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“No, Hayden isn’t with me.”
“Yes, we’re still working on a line of liquor. Vodka should be available by the end of next year.”
“The poor guy hasn’t even made it to the bar,” Devon points out finally. Bless him.
“All right, folks, leave him alone,” someone shouts from behind the bar.
Pushing through the crowd, I reach out my hand to the bartender. Grasping it, Mike doesn’t even ask what I’m drinking. He knows me well, even after so many years.
“On the house.”
Moments later, Mike hands me a lager. When I take it, he waves a hand at the crowd behind me, telling them to back off. They know better than to screw with him, and they do as they’re told. For now, at least, I can breathe again.
I begin to pull out a stool at the bar and then remember something.
Chari hates the cold.
“Should we move down there?” I point to some open seats at the other end. “Away from the door?”
I don’t understand the look that passes between brother and sister, but when Chari bursts out laughing, I have a difficult time not staring. She’s still so full of life. So vibrant.
But she’s still Devon’s younger sister.
“Sure, we can move down there,” Devon says, not sounding particularly pleased about it. We head away from the door, and he sits between his sister and me, a calculated move, I’m sure. And probably a good thing. “So, Chari and I have this bet,” he says. “She doesn’t complain about winter. I don’t have sex. Whoever caves first is the big loser.”
“Well, unless things have drastically changed around here, I’d say Chari has this one in the bag.”
I look at the future victor in question, and wish I hadn’t. She hasn’t gotten any less compelling in the last sixty seconds.
“First Mike, now you. Where’s the loyalty? Geez.” Devon shakes his head. “No faith.”
“In your ability to keep it in your pants? You’re right. None at all.”
Looking past Devon, I apologize belatedly to Chari. “Sorry for the crudeness.”
Chari makes a face. “I can assure you, I’ve heard worse.”
I change the subject anyway. “So Devon tells me you’re at Bridgewater Elementary?” I know exactly what grade she teaches, but I pretend not to remember. “Fourth grade?”
“Third.” And then the damn woman bites her bottom lip. I’ve seen her do it before, many times, in fact. But it feels different now.
Chari had a crush on me when we were younger, but by the time I realized it, I was already away at college. Then, a few years ago, I’d come home for the weekend on what happened to be Chari’s twenty-first birthday. As the night wore on, the strong attraction I felt for her became harder and harder to deny and worried me enough to stay away from here these past few years.
Now here I am, eight years later, pretending I don’t know what grade Chari teaches, trying to avoid Devon’s eagle eyes.
“Third grade.” I whistle. “A huge responsibility.”
“Give me a sec.” Devon stands up from his stool and steps away to talk to someone across the bar. Which gives me a full-access view of all the ways Chari has changed. She looks much the same, but the confidence that comes with age is evident in the way she sits, the way she holds my gaze. Right now she’s dressed casually in jeans and a sweater, but I find myself imagining what she would look like in . . .
“How do you mean?” she asks.
Concentrate. “Third grade. A benchmark year for reading.”
I can’t help but laugh at her expression.
“Come on, Char, you know I’m not just a pretty face,” I tease.
“I know, but still. I’m impressed you know about that.”
