Chapter 3
Steph
I should've called in sick.
The thought hits me the moment I push through the door of The Lucky Tap on Saturday night and see Lottie Carmichael—seventy-two years old, town gossip extraordinaire, and regular customer—light up like a Christmas tree.
"There she is!" Lottie practically shouts across the bar. "I can't believe how well you both hid it!"
Oh no.
My stomach drops straight through the floor as every head in the bar turns toward me. And there are a lot of heads. Saturday nights are always busy, but tonight it looks like half the town decided to show up.
I freeze in the doorway, my work bag clutched against my chest like a shield.
"Congratulations, honey!" Lottie continues, oblivious to my rising panic. "We're all so happy for you and Kevin. It's about damn time!"
About damn time?
Heat floods my face as a chorus of agreement rises from the crowd. People I barely know are grinning at me, raising their glasses, calling out congratulations like I just announced an engagement instead of blurting out a desperate lie to get a drunk guy to leave me alone.
"Lottie, I—" I start, but she's already barreling toward me, surprisingly fast for someone who uses a cane.
"Don't you dare be modest," she says, patting my arm with genuine affection. "Everyone in this town has been waiting for you two to figure it out. The way that boy looks at you? Lord, it's been painful to watch."
The way he—what?
Before I can process that bombshell, Belinda appears at my elbow, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
"You dark horse," she says, bumping my shoulder. "You've been holding out on us."
"I haven't been—we're not—" The words tangle in my throat. How do I explain it was fake without making last night sound even worse? Without admitting that Kevin was just being kind, and I dragged him into my mess?
"Oh, don't be embarrassed," Harriette calls from behind the bar, already pouring drinks. "It's sweet."
Sweet. Right. If by sweet she means mortifying, then sure.
I make my way to the back to drop off my bag, trying to ignore the knowing smiles and thumbs-up I get along the way. My face is so hot I'm pretty sure I could fry an egg on it.
Ainsley finds me in the break room, where I'm considering hiding for the rest of my shift.
"Sooo," she says, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed and a smile playing at her lips. "Apparently you're dating Kevin now."
I groan and drop my head into my hands. "This is a nightmare."
"This is Evergreen Lakes," she corrects. "Population twenty-two hundred, where everyone knows everyone's business before they do. What did you expect?"
"I expected people to forget about it!" I lift my head to look at her. "It was one comment. One panicked, stupid comment."
"That you made in front of a packed bar on Friday night." Ainsley's smile softens into something more sympathetic. "Steph, people have been speculating about you and Kevin for months. Last night was just... confirmation."
"But there's nothing to confirm! We're not together."
"Does Kevin know that?"
The question stops me cold. "What's that supposed to mean?"
She gives me a look. "It means that man played along without a single second of hesitation.
It means he's been coming here four nights a week for the past ten months, sitting at the bar and watching you like you're the only person in the room.
You know how he feels about you." She pauses, lifting her brow. "And how you feel about him."
"He's protective," I interrupt, refusing to acknowledge the second part. "Because of what happened with Carl. That's all it is."
"If you say so." She doesn't sound convinced. "But you might want to talk to him about it. Because the whole town thinks you're a couple now, and unless you plan to make a public announcement otherwise..."
She trails off, letting the implication hang in the air.
I close my eyes. She's right. Of course she's right. I need to talk to Kevin, apologize again, and figure out how to manage this mess I've created.
"He's here, by the way," Ainsley adds, and my eyes snap open. "Showed up twenty minutes ago with Troy, Ace, and Levi. They're posted up at the bar."
My heart does something complicated in my chest. "He's here?"
"Yep. And he's gotten about as many congratulations as you have." She pauses. "He seems fine with it, for what it's worth."
He seems fine with it.
I don't know what to do with that information, so I shove it aside and grab my apron. "I should get to work."
"Steph." Ainsley's voice stops me at the door. "For what it's worth? I think you two would be good together. When you're ready."
I don't answer. Can't answer. Because there's a part of me—a small, terrified part that I've been trying very hard to ignore—that wonders what it would be like if last night hadn't been a lie.
The bar is even more crowded than when I arrived. I tie on my apron and slip into work mode, taking orders and mixing drinks with practiced efficiency. Muscle memory takes over, which is good because my brain is occupied with trying very hard not to look at the far end of the bar.
Where Kevin is sitting.
I can feel him watching me. It's like a physical touch, that awareness. The same way I've felt it for months now, every time he's here.
"Hey Steph!" One regular—Tony—waves me over with a grin that's way too wide. "Heard the good news. You’re finally gonna make an honest man out of Dawes?"
Several people laugh, and I force a smile. "Just doing my job, Tony. What can I get you?"
"Another round for the table," he says, still grinning. "And tell your boyfriend he's a lucky man."
My boyfriend.
The words make my chest tight with something I don't want to examine too closely.
I put in the order and turn to grab clean glasses, nearly colliding with Belinda.
"Oh, before I forget," she says, lowering her voice. "Rachel won the pool."
I blink. "What pool?"
"The betting pool. On when you and Kevin would get together." She says it so casually, as if this were normal information. "She's cleaning up—something like two hundred bucks."
The floor tilts beneath my feet.
"There was a... a betting pool?"
"Oh yeah. It started about six months ago." Belinda counts on her fingers. "Let's see, Lottie had August, Tony had New Year's Eve, I had Thanksgiving—thought the holiday romance vibe might do it. But Rachel called May, and she was closest, so—"
"Six months?" My voice comes out strangled. "People have been betting on us for six months?"
"Well, yeah." Belinda looks at me with an “isn’t it obvious” stare. "Everyone could see it coming. The way you two look at each other? Please. It was only a matter of time."
She pats my arm and heads back to her tables, leaving me standing there with an armful of glasses and a head full of white noise.
Everyone could see it coming.
Six months of betting pools and speculation and people watching us, waiting for something I didn't even know was happening.
Did Kevin know? Has he been aware this whole time that the entire town was watching us, talking about us, placing bets on when we'd—
Oh God.
What must he think of me now? Does he think I knew about the gossip and used it to my advantage last night? Does he think I manipulated the situation?
Or worse—does he feel trapped? Obligated to go along with this charade because the whole town expects it now?
My hands shake, and I set the glasses down before I drop them.
I need to talk to him. Need to apologize, explain, and give him an out. Let him know he doesn't have to pretend for my sake.
I glance down the bar to where he's sitting with Troy, Ace, and Levi. All four of them are keeping watch—I can tell by the way their eyes move over the crowd, the way they're positioned to see the entire room.
Looking for the drunk from last night.
The realization makes my throat tight. Kevin brought reinforcements. He's taking this seriously.
He's taking me seriously.
Kevin's eyes find mine across the bar, and for a moment, everything else falls away. He raises his beer bottle slightly—a small salute, a question. You okay?
I nod, even though I'm not sure it's true.
His expression softens, and the corner of his mouth tips up. Just barely. Just enough.
My heart stumbles over itself.
"Steph?" Harriette calls. "Can you run the trash out? We're getting full back here."
I tear my eyes away from Kevin. "Yeah. On it."
The trash bags are heavy, overstuffed with bottles and food waste from the dinner rush. I prop open the back door with my hip and haul the bags toward the dumpster in the alley behind the bar.
The night air is cool on my overheated skin, and I take a breath, grateful for a moment of quiet away from the chaos inside. Away from the congratulations and knowing looks and the weight of Kevin's gaze.
I heave the first bag into the dumpster, then reach for the second.
"There you are."
The voice comes from behind me, and I freeze.
I know that voice.
I turn, and there he is—the drunk from last night. Brown hair, an expensive watch, that same entitled smile. But tonight he's not drunk. He's stone-cold sober, and somehow that makes it so much worse.
"I've been waiting for you," he says, stepping closer.
The dumpster is at my back. The door to the bar is fifteen feet away, propped open, but it might as well be a mile.
"You need to leave," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "You're not welcome here."
"Not welcome?" He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "That's not friendly. Especially after I spent so much money in your bar."
"Our bar," I correct, taking a step sideways. "And you need to go."
He moves with me, cutting off my path to the door. "I don't think so. See, we need to talk. About your boyfriend."
The way he says the word makes my skin crawl.
"I don't know who you think you're fooling," he continues, voice hardening. "But I know you're lying. You don't have a boyfriend. You've been working here alone every night this week. If you had a man, he'd be here."
My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. "You need to leave. Now."
"I'm not going anywhere." He takes another step forward, and now he's close enough that I can smell his cologne—too strong, suffocating. "You embarrassed me last night. Made me look like a fool in front of everyone. I think you owe me an apology."
"I don't owe you anything."
His expression darkens. "You know, I've been nothing but nice to you. I asked you out politely. Gave you compliments. Spent good money here. And this is how you treat me?"
The entitlement in his voice, the complete lack of awareness that I'd said no repeatedly—it brings everything back. Carl's voice saying the same things. I'm nice to you. I take care of you. Why are you acting like this?
"Get away from me," I say, and my voice shakes.
"Or what?" He smiles, cruel and cold. "You'll call your fake boyfriend?"
He reaches for me.
And I can't move.
My body locks up, frozen by fear and memory and the terrible certainty that this is happening again. That I'm trapped again. That no matter how many times I say no, it won't matter.
His hand closes around my wrist—the same wrist he grabbed last night—and panic floods my system like ice water. He pulls me closer, his other arm wrapping around my waist.
"Let go!" I yank back, but his grip tightens.
"We're just going to talk," he says, pulling me toward him. "That's all. Just talk."
No. No, no, no, no—
"Steph?"
Kevin's voice cuts through the panic like a knife.
I look up, and he's standing in the bar's doorway, backlit by the warm light from inside. For half a second, he's frozen, taking in the scene. Me. The man. The hands on me.
And then he moves.