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“So,” he says, when he has the glass of wine in his hand, “you’re a hairdresser?”
“Yeah. That and make-up.”
He doesn’t look like he’s humoring. He looks like he’s actually interested. “So why were you in Nashville?”
“Touring broadway show,” I say. “I’m good at character make-up. I’ve done work with other shows, so they called me up.”
Glenn’s eyebrows raise into his hairline. “That’s amazing.”
“Thanks,” I say, cursing the fact that I blush so easily and he has a knack for making me do it. “I’m actually trying to open my own salon here in Eastborough.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah,” I say. “There’s this gorgeous little building downtown that’s being sold. I’m just securing the money to get it. Hopefully any day now.”
“Congratulations.” He sounds like he means it. The word doesn’t sound like a sarcastic comment the way it came from my family when I told them. It shouldn’t surprise me, but it still does. Glenn raises his wine. “To new business endeavors.”
I touch my glass to his and take a sip. “You could probably teach me a thing or two.”
He shakes his head. “The only thing I can teach you is to listen to what people want, and fill the need. Other than that, the extent of my lesson would be to get very lucky and to hire the right people.”
“That’s all it takes to be a millionaire?”
He smirks, but he doesn’t deny it. “That’s all it takes.”
“Is this what you wanted though? When you started First Shot is this what you imagined?”
“No, not at all. I wanted a bar because I like people. Talking to people and giving them a place to be comfortable, and sometimes vulnerable. The fact that it took off is…amazing. But it’s not what I imagined.”
“Something more like this, right?” I gesture to the restaurant around us. “A great local secret where you can be yourself, but it’s still your turf.”
“Yes,” he says.
I tilt my head to look at him. The sun is starting its slow descent, and the way it’s hitting his face only highlights his beauty. In another life, he could have been a model. Hell, he’s only thirty. He still could be. “You could still do that. All that money? You could disappear and start again a hundred times if you wanted to.”
Glenn smiles a little wistfully. “But it wouldn’t be home.”
Those words strike me in my heart. I know that feeling. Even though there’s so many painful memories here, it’s mine. My place. “I understand that.”
“I know you do,” he says. “Otherwise you would be trying to open your business closer to Nashville.”
I stare at him, stunned. “What do you mean?”
“There are plenty of people who do hair and make-up, and I’m sure there are plenty of them in a city famous for music and performances. The fact that you get called in from halfway across the state speaks to your talent. And if you wanted to start your business there, I’m sure your career would skyrocket. But your home is here. It’s where you want to be. It’s the same reason I started First Shot in Green Hills and not a bigger city.”
“You grew up there?” He nods, and I go on. “It’s weird that we never ran into each other, even in high school. Rivalries and stuff.”
His face falls a little and he covers it quickly. “It’s not that strange. Your family and mine ran in very different circles.”
“I’m sorry,” I say immediately. He’d said he wasn’t well off as a kid, and I hadn’t even thought about that.
He looks up, but he doesn’t look angry or embarrassed. “It’s nothing to be sorry about,” he says. “It’s just the reality of it.”
I nod, and take a sip of my wine.
Our pasta arrives, and Glenn groans in appreciation when he tries the spaghetti. “You were fucking right,” he says. “That is one of the best pasta dishes I’ve ever had.”
“I know,” I say. “There’s nothing like it.”
While we eat, we reminisce a little about where we were during shared events in the lives of our town. Glenn tells me a little more about how he started First Shot, and I tell him more about my plans for my building downtown.
I’m already calling it my building, because that’s the way it feels. It’s mine.
By the time we’re done and our conversation drifts to a stop, the sun is just past setting. Glenn pays, even though I protest, and he takes my hand as we walk outside. As soon as we’re out the door in the semi-darkness, he pulls me into the alley beside Jane’s and into the shadows.
His mouth covers mine, hot and urgent, every hard inch of his body pressed against mine. And I do mean that every inch is hard. Including the inches that matter the most. “Dinner was lovely,” he says against my lips.
