12. Sable
CHAPTER 12
sable
I knew that the Wildflower was a local joint, but I preferred the tourists.
Honest to God!
Tourists who filled our tables didn’t carry my baggage as the locals did. They didn’t have the history, the whispers, or the sharp eyes cutting into me. Tourists just wanted a cold beer, a good meal, and the chance to soak in some mountain-town charm.
I leaned on the bar, wiping it down as Casey locked up the register. My headache from the day before had dulled to a faint throb, but I was still tired. Bone-tired . I didn’t think I’d make it through the end of the night without crumbling into a thousand pieces.
It had been a shift for the books. Aspen locals were a piece of work, and I realized that I was in the center of a silent war going on between those who hated the Vikar family for being snobs and those who thought Alexa’s shit smelled like roses .
The louder, more self-righteous group had stopped by to throw judgment my way. They’d sit at the bar, order a glass of wine or a local craft beer, and somehow find a way to work Heath’s name into the conversation. Women like Pam Gibbons, who ran a boutique on Main Street and always smelled like vanilla and condescension, leaned across the counter. “How’s Heath holding up? Alexa must be so worried about Juno going through all of this.”
Translation: How dare you disrupt their perfect family dynamic.
Then there were the men, like Doug Sanders, who fancied themselves morally superior while nursing two-for-one beer specials. He crossed his arms and glared at me even though he was talking to his friend. “It’s tough for guys like Heath, y’know. Being pulled between the mother of his kid and someone like...well, you know .” He’d trailed off but left his insinuation hanging in the air like the lingering stench of a skunk on a mountain trail.
I wiped their table down harder than necessary after they left.
The second smaller group offered me their support through…, yeah, you guessed it, whispers and innuendo. These were the people who weren’t part of the Vikar fan club and were more than willing to speak their minds.
One of them was Marla Stevens, a fiery redhead in her sixties who owned the used bookstore on Main Street. She’d walked in, plopped down at the bar, and ordered a martini with extra olives before declaring, “Good for you, Sable. Alexa’s been a pain in Aspen’s ass since she was in diapers. Someone needs to take her down a peg. And her daddy, too.”
Dale agreed with Marla. He ran the flyfishing shop on Durant Street and had a personality about as subtle as a hammer. “I don’t know why everyone’s acting like Alexa’s some saint,” he’d said while sipping his gin and tonic. “Half this town remembers how she went nuclear on her last boyfriend before Heath, and he didn’t even cheat on her. And then, her daddy went after his business. Those two are a piece of work. If you ask me, Heath’s better off with Sable. He’s lucky she’s giving him the time of day.”
I didn’t want either the support or the condemnation. If Heath and I were indeed dating, which we were not , he’d been divorced for over two years, and there was nothing wrong with what we were doing. I think it was fair to say that he’d not been celibate since his divorce, and if he wanted to take his dick out for a spin, it wasn’t anyone’s beeswax. And if said dick wanted me, it didn’t make me a homewrecker.
But none of that mattered.
Just like it didn’t matter that Alexa had been an awful bully and continued to be one because she was the one stirring the pot now, making everyone take sides.
It didn’t matter that I hadn’t wrecked anyone’s home, either. I was the easy target. The girl from the wrong side of the tracks who’d gotten too big for her britches. This whole rigmarole was about Sable Nees aiming too high. Isn’t that what Natasha had said to me when I’d believed her ex was interested in me ?
“Trailer Trash, you think he actually cared? Oh, you poor thing. He was just interested in fucking you. Oh, God. Oh, God, Sable. Did you come with him, or did you fake it? The video wasn’t clear, ya know.”
That’s how I’d found out there was documentation of my first time. Adding to that humiliation was the principal calling me into his office to tell me that I had to do better than those like me who spread their legs, or I’d end up a whore.
My chest tightened at those memories, hitting me fresh and raw. Some humiliations were so intense that even now, all these years later, my ears felt like they were burning.
I sighed, tossing the rag onto the bar and rubbing my temples. I should never have said yes to a date with Heath.
“You okay?” Casey asked, glancing over from the register, where she was counting bills into neat stacks. That had become her standard question.
“Yeah,” I lied, giving her my standard answer. The truth was that I wanted to curl into a fetal position and stay there forever. “Just tired.”
She looked at me as if she knew better but wasn’t going to push it. I appreciated that about Casey. She let me carry my exhaustion and frustration in peace, knowing I wasn’t in the mood for pep talks or platitudes. Thankfully, Ben wasn’t at the Wildflower tonight because he was at one of his grandson’s soccer games. I knew that he wouldn’t have been reticent in telling me to get some steel in my spine, and stop whining and living in the past. And it wouldn’t matter to him if I told him that I wasn’t the one stuck in the past—it was everyone else in Aspen who was.
“You can only control how you react to what someone says. You can’t control what they say.”
As I said, it had been a night, and I didn’t need more aggravation when it walked in right before closing.
The sight of Heath made my pulse do a stupid little stutter, even though I told myself to calm the fuck down.
He was dressed in his usual understated style—a gray sweater and jeans—but his presence filled the tavern. The tourists were gone now, the chairs were stacked on the tables, and Casey was halfway out the door, so it was just me and him in the soft glow of the tavern lights.
“We’re closing,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant.
He gave me a small smile as he walked toward the bar. “Yeah, but I’m a special friend of the owner.”
Was he? I had to quell this…whatever this was right now and right here. Already, it was making my life difficult. I didn’t need more complications than I already had.
“I just want a beer, Bambi. " He dropped his voice so only I could hear him, feel the huskiness of it, and remember how he called me that nickname when we’d made love.
Then, he handed me a bouquet as if I wasn’t already hot and bothered. My breath caught. When was the last time someone got me flowers? Not Jack. Was there a boyfriend in the past? Maybe, but I couldn’t remember. It was such a mundane thing, receiving flowers—everyone did at some point or other, but I didn’t think I had.
“Thank you. These are gorgeous.”
“Your friend Dina says hello.”
Dina and I used to work at the homeless shelter’s soup kitchen before I took over the bar. Now, I didn’t have as much free time as I did when I worked at the bank.
“She said that the flowers would be fine for several hours without putting them in a vase.”
I set the flowers down on the counter in front of him. “I’ll take them home.”
“They reminded me of you. Natural, pretty, and real .”
I cleared my throat because my emotions caught my voice at his compliment. “We have an IPA on tap. Does that work for you?”
“Yes, that works.” He sat on a barstool across from me, his elbows resting on the edge. “Busy night?”
“Yes.” I pulled him a beer and set it in front of him.
“You look…beautiful and tired.”
I glanced at the glassware I still needed to clean. “I feel more tired than anything else. How come you’re here?”
He narrowed his eyes. “I came to see you. I texted, but you didn’t respond.”
“I was busy.”
“Were you?” His voice was warm, cajoling.
I stopped wiping a beer glass and looked at him. “I’ve had more locals come to Wildflower than ever since I started here.”
He just looked at me, his gray-blue eyes softening, welcoming.
“I’m either a homewrecking slut, or I’m reaching way above my station, or I’m lucky to have your attention.”
He looked at his beer and nodded. “I have just gotten an education about the pitfalls of living in a small town.”
“But are they coming to your place of work and calling you a whore?” I couldn’t keep the bitterness out of my voice.
“Oh, Sable.”
He hesitated for a moment, then stood and walked around the bar to me. I blinked, unsure of what he was doing, but then he leaned against the counter next to me, close enough that I could feel his warmth.
“I’m sorry.”
“About what?”
“About how you’re being treated because you spent time with me. I enjoyed being with you. I got the feeling you felt the same.”
I did, but the aftermath made me wonder if it was worth it. If the start of this was so difficult, how would we continue to live like this, under a microscope? And it wasn’t like Alexa was just going to concede her ex to me.
My hand tightened around the rag I was holding. “Heath?—”
“Just let me say this,” he interrupted gently. “I like you, Sable. A lot. I want to date you. Openly. I want to take you to dinner, to walk down the street with you, to dance with you, even when people are watching.”
I stared at him, my mind racing. “But?—”
“I don’t care what people think,” he cut me off again, still with gentleness.
“And your daughter?” I whispered.
He nodded. “I’m going to talk to her. I’ll explain everything. She’s smart—she’ll understand. I’m not worried.”
Well, dude, I am.
The question wasn’t about the impact of our dating—oh no, it was about whether this was worth it. He saw the uncertainty in my eyes, took the rag from my hands, and set it on the counter. His fingers brushed mine, and the touch sent shivers up my spine.
“I’ve never had this kind of chemistry with anyone in my life,” he claimed.
Neither have I . But I didn’t say that to him.
“I saw you at Amore last night. Look, if you’re reconciling with your wife, then you should go right ahead and do that. I don’t want to be the other woman or anything,” I sputtered, getting the words out faster than a mountain stream after the spring thaw.
He looked at me with understanding and a tinge of amusement. “I will, from time to time, have dinner with my ex and my daughter, Sable, but that doesn’t mean we’re getting back together. We co-parent Juno. It’s important for me that Alexa and I maintain a healthy relationship, even a friendship if possible, because that’s the best thing for my kid. ”
That made sense. It made a whole lot of sense. But it didn’t change the fact that I was afraid. I’d never been good enough for anyone—how could I be for him when compared to someone like Alexa? She was educated, wealthy, polished, and had never needed to know how to patch a leaky trailer roof with duct tape.
“We’re just going to spend a little time together, right? It harms no one,” he persisted.
There it was again, his explicit instruction that he didn’t want a relationship. What had he said that night? He wanted companionship— which was a warm body to have dinner with and fuck after. Right?
My throat tightened, and tears threatened to sting my eyes. I wanted more, so much more, but I knew I’d never have it. Maybe this was as good as it got, and I should grab it with both hands. A decent man who cooked well and was damn good in bed. I didn’t want to have a serious relationship anyway—and why should I let the good people of Aspen decide who I spent time with and how?
I nodded, too shaky to speak, and he smiled like he’d just won the lottery.
“Come here.” He held out his hand.
I frowned, confused, but took his hand anyway. He led me around the bar to the middle of the tavern, where chairs were stacked, and the lights were low.
“What are you doing?” A small smile tugged at my lips despite myself. Heath Falkner knew how to romance a girl. I had to give him that .
He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and scrolled until soft music played a bluesy song. He set the phone on a table with upturned chairs.
“I want to dance with you,” he said simply.
I stared at him, stunned. “Here?”
“And now.” He pulled me closer.
I let out a soft laugh, shaking my head. “This is nuts.”
“Maybe.” He slid his hand to the small of my back. “But you’re still going to dance with me.”
And I did.
“What’s this song?” I asked as we swayed, cheek to cheek.
“”Nobody Knows You When You're Down and Out” by Bessie Smith.”
“What’s it about?” I hummed along with the music.
He pulled back slightly, just enough to look into my eyes. “It’s about how the world can turn its back on you when you’ve got nothing…but when you’ve got someone who sticks by you, that’s all that really matters.”
I let his words weave themselves into the slow rhythm of the song. “That sounds like?—”
“There’s just you and me here, Bambi,” he cut me off, his mouth close to my ear, giving me goosebumps. “So, don’t think, just feel.”
I closed my eyes and let the sway of the music and the strength of his arms around me sink in and settle deep into my bones.
As we rocked together in the empty tavern, his hand warm against my back and his lips brushing my temple, I realized that I was going to break my heart over this man if I wasn’t careful—because if I could design the perfect man, the kind of person who would make me feel safe, seen, and wanted, it would be this man.