Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
SOPHIE
Everyone’s staring at me.
Logically, I knew that would happen. I’m wearing a wedding dress, after all. But it didn’t occur to me that if I showed up at a bar with a group, everyone would assume one of the guys was my new spouse.
I’ll admit to being slightly offended that the bartender instantly assumed it was my cousin, in his tuxedo T-shirt, rather than Rob, who seems especially tall and virile tonight. Then again, the bartender is a pretty, dark-haired woman who seems to have a thing for Rob, so maybe it’s wishful thinking on her part.
Or not-so-wishful thinking. He’s single, after all. Maybe he’ll go home with her. Maybe they’ll fall madly in love, and we’ll become the background of their story. The thought stings for reasons I can’t begin to compute.
I’m still chewing on that thought a couple of drinks later, when Hannah comes back from a trip to the ladies’ room with a satisfied smirk on her face.
“I put a photo of him up in the ladies’ room,” she whispers as she slips onto her stool, glancing around to make sure no one’s paying attention.
They are, but mostly to my dress.
“Of Rob?” I ask, distracted.
She frowns at me, her freckled nose wrinkling. “Why would I put up a photo of Rob in the ladies’ room? We like Rob.”
“We do?” Rob asks, grinning. “I thought the jury was still out. Sophie doesn’t seem convinced.”
I roll my eyes at him, but somehow manage to get distracted by the way his thick hair flops slightly over his eyebrow, as if he’s from some ’90s rom-com and didn’t get the memo that most people choose either long or short, not this relentless, woman-slaying game of in-between.
I realize I’ve been staring at Rob and turn back to Hannah. “Why would you hang up a photo of Jonah? Did you catch him picking his nose?”
“It’s a flyer that says he has STDs, and any women who have been exposed to him should immediately call the number on the flyer.”
I feel like I should probably object to this, but instead I find myself snort-laughing. “And it’s your number, isn’t it? You’re probably going to get hundreds of calls.”
“Good. I’ll inform them all that he has a diseased dick and they should make a run for it at the earliest opportunity.”
He doesn’t have a diseased dick, thankfully. Briar, Hannah, and I went to a clinic together to get tested. But it would be no more than he deserved if he did.
“Were you carrying those flyers around in your purse?” I ask, leaning in a little. “Have you posted them all around town?”
“In certain strategic locations.” She looks so pleased with herself, I’d probably have smiled back even if I didn’t agree. But I savor the thought of Mrs. Price finding one in the bathroom at her favorite wine bar.
“Can I have some too?” I ask. “And we should give Briar some.”
Her grin stretches wider. “I like the way you think, and yes, of course. Let’s put them everywhere. Let’s make sure he never gets laid in Western North Carolina again. Give it to me.” She holds her hand out for a fist bump, and I tap it with mine.
“Planning my brother’s downfall?” Rob asks, clearly amused.
I turn on my stool to get a better look at him. He’s not sitting too close, but I’m very aware of where his body ends and mine begins, and even the air between us. I’m still half stunned by the revelation that he doesn’t drink.
Jonah told me Rob was a boozer in a band who spent every night drunk and with a different woman. I believed him, because Rob dresses like a teenager and looks…
Well, wanton.
I run a finger over the edge of the smooth bar, desperately aware of the blush rising on my cheeks. “Wouldn’t he deserve it? He lied about your carousing.”
He angles his head to get a better look at me. “He lies about lots of things. But like I said, it wasn’t always a lie. I don’t drink because I can’t drink.”
“You’re allergic to alcohol?” Otis asks, his tone making it clear that this is the worst possible scenario he can imagine. He’s been mostly silent since we arrived at the bar; in fact, he hasn’t been particularly chatty since the whole phone mishap. I asked him about his unusual reticence yesterday, and he said he’d run out of weed gummies and didn’t have enough cash to buy more, but I know that’s a lie. He would have asked to borrow money if he’d run out.
“No, not like that,” Rob replies. He doesn’t expand on his response. I’d really like him to, but I’m not going to push him.
“I think alcohol is God’s gift,” Otis says, rocking on his stool. “The world is really screwed up and weird, but if you’re a little bit drunk, it seems okay, and everyone seems nice. They’re probably still not, but booze makes it easier to pretend.”
I lean over the bar to get a better look at my cousin, who’s sitting on Rob’s other side. “Are you okay? You didn’t get fired again, did you?”
Otis has trouble keeping a job. I got him a taproom position at Buchanan Brewery for a few weeks, but he let a woman con him into giving her and her friend a private tour of the brewery. Her companion ended up getting injured, which could have gotten us sued.
My boss, Dylan, is a good guy and was very understanding. But Otis has a good way of finding people’s boundaries and pushing past them.
More recently, he’s been working for Honey Do, a service that lists odd jobs people want done and matches them up with the semi-employed. I didn’t think you could get fired from something like that, but who knows.
“No,” he says, slouching. “I think I’m just having a quarter-life crisis. Honey Do sucks.”
“Why would melon give you a quarter-life crisis?” Hannah asks, leaning in to peer at him. “Just eat a different fruit, man.”
I laugh through my nose. Hannah’s obviously a little drunk, like I am. “D-o, not d-e-w. He’s talking about the chore service. It’s where he works.” I glance back at Otis. “It’s okay, Otis. I’ll find you a new job. We can do the Myers-Briggs test to see what career would suit you best.”
He smiles at me. “I just…you know…I want to prove I’m a man.”
Hannah studies him quizzically. “Was there any question about that?” A second later, she taps her forehead dramatically. “Oh, you’re still hoping to bang Briar. I’m sorry to tell you, buddy, but I don’t think she’s interested. In fact, she’s so disgusted by this whole Jonah thing that I wouldn’t be surprised if she gives up men entirely. I mean, the woman started crocheting. You don’t pick up crocheting at thirty unless you’re done with dick.”
“She’s a bit older than me and you,” I tell Otis, who looks downcast. “But you never know. We’ll find you a new job, and then we’ll see what happens.”
To my consternation, I can see Rob is frowning at me from the stool beside mine. He looks decidedly unimpressed.
“What’s your problem?” I whisper-hiss, scowling at him.
Hannah, who either feels bad for popping Otis’s balloon or wants to torment him further, vacates her seat and plants herself on the empty one beside him.
Rob leans toward me slightly and whispers, “He’ll never get anywhere if you keep driving him around in a wheelbarrow, telling him how well he’s doing on his free ride.”
I glare at him. “How dare you. First you crashed my wedding, and now you’re telling me how to?—”
I catch myself before I can say parent my cousin , because he might have a point.
He arches his brows, giving me a slow smile I find infuriating, even if I have the impulse to trace the curve of it with my finger.
Oh, no.
I’d better get up and go to the bathroom. Maybe if I study that poster of Jonah, I’ll see the resemblance between the two of them, and this madness will stop. I start to get up but move too fast and tumble off my stool, landing in a pile of lace skirts.
“Oh no, bride down!” someone calls out. “Bride down!”
They must have a protocol for drunk women in wedding dresses, because a woman is rushing toward me with a tall glass of water and what look like smelling salts before I can even get my bearings. Then Rob appears, leaning down and helping me to my feet, his hand so strong and warm—who knew a hand could feel strong?
“Are you okay?” Hannah asks, nearly her whole body stretched over the bar for prime rubbernecking.
“I’m okay, just a little woozy,” I insist, mortified, because now everyone really is watching me. Including Otis, whose eyes are so wide and dilated I have to assume he not only has special gummies but ate one before we got in the car.
“Want me to take you outside for some fresh air?” Rob asks.
I’m embarrassed again, but not too embarrassed to agree. Fresh air sounds not only good but necessary right now.
“Yeah,” I say, “that’s a good idea.”
The bartender gives me a dubious look, like she’s afraid I’ll vomit on the nicely polished wooden bar. The thought makes me a little nauseous, actually, so when Rob leads me to the back door, I’m relieved.
He opens it for me, and I step out into the warm night, stars speckling the sky above us. There’s an expansive sitting area out here, with long wooden picnic tables. Farther back, there’s a firepit with two empty Adirondack chairs next to it. There’s no fire in the pit, probably because it feels like the inside of Satan’s mouth out here—humid and hot and kind of dank—but the tables are packed with people.
I walk past them with purpose, needing to sit and wanting one of those empty chairs. I don’t look back to see if Rob joins me. I’m not sure whether I want him to.
He follows me, though, and I hear a couple of people greeting him. A few others comment on my dress, but I ignore their murmurs. Even though it’s not negative attention, I feel self-conscious. A bride without a groom is a curiosity. A question to be answered.
I lower into one of the Adirondack chairs, which is much less comfortable than I’d hoped. My head tips upward, and I sigh with pleasure. The night sky is even prettier from this vantage point, away from the fairy lights brightening up the back of the brewery. It’s a velvet canvas stippled with glowing dots.
“The stars are so pretty tonight,” I say.
“Let me guess, you like wishing upon a star, Sophie?” Rob asks as he sits next to me. His voice is teasing, as usual, but it’s not condescending this time.
“I do,” I admit. “You never know.”
“What would you wish for tonight?” he asks. My gaze moves to him, taking in the gleam of his eyes in the night.
Awareness rocks through me. It’s the way he’s sitting in his chair, as if he’s prepared to leap up at a moment’s notice if I’m actually sick or need his help.
I swallow a ball of emotion, deciding to actually consider his question. There’s a drone of conversation from the people at the tables, but we’re distant enough that only occasional words drift through the mass of speech. Tree. Dress. Herpes. Mushroom.
“Something happened to me,” I finally say, concentrating on his face to let the rest of those people fade into the background. “When I was sixteen. It was something I did…”
I pause, almost hoping he’ll say something. Maybe hoping he’ll stop me. He doesn’t. His expression is thoughtful and intent. “Does Jonah know?”
I shake my head slowly. “Only that my parents don’t really talk to me. I’ve spent my entire adult life trying to make up for it. But you can’t rewind the clock, no matter how hard you try. Other than Otis and Aunt Penny, the people in my family all see me as the girl I was at sixteen. If I could wish for anything, it would be to reverse what I did.”
He watches me intently. “I have to say, that’s not very Pollyanna of you, Sophie.”
I shake my head, feeling a surge of bitterness. “Because that’s not who I am.”
I turn to leave, but he gets to his feet and captures my arm, his fingers callused and strong. A gasp escapes me, although he didn’t grab me hard. I could easily escape if I wanted to.
I meet his eyes, surprised by the intensity of his gaze.
“I know that. No one word could explain you. So why do you want other people to see you as something you’re not?”
Is that what I’ve been doing? The hollow forming in my stomach suggests he might be right.
“I want them to know I’ve changed. That I think of other people before myself.”
His hand brushes my arm with a soft caress, sending ripples of sensation through me before he pulls away. “It’s nice that you want to think of other people, Sophie. It means you’re a better person than most, but there’s nothing wrong with letting people know you have an emotional range. If you don’t…it’s like listening to a singer who can only hit the high notes.”
“Everyone likes Mariah Carey,” I say stiffly. “She’s the queen of pop.”
He laughs. “Sure. Everyone likes her. Check out the comment section for ‘All I Want for Christmas Is You’ on YouTube.”
“You should take notes from her. So many of your songs are angry. People enjoy being happy. They like things they can sing along to.”
I expect him to storm off, the way Jonah would if someone said something he didn’t like. But instead a slow smile forms on his face. “You’ve been listening to my music.”
I shrug self-consciously. “You know what they say. Know thy enemy.”
“We’re not enemies, Soph,” he says thickly, the sound of my nickname sending a shiver through me. It’s just that he didn’t ask to use it, I rationalize. He should have.
I hold his gaze before finally admitting the truth. “No, we’re not enemies. Did you write all of those songs yourself?”
“Some of them. My buddy writes with me sometimes.”
I nod. “They’re so… sad . The ones that aren’t pissed-off.”
His smile is sadder this time, regretful, backlit by the soft, warm lighting from the rear of the building. “I get stuck in the low registers sometimes, and you’ve glued yourself to the high ones. But your friend Dottie was right earlier. We’re nothing without our pasts, Sophie. I don’t know what happened to you, but whatever it was, it made you who you are. It’s what got you here, to this moment. You’d be a different person if it hadn’t shaped you.”
“A better one,” I say, the words bitter to the taste. “I wouldn’t have lost everything.”
He smiles at me, but there’s still sadness beneath it. “Careful there, Soph. You sound like a sad song. But I’ll let you in on a secret. People might like singing along to the happy songs in their cars, but it’s the angry and sad ones they remember. If you let people see all of you, they’re not likely to forget it.”
I take a half step toward him without meaning to. Without really knowing whether I want to shove his arm or…
I don’t know. I’m tipsy. Maybe even a little drunk. And he’s unexpected . Normally, I’m not drawn to chaos. If you don’t know what’s going to happen, then everything can go wildly, horribly wrong, especially if you have haywire luck. But it’s like I’m under a spell…
A warm breeze cascades hair into my face and rustles my skirts, reminding me again that I’m in a wedding dress. My wedding dress, which I’ll never wear for real. My silver lining was made of tinfoil attached with a glue stick—the kind of craft I never would have rolled out if I’d managed to open my center.
I feel like the fool I’ve been and tears form in my eyes. I’m mortified, my gaze skating to those packed sardine tables so close to us, but if anyone was watching us, they’ve lost interest. My attention is drawn back to Rob as he reaches out and brushes the tear away with his callused fingers. There’s an entreaty in his eyes, and I have to wonder if he’s one of those men who has an aneurysm whenever a woman cries in front of him.
“You could tell me what happened, if you like,” he says, cocking his head, the ends of his hair brushing the collar of his T-shirt. “I’d keep it to myself. And I’m not just asking because I want to have something Jonah doesn’t.”
“But would you write a sad or angry song about it?” I ask.
He smiles. “Any resemblance to real people, places, or things is accidental.”
“‘Oh Brother’ is about Jonah, right?”
One side of his mouth lifts in a lopsided smile that would probably make his female fans swoon. “I’ll never tell, but the title might give it away. If you’re a woman who pays attention to such things.”
I pause, considering the possibility of telling this man my secret. It would feel good to let it out, and I can tell that he would listen, really listen, in the way so few people do.
I even open my mouth to do it, but then I glance down and see a penny lying heads down. Bad luck.
I point to it. “They’re bad luck when they’re like that.”
He gives me a disbelieving look. “You genuinely think a penny that’s face down is bad luck?”
Feeling miserable and stupid, I nod. “If you have bad luck, you become familiar with the signs.”
“I see,” he says, frowning. He gives me a sidelong look that invites me to speak, to share everything. That penny feels like a reminder, though: If you tell him, something bad will happen .
After a moment, he says, “It’s just a penny that fell from someone’s pocket or wallet. Gravity made the decision. It doesn’t mean anything other than what it is.”
“Says the man who writes song lyrics.”
He shrugs a shoulder and grabs the penny up off the ground.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” I say, hating the stupid quaver in my voice.
“Because now its bad luck will be attached to me?” He’s giving me a challenging look, and suddenly I’m very aware of being alone with him.
“Yeah,” I say softly. “And I think I’ve decided I like you.”
He pockets the penny. “I’ve decided I like you too. Which is why I’m going to prove to you nothing bad will happen to me for collecting that penny.” He smiles as he studies my face. “You think I’ve really jinxed myself now, don’t you?”
Yes. No. I don’t even know anymore. “You think I’m being silly.”
“Maybe. But it turns out you’re still charming when you’re being silly. Lucky you. We can’t all make that claim. I just turn into an asshole.”
I smile at that, but I still feel an itch at the back of my brain, a worry. That he and Hannah and Briar and even Otis might be better off if they stay away from me and my bad luck. The thing is, I don’t really want them to stay away.
Rob looks like he’s about to say something else, but then my phone buzzes in my purse. And buzzes again before it starts ringing. I’m not an animal—my phone is almost always on silent—but I know it’s ringing because the buzzing is more persistent. So I pull it out and check.
I frown at him, then glance at the back door. “It’s Hannah. Maybe something’s wrong inside. We should go see.”
“Let’s.”
I’m deeply aware of him as he falls in behind me, as his finger grazes the small of my back, guiding me away from a stump that definitely would have sent me flying.
We reach the back door. When he opens it, I immediately hear Hannah’s voice saying the word prick.
Rob shrugs. “We could always leave from the back,” he says with a half-smile.
“We’re not scoundrels,” I say, which makes his smile upgrade to a grin.
“Sure, but let me go first.”
I probably surprise both of us by allowing it. We walk inside, and I gasp when the tasting room comes into view ahead of Rob.
Hannah is standing in front of her stool, facing off with Jonah, who thankfully has his back to us.
“Oh bless my heart,” I say, since no older Southern ladies are around to say it for me.
I guess I should have checked my messages.