Chapter 1 #2
Fantastic. I rummaged through my duffel bag, pulling out a fresh black Henley and dark jeans. After a quick trip to the small, attached bathroom, to splash water on my face and brush my teeth, I emerged looking marginally more human than I felt.
The bar was already humming with activity when I entered.
The staff moved with practiced efficiency, setting up glassware and checking stock.
Bronwyn stood behind the bar, deep in conversation with a young bartender who was nodding along to whatever instructions she was giving him.
“There he is!” Bronwyn called out when she spotted me. “He returns.”
Several heads turned in my direction, and I forced a smile that I hoped didn’t look as pained as it felt.
A few faces I recognized from high school looked back at me.
They were older now, some with graying hair, others with expanding waistlines, but still, unmistakably, the same people who had watched my downfall all those years ago. That was all I could think of.
Justin drank a drink at the bar as Cam made his way back to his seat after returning from the restroom. He immediately caught my gaze.
I made my way behind the bar, nodding greetings as I went. Bronwyn slid a white apron toward me, which I tied around my waist with practiced ease.
“We’ve got Carolina Honey Wheat and Appalachian Apple Cider Ale on tap,” she informed me. “Both are selling like crazy. The fried pickles and pretzels with beer cheese are the big food items, they’re frozen in batches and defrosted as needed. The chicken wings though… huge hit.”
“Got it,” I said, already settling into service mode. Bartending had been my sanctuary for years, a space where I could focus on the mechanics of mixing drinks and leave everything else behind. Even in a town that had once been the site of my greatest humiliation, I was in control behind the bar.
The first hour passed in a blur of beer pulls, cocktail shakers, and half-remembered names. Each time the door opened, my eyes darted over, heart rate spiking with the possibility that it might be him. Every time I looked over, I was both relieved and disappointed when it wasn’t him.
“Moses Morley, as I live and breathe!” a familiar voice boomed across the bar. I looked up to see Vanessa Newton, one of the few people from high school I’d kept in sporadic contact with over the years.
“Vanessa.” I grinned, and this time it was genuine. “How’s life treating Gomillion’s most eligible bachelorette?”
She laughed, sliding onto a barstool directly across from me. “Still keeping tabs on my relationship status, I see. I’m touched.”
“Just doing my civic duty,” I replied, already reaching for the gin I knew she preferred. “Hendrick’s and tonic, extra lime?”
“You remember,” she said, looking pleased. “And here I thought I was just another face from your sordid past.”
I winced slightly at her choice of words, but kept my smile firmly in place as I prepared her drink. “You could never be just another face, Nessa.”
She accepted the glass with a nod of thanks. “So, how does it feel to be back in the lion’s den?” She quipped. “Nervous about seeing people?”
I arched an eyebrow. “That obvious, huh?”
“Only to those of us who know what to look for,” she replied, taking a sip. “You’ve been watching the door like you’re expecting either salvation or damnation to walk through it at any moment.”
I busied myself with wiping down the already clean bar top. “Just waiting for the reunion committee to arrive with setup instructions for Friday and the rest of the weekend.”
“Mmhmm,” she hummed, disbelievingly. “Nothing to do with a certain someone who just flew in from Boston this morning?”
My hand stilled. “He’s here already?”
Vanessa’s expression turned triumphant. “I knew it. Twenty years and you’re still hung up on Rhett Callahan.”
“Keep your voice down,” I hissed, glancing around to make sure no one had overheard. Despite Bronwyn’s assurances that people knew about my sexuality, old habits died hard. “And I’m not ‘hung up’ on anyone. I’m just prepared for awkward encounters.”
“Right,” she drawled, clearly unconvinced. “Well, prepare yourself sooner rather than later. He’s staying at the Mill Creek Inn, and I happen to know he was planning to swing by here this afternoon.”
My stomach performed a complicated gymnastics routine. “Thanks for the heads-up,” I managed.
Vanessa leaned forward, her expression softening. “Moses, can I give you some advice? As a friend?”
“Do I have a choice?” I roll my eyes at her.
She ignored my sarcasm. “Whatever happened between you two, whatever led to that night with the statue, I know it wasn’t what everyone thinks. I’ve always known that.”
I froze, unable to meet her eyes. Nobody in Gomillion knew the full truth of what had happened that night. Nobody except me and the mayor’s son, Soren Hayes. He had blackmailed me into taking the fall for his drunken vandalism.
“Nessa—"
“You don’t have to explain,” she interrupted gently. “Not to me. But maybe to him. He deserves to know why you let him believe you betrayed him.”
Before I could respond, the door swung open, and a fresh wave of alumni poured in, momentarily drawing my attention. When I looked back, Vanessa was watching me with an expression of mingled sympathy and expectation.
“Just think about it,” she said, sliding off her stool. “And I’ll take another one of those excellent gin and tonics when you get a chance.”
As she melted into the crowd to greet other classmates, I tried to regain my composure. She was right, of course. Rhett deserved to know the truth. He deserved it all those years ago, too. But the truth came with risks I hadn’t been willing to take then. Was I ready to take them now?
I didn’t have long to ponder the question. The next time the door opened, my world stopped spinning.
Rhett Callahan stood in the entrance, the late afternoon sunlight haloing his tall figure.
He’d aged like fine whiskey. His boyish good looks had matured into something more refined, more devastating.
His dark hair was shorter than he’d worn it in high school, with distinguished touches of silver at the temples.
He was dressed simply in a blue button-down that made his eyes pop even with those sexy dark rimmed glasses om from across the room.
Don’t get me even started on those jeans that hugged his athletic frame.
His eyes found mine immediately, as if drawn by some magnetic force. Twenty years fell away in an instant, and I was instantly eighteen again, heart thundering in my chest as the most beautiful boy I’d ever seen smiled at me across a crowded room.
Except he wasn’t smiling now. His expression was guarded, assessing, as he made his way toward the bar. The crowd seemed to part for him instinctively, or maybe that was just my perception. Rhett had always commanded attention without trying.
He slid onto a barstool directly in front of me, and I realized I’d been holding my breath. I forced myself to exhale slowly, grateful for the bar between us, both as a physical barrier and as something to ground me in the present.
“Hello, Moses,” he said, his voice deeper than I remembered but still achingly familiar. “It’s been a while.”
I swallowed hard, willing my racing heart to calm. “Twenty years,” I agreed, proud that my voice remained steady. “Can I get you a drink?”
One corner of his mouth quirked up, not quite a smile, but close enough to send a flutter through my stomach. “I hear you’re the gin expert these days. Surprise me.”
Our fingers brushed as I placed a cocktail napkin in front of him, and the brief contact sent electricity shooting up my arm. I turned quickly to my gin collection, using the moment to compose myself. This was ridiculous. I was a grown man, a successful business owner, not some lovesick teenager.
Yet here I was, hands slightly trembling as I selected a bottle of Monkey 47, complex, layered, with notes of citrus and spice. Just like the man seated at my bar.
I prepared his drink with meticulous care, hyperaware of his eyes following my every move. When I finally placed the finished cocktail before him, he raised it in a silent toast before taking a sip.
His eyes widened slightly, then closed in appreciation. “Damn,” he murmured. “What is this?”
“Monkey 47,” I answered, a flutter of pride cutting through my anxiety. “German gin with forty-seven botanicals. I like it with just a hint of elderflower tonic and a twist of grapefruit.”
He took another sip, nodding slowly. “You always did have a gift for taste testing.”
The memory hit me like a physical blow, Rhett and I, side by side at a taste testing workshop when we were just eighteen.
We explored flavors of chocolates and cheeses that worked together and stole glances at one another when we thought the other wasn’t looking, fingers occasionally brushing as we reached for the same ingredient.
The beginning of everything. The beginning of when I realized that when I hit age I wanted to explore gin creations and mixology as a career.
“You remember that?” I asked, unable to keep the surprise from my voice.
Something flickered in his eyes, hurt, maybe, or resentment. “I remember everything, Moses.”
The weight of those words hung between us, heavy with two decades of unspoken truths and unanswered questions. I opened my mouth, though I had no idea what would come out, when Bronwyn appeared at my elbow.
“Moses, we need more pretzels from the freezer,” she said, then turned to Rhett with a wide smile. “You must be Rhett. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“All terrible things, I’m sure,” Rhett replied with a charm I remembered all too well.
Bronwyn laughed. “On the contrary. When this one gets a few drinks in him"—she jerked a thumb in my direction—“he can’t stop singing your praises.”
I shot her a look that promised retribution, but she just winked at me before sauntering off to help another customer.
Rhett’s expression had softened somewhat, curiosity replacing the guardedness. “Is that so?”
“She exaggerates,” I muttered, feeling heat climb up my neck. “Occupational hazard of owning a bar.”
“Hmm.” He hummed noncommittally, taking another sip of his drink. “Speaking of occupational hazards, how’d a small-town scandal-maker like you end up co-owning the hottest spot in Gomillion?”
The casual reference to the past stung, but I kept my expression neutral. “Family inheritance and a good business partner. What about you? Last I heard, you were taking Boston’s architecture scene by storm.”
“I do alright,” he said with characteristic understatement. I knew from occasional Google searches over the years that “alright” meant he’d designed award-winning buildings across the Eastern Seaboard. “Though I’m thinking of scaling back, maybe starting something smaller back closer to home.”
The implication that “home” might still be somewhere in the Carolinas sent an unwelcome surge of hope through me. I tamped it down quickly.
“Well, Gomillion could use a decent architect,” I said lightly. “Most of the new construction looks like it was designed by drunk toddlers with a LEGO fixation.”
That drew a genuine laugh from him, the sound washing over me like warm honey. “Some things never change, huh? You always did have a way with words.”
“Only the sarcastic ones,” I replied with a small smile.
For a moment, it felt like old times, the easy banter, the shared humor. But then his expression sobered, and reality came crashing back.
“Why did you come, Moses?” he asked quietly.
The question caught me off guard, though it shouldn’t have. I gestured vaguely around the bar. “Business obligations. The reunion. You know.”
“Right.” He nodded slowly, clearly unsatisfied with my answer but not pushing further. He finished his drink and stood, reaching for his wallet.
“On the house,” I said quickly.
He hesitated, then nodded again. “Thanks. I guess I’ll see you later?”
“I’ll be behind the bar,” I confirmed. “I need to keep busy and avoid Amber.”
“Of course,” he murmured, and I couldn’t tell if there was judgment in his tone or something else entirely. “Well, until then.”
He turned to leave, and panic surged through me at the thought of letting him walk away again without saying what needed to be said.
“Rhett,” I called after him. He paused, looking back over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow. “I was thinking of doing a private gin tasting when you have your free time session. Maybe some new items I’m considering for the bar. If you’re interested…?”
I let the invitation hang in the air between us, heart hammering in my chest. He studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
“What time?” he finally asked.
Relief washed through me. “Three? Before the bar opens and registration at the high school?”
He nodded once. “I’ll be here.”
And then he was gone, pushing through the growing crowd toward the exit, leaving me to wonder if I’d just made the best decision of my life or another colossal mistake in a long line of them where Rhett was concerned.
“Well, that went better than expected,” Bronwyn commented, materializing beside me with an infuriating smirk.
“Shut up and help me prep,” I grumbled, but there was no real heat in it.
Because despite everything, the tension, the unresolved past, the uncertain future, seeing Rhett again had awakened something in me that I’d thought long dead. Something dangerous and thrilling and terrifying all at once.
Hope.