Chapter Two
Regan
Maddie is trying her best to keep a smile on her face, but I can tell her back is killing her, especially sitting on these hard outdoor chairs. My very pregnant friend would do anything for me, including staying up late to celebrate my milestone birthday when it’s obvious she needs to be in bed.
“I can’t thank you guys enough,” I say, looking around the table at my friends. I pack all of their thoughtful presents into one large gift bag and set it at my feet.
Ava gives me the side-eye. “You turn thirty-five and suddenly you have a bedtime?”
Laughter fills the air.
“No, but I’m well aware that almost everyone here will be woken up at the crack of dawn by at least one hungry child.”
“Right,” Ava says, looking sad.
I shouldn’t have said anything. I know how hard she and Trevor have been trying for a baby. Seeing Maddie pregnant has been difficult enough for her, the three of us being as close as three friends can be.
Amber, Dakota, Nikki, and Serenity take my out, and get up to leave, taking turns giving me one last hug. When they’re gone, I help Maddie out of her chair, trying not to laugh at the awkwardness of her huge belly.
I get it, it’s hard to stand up easily with extra weight on your mid-section, especially from such a low seat. I mean, I haven’t had a flat stomach since my freshman year at Houghton when Coach Minchew made us do a hundred crunches before each practice. But even my fluffy center doesn’t hold a candle to Maddie’s pregnant curves.
“Thanks,” she says, winded from the task of simply standing.
It makes me feel guilty that I kept her out so late.
I glance around the outdoor patio at Donovan’s Pub—the premier nighttime gathering place here on McQuaid Circle—and realize we’re some of the few patrons left.
Sure, there are a couple of small groups scattered inside, but with most of the Calloway Creek University students on summer break, it’s not as lively as it was mere weeks ago.
Lucas Montana is the only other person on the patio. He’s been out here puffing on cigarettes as if the smoke could erase the past. We all know what happened. If he hadn’t left Lissa literally at the altar, they’d be married, and she’d have never moved to the city and met the senator’s son. Even though he brought it on himself, I can’t help but feel sorry for him.
Everyone deserves a happily ever after.
I laugh inwardly, because unless one of the thousands of my book boyfriends comes to life, me actually getting one seems ever further out of reach.
It’s not that I want to be married as much as I want companionship. And maybe someone to dust off the goods. It’s been a minute. Actually, it’s been two years.
“Come on,” I say, taking Maddie’s elbow. “We’ll walk you out.”
She smiles. “You guys are the best.”
At Maddie’s car, Ava asks, “See you Tuesday?”
The three of us have had a standing coffee date behind the ice cream shop for as long as I can remember. Ava, being the owner of The Criss Coffee Corner—an establishment that could give Starbucks a run for the money—always brings the drinks.
Others sometimes join us, but unless one of our core three is on vacation or, let’s face it… dying … our little trio is always there. Every single week without fail.
Maddie rubs her belly. “Assuming I make it that long. I have a feeling this little guy might make an appearance by then.”
“Is Tag getting excited?” I ask. “I know he’s been great with Gigi, but she was five when you got together so he’s never had the baby experience.”
“He really stepped up as an uncle when Jaxon had his kids, so he knows how to be around babies. But, yes, he’s over the moon. And Gigi can’t wait to be a big sister. At eleven years old, she’s going to be a huge help.”
Maddie has a hard time fitting behind the steering wheel. I’m surprised she can even reach the pedals with as far back as she’s got the seat.
“Drive safely,” I say, closing her door. “Love you.”
“Love you guys.” She blows an air kiss and then she’s off.
Ava and I thread our elbows and start the walk home. Both of us live in the apartments over our shops on McQuaid Circle. Maddie used to live above her flower shop, which is just a few doors down from mine, until she and Tag got together. Now she rents it out.
When we round the corner, I see a man carrying a gift bag. I stop walking. “Shoot. I forgot my gifts. I have to go back.” I give Ava a squeeze. “See you tomorrow?”
“You know it.” She kisses my cheek. “Happy birthday, Regan. I just know this year is going to be your best yet.”
“From your lips to God’s ears.”
We share a laugh and then I trot off back to Donovan’s.
Entering through the patio gate, I find my bag right where I left it. There are a lot of benefits to living in such a small town. Like being a single woman walking alone at night without having to look over my shoulder. And being able to leave valuables at a restaurant without anyone stealing them.
Don’t get me wrong. There are drawbacks, too. Especially when it comes to men. Everyone knows everyone. Most of us grew up together. Like Ava and Trevor, and Nikki and Jaxon, many married their high school sweethearts. And there is often a shortage of good men, especially if you’re a certain age.
I shake away the thought, refusing to let my age become a determining factor in how I choose to live my life. I’m happy with the life I’ve chosen. Running my shop. Being with good friends. And I have all the company I need with Joey. That furball is better than any man. He never talks back, always likes to cuddle, and thinks I walk on water.
Besides, men are not all they’re cracked up to be. That was proven to me long ago. My friends have gotten lucky with their partners. I’m beginning to think I’m just not cut out for a long-term relationship.
“Fuck!” I hear as I collect the gift bag.
When I turn, I see Lucas yelling at the television hanging under the awning. It’s another news report about his ex’s engagement. In a large picture, displayed on what must be a seventy-five-inch screen, Lissa is looking dreamily at Senator McNally’s son.
Oh, boy.
I try to exit unnoticed—because I’m not sure what I’d say to him if he saw me standing here—when a loud crash startles me.
I spin around. Shattered pieces of the television are scattered on the patio.
My jaw hangs loose as I stare at Lucas. “Did you just throw your glass at the TV?”
Cooper Calloway comes running out from inside and shakes his head. He’s pissed. “Time for you to go, cousin.”
Lucas looks up at what remains of the TV and scrubs a hand across his jaw. “Shit, Coop. I’m sorry. I’ll pay for the damage.”
“I know you will. Still, it’s time for you to go home. Sleep it off.” Lucas pulls a set of keys out of his pocket. Cooper takes them, shaking his head again. “And I know you weren’t about to drive, you fucking idiot.” He looks behind him into the restaurant. “I’d take you, but I still have customers.”
Cooper looks over at me. He’s not going to ask, but I can tell he wants to.
Why didn’t I run out of here when I had the chance?
“Fine.” I step forward. “I’ll make sure he gets home.” I hold my hand out for the keys, and Cooper drops them onto my palm.
“Thanks, Regan.”
I nod. “Come on, big guy,” I say to Lucas. “Let’s go.”
“Where we goin’?” he slurs.
“I’m taking you home.”
He raises a brow.
I guffaw. “Yeah, you wish.” My turn to shake my head. “I’m driving you home and then I’m driving myself home. I’ll return your car tomorrow.”
We approach his car. His sleek, expensive, custom-painted car. Sometimes I forget just how rich the Montana family is since they really don’t act it.
When I hold up the key fob to unlock his Jag, Lucas swipes the keys and stuffs them into his pocket. “I don’t wanna go home. Les go get a drink.”
I stick out my hand, palm up. “Give me the keys.”
“No.”
“Lucas, hand them over.”
He steps back and stretches his arms out to his sides. “Come get ‘em if you want ‘em.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“Come on. It’s your birthday. Lemme buy you a drink.”
He’s right. It is my birthday. At least for another forty-five minutes. Ava’s words about me being thirty-five and having a bedtime weave through my head. I hold up a finger. “One drink. But I doubt Cooper would serve you. We’ll have to go to the bar in the bowling alley.”
He glances next door to Calloway Bowl, which shares the huge parking lot with Donovan’s and the other establishments lining this side of McQuaid Circle. “A drink is a drink. Don’t care where I get it.”
Clearly inebriated, he takes the large gift bag from me and I follow him across the parking lot.
“I can’t remember the last time I’ve been in here,” I say when we enter.
The sound of pins crashing together when a bowling ball hits them thunders through the front doors.
Calloway Bowl only has ten lanes, and even at that, it’s a rarity that all of them are occupied. It has a small café with mostly fried food and pizza, and a bar with exactly five stools, all empty since most people do their drinking next door.
Three lanes are being used. One by Tag Calloway’s—and I suppose Lucas’s—cousins (they’re all related somehow), Gray, Colt, and Storm. Another by a group of girls from CCU summer school probably—all of them flirting with the handsome Calloway brothers next to them. There is a couple on the last one, the far lane at the very end. The guy is helping her bowl as if she’s new to it. He’s behind her, and the very large grin on her face tells me she might just know how to do it but is having too much fun to tell him.
Lucas sets my bag next to the bar. Monty Langston—owner and, at the moment, sole worker here—comes out from behind the main counter and steps behind the bar.
Monty is old. Pushing eighty I’d guess. I pretty much know everyone who works or owns businesses along McQuaid Circle as my own bookstore/boutique is one of those businesses. Like mine and Maddie’s, a lot of them have been handed down from generation to generation. Monty, though, is the original owner of the bowling alley. He doesn’t have kids, has never been married, and as far as I know, is always working.
I stare at him and wonder if this is who I’ll be in forty-five years.
“Why, Regan Lucas,” Monty says reverently. “I haven’t seen you in here in a long while. You’re looking sweeter than stolen honey. What can I get you?”
“Thank you, Monty. I’ll have white wine please, whatever you have opened is fine.”
Lucas scoffs next to me. “Swill, most likely,” he mumbles.
I kick him in the shin. “Be nice,” I say under my breath.
“I’m just saying, there’s a winery close by, yet he doesn’t stock any of our wine.”
“Soon as you offer a more economical option, I’ll be happy to stock it,” Monty says.
“Economical,” Lucas says like it’s a bad word. “You mean cheap.”
“Son, this is a bowling alley. My budget is as tight as a fiddle string. And you can bet on the fact that folks don’t come here for expensive booze.”
Lucas shakes his head and leans across the bar in a determined yet non-threatening manner. “Please don’t refer to my wine as booze, old man. People drink booze to get drunk. My wine is meant to be savored.”
“I tell you what,” Monty says, not intimidated in the least. “I won’t call your wine booze and you don’t call me old man and we’ll call it even.”
I put a hand on Lucas’s shoulder and urge him back onto the barstool. “Sounds like a good plan.”
Monty pours my wine and stares Lucas down. “You drinkin’ or what?”
“What’s the best you got?”
Monty looks behind him. “Patrón Silver.”
Lucas whistles in jest. “A forty-dollar bottle of tequila?” He pulls out his phone. “Let me check my account to see if I can swing it.”
“Shush,” I say. “I’m leaving if you can’t be cordial.”
Monty pours him a shot then says to me, “I’m guessin’ we should give the lad a pass.” He nods to one of the televisions on the wall. “After all, his cheese kind of fell off his cracker today.”
Lucas’s hand wraps around the shot glass like he’s ready to launch it at yet another TV.
I put my hand over his, noting how large and warm it is. “Are you really going to let this ruin you? So she moved on. Just like all your other exes did. Instead of wallowing in it, maybe this is a sign that you should move on too.”
He laughs bitterly. “You mean to the next woman I’m going to leave at the altar? No thank you. I’m done with that. Everyone in this town knows I can’t be trusted. They warned Lissa. She thought I could change. I thought I could change. Turns out they were right, and Lissa was wrong. I was wrong. I’m thirty years old, Regan. I’m never going to change. A tiger can’t change his spots.”
“Leopard,” I say.
His brows knit together. “Huh?”
“Tigers have stripes. The saying is: a leopard can’t change his spots.”
“Whatever. So I’m a leopard.”
I giggle, because with the way he’s slurring, the word sounds more like leper, which is definitely what he is to all the women in this town.
With Monty back behind the main counter, cleaning shoes returned from the Calloways and the college girls they just left with, Lucas sips tequila and stares at me.
“What?” I ask.
“Regan Lucas,” he says pointedly. “I almost forgot that was your last name until Monty said it. I used to joke with Ryder that if you and me got married, I could be Lucas Lucas. But that was way back in high school before your dad caught me staring out the window at you while jerking off.”
There are so many things to unpack in that sentence. I start with, “You used to talk to my brother about me?”
“You’re the reason I became friends with him.”
I point to myself. “ I’m the reason?”
“Well, kids,” Monty interrupts. “All the lanes are clear. Time for me to put the chairs in the wagon.”
Lucas opens his wallet to pay but comes up empty handed. “Shit. Forgot I gave all my money to Hunter.” He slides out a credit card.
Monty waves it away. “You fall off the tater truck or somethin’? Card machine has been broken since 2016. Didn’t you see the sign on the door?”
I open my purse. “I’ve got it. What do I owe you, Monty?”
He eyes the bottle of tequila he left on the bar to see how much is left. “Twenty-five ought to do it.”
I leave him thirty. “Thank you, Monty. Have a good weekend.” I tilt my glass, emptying the last bit, then vacate my barstool.
“You, too, pretty lady. And come back soon. Don’t be such a stranger.”
I turn. “I could say the same about you. I haven’t seen you in my shop.”
He cackles. “Next time I need a smutty novel or some of those pretty tights you like to wear, I’ll pop right on over.”
“I do carry other types of books, you know. Thrillers. Mysteries. You should come check it out.”
“I might ought do that then,” he drawls, his Texas accent coming through even though he’s lived here for more than fifty years.
As soon as we’re out the door, he’s got it locked up and the lights off. It amazes me that a man Monty’s age can still run this place alone.
Back at Lucas’s car, I hold my hand out. “Keys?”
He stares blankly at my hand. “You have them.”
“I don’t. You took them from me before we went to the bowling alley. Remember?”
“Not hardly.”
I nod to his left pocket. “You put them there and told me to get them if I wanted them so badly.”
He laughs. “That does sound like something I’d say.” He reaches into his pocket and comes out with his phone. He tries the other one. “I’m telling you, I don’t have them.”
I glance back at the darkened bowling alley. “You must have dropped them inside.”
He looks at me and then his car. “Well… shit.”
“I could call you an Uber.”
“I have a better idea.” He looks behind me at Donovan’s Pub. “Cooper’s probably calmed down by now.”
“You destroyed his property. I doubt it. I don’t think you should go back in there until you go bearing a TV twice as nice as the one you broke.”
He looks at his phone. “But it’s still your birthday for another seven minutes. One more drink, birthday girl?”
My eyes roll. Has he not had enough to forget the whole engagement debacle?
“Come on, Regan Lucas. I never got to toast your birthday. There has to be someplace we can go.”
I sigh. “I have liquor at my place.” I put a finger into his chest. “If you say one thing about it being cheap, I’ll kick you out so quick your head will spin even faster than it will be when you wake up with a killer hangover.”
His lips smash together, and he mimes locking them with a key.
Then he follows me back to my place for a drink that I know is so monumentally stupid I’ll be regretting it to high heaven come morning.
But he’s hot.
And it is my birthday.