39. Cassidy
CASSIDY
H arle had told me there was no need to be nervous, or embarrassed, but I was going to do it anyway. That’s just how I was as a person. You couldn’t walk back into the bar you’d made an absolute spectacle of yourself at and not feel the shame all over again.
But when Harle’s warm hand slipped into mine as we crossed the parking lot of The Rusty Nail, some of that anxiety melted away. Only some of it, mind you. The neon sign buzzed overhead, casting a red glow across his face as he glanced down at me with one of those reassuring smiles that had become so familiar over the past week.
“Breathe, darlin’.”
“I still don’t understand why you’re making me do this.”
He lifted my hand to his lips and pressed a kiss into my palm. “Because if you don’t, you’re always going to feel shit about it. I want you to see that it’s not as bad as you’ve imagined, so you can let it go.”
The worst part about this was that I knew he was right, dammit.
“Will anybody be there from…that night?”
“Maybe. Probably. Pete will be, at least, since he owns the place.”
“Fuck, this is so embarrassing.”
“We going in? Or are you too chicken shit?”
That did it. I lifted my chin, ignoring the acid churning in my gut. “We’re going in.”
“Good girl.”
My stomach still did a little flip when he pulled open the heavy wooden door. The familiar scent of beer and wing sauce washed over us as we stepped inside.
I scanned the dimly lit room, my eyes darting from table to table. A few people sat at the bar, hunched over their drinks. A group played pool in the corner. Another cluster gathered around what looked like a birthday celebration near the jukebox.
My shoulders tensed as I tried to pick out familiar faces, but then reality hit - I’d been so drunk that night, I probably wouldn’t recognize anyone even if they had been there. The thought made my cheeks burn.
I shifted my focus, watching for reactions instead. Were any of the regulars giving me side-eye? Whispering behind their hands? Pointing? Everyone seemed absorbed in their own conversations and drinks. No one even glanced our way, except for a quick nod of recognition toward Harle.
Pete looked up as we approached. My stomach clenched, waiting for some sign of judgment or recognition. But he just smiled and grabbed two glasses.
“The usual, Harle?”
No mention of broken bottles. No raised eyebrows. No knowing smirks. Either he was being incredibly professional, or maybe... maybe that night hadn’t been as memorable to everyone else as it had been to me.
Harle nodded at Pete. “Yeah, thanks. But make them sodas tonight.”
Pete’s eyebrows lifted for a fraction of a second before he switched directions, reaching for different glasses. My throat tightened. Was that judgment I detected? But no, his expression remained neutral as he filled our drinks.
Harle’s arm slipped around my waist as we settled onto the barstools, and leaned into his solid warmth. The familiar scent of sawdust and pine that clung to his clothes wrapped around me like a security blanket. His thumb traced small circles against my hip, and some of the tension drained from my shoulders.
“Two Cokes.” Pete set the glasses in front of us, ice cubes clinking.
“Thanks, Pete.” Harle’s voice rumbled through his chest where I pressed against him.
I wrapped my fingers around the cold glass, focusing on the condensation beading beneath my touch, rather than the memories of that night trying to surface. Harle’s arm tightened around me, as if he could sense my thoughts spiraling.
Pete picked up a glass and started wiping it with a white cloth, his movements practiced and smooth. “How you doing these days, Cassidy?”
My mouth went dry. The ice clinked in my glass as my hand trembled slightly. “I’m... I’m okay. Thank you.” The words came out barely above a whisper, and I felt heat creep up my neck.
“Good to hear.” Pete’s weathered face softened, and he set down the glass he’d been polishing. “You know, we’ve all had rough nights here. Hell, last month I had to drag my own brother-in-law out by his ear after he tried to serenade the pool table.” He shook his head, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. “Place wouldn’t be the same without a few good stories, right?”
I managed a weak smile, some of the tightness in my chest easing. The simple kindness in his voice, the casual way he was treating the whole thing - it was exactly what I needed, even if I couldn’t quite believe it yet.
“Though I gotta say,” Pete added, reaching for another glass, “you’ve got better aim than most. Hit that wall dead center.” He winked, then moved to the other end of the bar where someone was waving for his attention.
Harle squeezed my hip gently, and I huffed out a breath. When I glanced up at him, the ‘ I told you so’ dancing in his eyes was somehow both amusing and comforting at the same time.
“Alright, you were right.” I leaned in, brushing my lips lightly across his. “Thank you for bringing me.”
“You’re welcome.” His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Now, how about we see if your aim’s improved since last time?”
I jerked back, horror flooding my face. “We are NOT throwing bottles!”
His laugh rumbled through his chest. “Darts, darlin’. I meant darts.” He nodded toward the board hanging in the corner. “Unless you’re chicken shit about that too?”
I narrowed my eyes at him, recognizing the challenge in his voice. “Oh, it’s like that, is it?”
“Mm-hmm.” He took a casual sip of his Coke. “But if you’re scared...”
“Get your ass up, Viking.” I slid off the barstool, tugging his hand. “I’m about to school you in the ancient art of pointy things.”
“Viking?” His eyebrows shot up as he followed me. “That’s new.”
“Well, you’re tall, blonde, and you live in the wilderness. Plus,” I glanced back at him with a grin, “you do have that whole pillaging thing going on.”
His steps faltered. “I do what now?”
“You know,” I waved vaguely at his everything, “showing up unexpectedly, carrying people off to your lair...”
“My lair?” The amusement in his voice was thick enough to spread on toast.
“With your wolf-dogs and your attack donkey.”
“Derek is not an attack donkey.”
“Well, not that we know of, but he’s got a wicked side-eye.”
Laughing, Harle collected the darts and handed me my share.
I lined up my shot, squinting at the dartboard. The red and black circles seemed to mock me, daring me to miss. My first throw sailed wide, sticking into the wall with a dull thunk.
“Good thing Pete didn’t give you any bottles,” Harle teased, plucking my wayward dart from the wall.
“Ha ha.” I accepted the dart back, my fingers brushing against his. “I’d like to see you do better.”
Harle stepped up, his stance relaxed and confident. The dart flew from his fingers, landing dead center in the bullseye. Show off.
“Beginner’s luck,” I muttered.
“Want some tips?”
I knew exactly where this was going and I was one hundred percent here for it. “Oh, yes please.”
He moved behind me, his chest pressing against my back, his hands settling on my hips. “Wider,” he murmured, nudging my feet apart with his boot.
There’s no way he didn’t hear me gasping, but he pretended otherwise.
“Now, relax your shoulder. Keep your elbow steady.”
The warmth of his body and the familiar scent of him made it hard to focus on anything else. “This feels suspiciously like an excuse to get handsy.”
“Maybe.” His lips brushed my neck. “Is it working?”
I elbowed him playfully in the ribs. “You’re terrible at teaching. I can’t concentrate with you doing that.”
“Doing what?” His innocent tone didn’t match the way his hands slid upward, dangerously close to my breasts.
“You know exactly what.” I turned in his arms, finding his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. The anxiety that had gripped me earlier was completely gone, replaced by something warmer, lighter. Trust Harle to know exactly how to chase away my demons.
Slipping my fingers into his hair, I pulled his head down and gave him a quick, hard kiss. I had to remind myself that this was temporary. This easy banter, these casual touches, this... whatever we were. Soon, it would all be over.