Chapter 17 Beth
Beth
"Two shots of whatever whiskey you have, please."
I don't usually drink whiskey. I'm more of a vodka cranberry girl. But the folded, opened letter in my back pocket has apparently turned me into the kind of person who slides onto a barstool and orders hard liquor neat.
Arthur pours it without question, which I appreciate more than he knows.
I take a second sip and let it burn a slow trail down to my stomach while my brain cycles through the same loop it's been running for the last twenty minutes.
Who was that guy? I've never seen him before in my life. I scan the venue but he's just not here. Did he leave? Did he show up specifically to hand me an envelope? If so, how did he know I'd be here?
"Hey." Arthur's voice cuts through the spiral, warm and bright. He leans both forearms on the bar and grins at me. "You look like you're solving a murder over here. Everything good?"
I blink. Rearrange my face into something that hopefully reads as festive rather than existentially rattled.
"Just taking a breather," I say, lifting the whiskey. "You've been pouring drinks for four hours straight. Shouldn't I be asking you that?"
"Are you kidding? This is my dream job. Captive audience, unlimited access to ice, beautiful people ordering shots at my bar." He winks. "Night of my life."
"Your bar," I repeat.
He taps the polished counter, looking thoughtfully around his domain. "I built the facade. I strung the lights. Under the laws of VFW salvage rights, that makes it my kingdom for the night."
I chortle, tracing my finger over the edge.
He isn't wrong, though. He somehow managed to take cheap sheets of plywood, and attach them in sleek, vertical slats to completely hide the sticky, faux-brick front of the original bar.
Backlit by the warm amber fairy lights he zip-tied underneath the lip, it genuinely looks nice.
"Hey —" Maren appears on the stool next to me, cheeks flushed, half-empty cup of something aggressively pink in her hand. "There she is! Our raffle queen! Weekend getaway! Where are you gonna go? Can I come?"
"She literally just won it seven minutes ago," Luna says, sliding in on my other side. "Give her a second."
"Of course you can come," I say.
Maren shoots Luna a smug I-told-you-so look before letting out a squeal at a frequency that should legally require a permit.
Luna just sighs and calls Arthur over. "Can I get a gin and tonic? Also, great job with the bar."
"Thank you, Luna." He shoots me a look. "Glad someone appreciates the craft."
I open my mouth to defend my earlier chortle, but he's already building Luna's drink, and I can't tell if he's actually offended or just winding me up.
He slides the gin and tonic across with a flourish just as Harper floats past with Ben in tow, both of them glowing. She squeezes my shoulder. "Beth, this is—I can't believe this. The whole thing. It's perfect."
"It really is," Ben says, his voice cracking with a suspicious amount of emotion. He looks like he might burst into tears at any second, and I’m honestly fifty-fifty on whether he’s moved by the sentiment or just fighting a sharp, phantom pang of gastrointestinal regret.
"I’m just so relieved my potato salad catastrophe didn't cost us this evening. "
"We don't speak of the potato salad," Harper says gently, steering him toward the dance floor.
Maren watches them go, chin in her hand. "They're so cute."
They are. And six weeks from now they'll be married, and I'll be standing right next to Harper, holding her bouquet, trying not to ugly-cry during the vows...
The letter in my back pocket suddenly feels heavier.
A beta in a black t-shirt walks behind the bar and nods at Arthur. Arthur claps him on the shoulder, says something I can't hear over the music, and rounds the bar.
He stops right in front of me.
"Looks like I'm a free man," he says, already bouncing a little.
"You seem awfully thrilled for someone who just claimed he was having the night of his life behind the bar," I chuckle.
"That's because I'm looking forward to something else." He grins and holds out his hand. "Dance with me, girlfriend?"
Something flips low in my stomach at he utters girlfriend.
"Let me finish my drink first," I say, my pulse picking up. "I'll be right there."
"You've got one song," he says, and then he leans in, his mouth grazing the shell of my ear. "Don't make me come back for you."
His fingertips trail across my shoulder as he pulls away, dragging a line of heat from my collarbone to the curve of my neck.
Then he's gone. Maren and Luna slide off their stools and follow, already bobbing their heads to the bass line, and I catch a glimpse of Ben and Harper out on the floor with Mason and Knox doing their version of dancing—which is basically Mason awkwardly nodding to do the rhythm of the song while Knox puts his arm up and down above his head.
I laugh. Seeing Knox and Mason on a VFW dance floor is a level of loyalty I didn't think existed. They’d probably rather be audited than dance like this in public, but for Ben, they’re doing it without a second thought.
I press my cold whiskey glass to my face and take a breath. I can think about the letter tomorrow and just let myself have fun tonight.
I tip the rest of the whiskey back, set the glass down, and slide off the stool.
At that exact moment, a hand closes on my shoulder.
My whole body goes tight before my brain has even registered the vaguely iron-y smell that comes with it.
"Beth," a voice smooths over my shoulder. I turn to find Gran standing way too close, his practiced, catalog-ready smile perfectly in place. "Quite the party, isn't it?"
"Thanks," I say firmly.
"Harper and Ben seem really happy." He takes a slow sip of his drink, his gaze drifting past me toward the dance floor. Toward Mason, Arthur, and Knox. "You and your guys really made it happen, huh."
"So did Luna and Maren and Harper and Ben," I reply. "But yeah. We did."
Grant nods. Swirls his beer.
"Listen, I only mention it because I care," he says, holding my gaze. "But people have been talking. About your new… pack."
I shift my weight. "Have they."
"It's a small town, Beth. People have opinions." He waves his beer hand vaguely toward the dance floor. "Some people think it all happened kind of fast. That maybe it was, you know…"
He trails off like he's waiting for me to fill in the blank.
"Desperate," he finishes. "And look, I really hope that isn't the case, because even though I've moved on, I still care about you. I want the best for you. You know?"
My jaw tightens. I feel it in my molars first, then my temples, then in my fingers, which curl slowly at my sides.
I look at him for a long time. Long enough that his practiced concern starts to flicker.
"You know what, Grant?" I say. "Thank you for sharing."
His face brightens a fraction.
"It's really nice of you to act like such an asshole. Makes having moved on even better."
I turn and walk straight toward the dance floor, where the music is loud and the lights are gold and Arthur is already reaching for me with one hand, pulling me into the crowd.
Mason appears on my left. Knox on my right. And then Luna's there, and Harper drags Ben over, and for a while there's nothing but bass and laughter and Maren attempting a move she saw on TikTok.
Just like that, my entire world shrinks to the radius of the dance floor.