Chapter 3 Hartsville Heartthrobs Weston
Weston
Ido, however, wear a backward baseball hat to the Rattler the next night.
Josie always went wild when I wore a backward baseball hat.
Shameless? Yes. But desperate times call for desperate measures. During the actual rehearsal at Lucky River Ranch an hour ago, Josie was cordial but cold.
I hope some live music and dancing might warm her up a little.
She always did comment on my “Wrangler butt.” So naturally I’m wearing a new pair of Wranglers too.
May have also put in a good word with Frisky Whisky, the band, after I got permission from Quinn and Grady. I joined them for their weekly practice on Tuesday night. We actually sounded all right playing together.
I’m about to make a grand gesture. One that will probably end with me holding my proverbial dick in my hand. But I’m determined to make every effort to fix what I broke.
To show her how much she means to me.
I’m waiting at the bar with a margarita in one hand—spicy, with a Tajín rim—and a Shiner Bock longneck in the other when she walks in.
It’s all I can do not to whistle.
But because I’m a goddamn gentleman, I stare instead in a way I couldn’t at the rehearsal.
She’s wearing this strappy little dress that bares her arms and flirts with her knees. Pale pink. Same shade as her full lips that are pulled into a big smile.
A real one, the kind that lights up her eyes.
She’s wearing shimmery cowboy boots with tall, tall heels that make her legs look a mile long. She’s got Quinn on one arm and her mama on the other. Glancing over my shoulder, I see Tallulah already scooping ice into a pair of glasses for more margaritas.
One of the many perks of small-town living: Tallulah knows your drink order before you do.
I straighten. Pray like hell my fly is zipped.
Josie’s gaze finds mine straight away. We used to joke about that—how we’d always find each other across the room, even when we just met. Made us ending up together seem like fate.
I’d like to think the universe is still on our side, especially now that I’m not embarrassed by my feelings for her. I’m not embarrassed or afraid of feelings, period.
Her eyes go up, up. Smile falters when she sees my hat.
“Long time no see.” I hold out the margarita. “Still drink these?”
She looks down. Blinks. Looks back up. “You bastard.”
Mrs. Reid frowns. “Josie.”
I let out a surprised bark of laughter. “It’s the Tajín, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Her eyes are on my hat again as she takes the drink from me. “You have some balls, Wes.”
Mrs. Reid holds up her hands. “All right, I’m outta here. Y’all duke it out on your own. Quinn, let’s grab a drink.”
Quinn’s future mother-in-law yanks her toward Tallulah, who’s waving them down from the other end of the bar.
“Holler if you need me!” Quinn says, giving Josie a meaningful look.
I tap the bottom of my bottle to Josie’s glass. “Balls? For remembering your drink order? That’s one thing I’ll never apologize for.”
Josie sips. Closes her eyes and lets out a sound that’s half moan, half laugh.
I am a dead man.
“Since when do you apologize for anything?” She keeps her eyes closed.
“Since I grew the fuck up.”
She opens those eyes. I black out when she licks the rim of her glass and takes another sip. “I swear, this is the best margarita on earth.”
“You’re welcome!” Tallulah calls from somewhere behind us.
“Thank you.” Josie’s saying it to me.
At least I hope she’s saying it to me.
“Officiating weddings is thirsty work,” I reply. “Gotta keep the fluids going.”
That gets a smile. “I hope I do okay. I’ve been working on what I want to say, and I just . . . I can’t seem to get it right.”
I feel eyes on us. A lot of them. Before, I’d put some distance between me and Josie. I’d look away. Lean into the bar to try to make it look like I didn’t care.
Now, I lean into her. Not so much that I cross any lines or make her uncomfortable. Instead, I maintain eye contact and tilt my head forward so she knows I’m listening.
So she knows she has my full attention, because she’s opening up to me a little here. And that means something.
“You’re gonna get it right,” I reply, heart thundering.
“Writing songs seems easy compared to writing ceremonies.”
“You sayin’ you need some inspiration?”
Her eyes move to the top of my head. “The hat’s not it, if you’re wondering.”
I reach up to adjust said hat. “I thought you liked it.”
“Of course I like it. But on you—”
“You really like it.”
I can tell she’s fighting her smile, but it’s winning. “You’ve gotten cockier.”
“And more handsome, I hope?”
“Fishing for compliments isn’t a good look on you.”
“Is begging for them any better?” I sip my beer. “Because I’ll beg if it means getting one from you. Those always meant the most.”
She’s really smiling now. Goddamn, she’s pretty. I’ve missed her.
Missed this, the two of us bellying up to a bar. Missed the feeling of her body being close to mine. The bone-deep comfort of knowing she’s coming home with me, where we’ll get naked and then play music in bed together afterward, laughing at my goofy interpretation of her lyrics.
Please, God, let her give me another chance.
“I am good at compliments,” she says.
“You gonna be good enough out there to put the rest of us mere mortals to shame?” I nod at the dance floor. Frisky Whisky is finishing setup on the nearby stage. “I see those moves you make on tour. The tambourine is . . .” I shake my head. “A real nice touch.”
Josie shrugs. “I know I’ll never live up to Stevie Nicks—”
“But you’re gonna die tryin’.”
The way her gaze glimmers makes my jeans feel two sizes too tight. “Yes.”
She thinking about the times she’d play tambourine for me? The times she was wearing my shirt. It’d ride up as she shimmied her hips, revealing the ass I glimpsed yesterday at the river.
A beat of silence stretches between us.
This is it. My chance to come clean.
Sucking in a breath, I look down at her. “I’m gonna say something, and I hope you’ll stick around to listen. I understand if you don’t, though.”
She pauses, margarita at her lips. “Okay . . .”
“I’m sorry. Really, really sorry. About everything.
” My voice is threadbare. I clear my throat.
“I wanted to follow you to Nashville. So damn bad, Josie, you got no idea. Truth is, I was too much of a chickenshit to show everyone I loved you so much that I’d put you first. I didn’t—I couldn’t find the courage to show I cared that much. ”
Her expression suddenly morphs, hardening to a mask of fury and hurt. “So you cared more about what other people thought than you did about me.”
“I did. I own that. Back then . . . I was worried people would think I was ridiculous for moving to Nashville with you, yes. People around here—they didn’t get the music thing.”
“I loved music. Always have. Does that make me ridiculous?”
Leave it to me to put my damn foot in my mouth. “No, no. I admired you. Always have, Josie—”
“You know what?” She scoffs, shaking her head. “You’re the one being ridiculous, ruining this perfectly lovely evening. Why are you saying any of this, Wes? Nothing’s changed.”
“I have.” The words come out more forcefully than I intend. “I’ve changed. I’ve worked really hard to fix what was broken inside me. And I still think about you all the damn time, Josie. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t regret letting you go.”
Her eyes toggle between mine, sharp and wet. “But you did let me go. And that’s the beginning and the end of this conversation.”
Then she drops her half-finished drink on the bar and dashes out the door.