us all went our separate ways. All four of us with our own journeys to go through to heal. Everleigh was here one day, and then when the truth came out, she was gone. From the rumors around, Brock let her go and quickly moved on with someone else, but it was over before the ink was dry on the marriage license, the only thing left is their eight-year-old daughter, Saige. “What about you?”
“Same old, same old.” He looks in the glass, bringing it to his lips and taking another sip. “You look good.” I glare at him, wondering where he is going with this. He finishes the rest of the whiskey, getting up, and taking a twenty out of his pocket and putting it on the bar. “I guess I’ll see you around,” he says, then slaps my shoulder. “Fuck, it’s good to see you.” He squeezes me before turning and walking out of the place.
“Eight years later,” she says, her voice soft, “and we are all still living with the demons from that night.” She takes a deep breath in. “I hate him.”
“Brock?” I ask, and she shakes her head.
“No.” She looks at me. “He did what he did for a reason. One that is his own. The only one who was to blame for that night is Waylon, yet he’s the only one who seems to have escaped it all.” She grabs a rag from the sink. “Coward until the end.”
She stays silent for the rest of the night, her mind elsewhere, and when she closes the bar, I kiss her cheek and turn to walk toward my house. I watch her drive out of the parking lot before I turn and make my way home, walking straight up the back steps and into the house.
The next day, I get up and wonder what she is doing all day, and finally, right before dinner, I make my way over to the bar. I’m rounding the corner when I catch her walking out, and she shakes her head while smiling. Something in me settles, and I don’t know what it is. All I know is that all day I felt like I was on pins and needles, and now, seeing her, it’s like it’s all gone away. “Hey,” I say, and she turns her head my way. She’s wearing a skirt with flowers on it and a white crop T-shirt that stops right above her waist, showing just a touch of that skin I vowed I would spend the night worshipping if I got another chance with her.
“Hi,” she says, her voice breathless.
“Where are you going?” I ask as we stand in front of the door to the bar, and I see there is a slew of people.
“Brady told me to go home,” she mumbles, “even though he’s swamped, and I’m going to leave just to teach him a lesson.”
“Good,” I say. “Have dinner with me?”
She looks at me and then looks down. She does that when she’s nervous. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Her voice is soft as she looks around.
“Why not?” The question comes out harsher than I want it to.
Her eyes sweep the street again. “Well,” she hesitates, and my stomach gets tight as she avoids my eyes.
“Are you dating that guy?” I take a step closer to her, my heart beating out of my chest. I look down at her, wanting to kiss her more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my whole life, but also knowing that I have to gain her trust. I vowed I was only going to kiss her if she wanted me to kiss her, and that is what I’m going to do, even if it kills me.
“No,” she quickly answers me, “Bryan and I are just friends.” Even the name makes me want to ball my hands into fists and punch a tree.
“We’re going for dinner,” I say, not giving her a chance to refuse while I grab her by the elbow and proceed to walk to D’amores restaurant.
I pull open the door, and the aroma of fresh-baked bread hits you right away. The tables are all covered with white linen tablecloths, and the servers wear tuxes. It’s a fancy place, and the two of us look like we are dressed to go to a diner and not here. “Can I help you?” the hostess asks.
“A table for two, please,” I say, putting my hand on the base of Autumn’s back when she grabs two menus and motions for us to follow her. A server is beside the table, pulling out a chair for her to sit in when we arrive.
“Thank you,” she says softly to the server and gives him a shy smile as I sit in the chair in front of her.
The hostess hands us each our menu and then places the wine menu on the side of my plate. “Would you like still or sparkling water?” the server asks us.
“I’ll have sparkling,” I reply, knowing she won’t answer first.
“I’ll have the same.” She looks up at him before taking a look around the room. I can literally hear the whispers from the people around us.
I ignore them as I open my menu and look over the specials. “The pasta is homemade,” I inform her, and when I look up, I see that she’s pale. “Relax,” I say, and she just stares at me.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispers softly, and I reach out my hand and put it on hers, making sure more people stare and whisper, also not giving one fuck about who is pointing and who is whispering.
“You can do this.” I smile at her. “You can do anything.”She has to be quite honestly the strongest woman I’ve ever met.
“I’m not sure about that.” She opens the menu and avoids looking around.
