Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Winnie
I’m standing in my empty and slightly chilly apartment.
It’s cute actually. Cozy. I’m pleased with it considering this is my first time stepping foot in it.
But there are no overhead lights except for a feeble recessed light in the galley kitchen that is covered in a dusty piece of glass and harboring at least two dozen fly corpses. It barely illuminates the kitchen, let alone the living room. The bedroom is a dark box with a teeny tiny window.
I can’t say I’m thrilled to be staying here tonight.
It also would help if I had my lamp that Lucy took.
But anything is better than still living with my parents, which was the reality of life in Nashville.
Rent has skyrocketed in the last decade and I don’t make enough to both feed and shelter myself.
Wanted is actually affordable on my regular person paycheck and I’m thrilled to finally have my own space.
There is still some daylight as I set down the bag of Barrel’s dog food and his bowls. Plus his blanket. I’ve brought nothing for myself because I ran out of hands. I’ll go back for my suitcase right after I text my brother.
Don’t need you to come to Wanted.
Change your mind about moving? Good.
No! I just can’t unload my stuff until tomorrow.
I can’t come tomorrow.
I know. No worries.
You always worry me.
“Ah, that’s sweet,” I tell Barrel.
My phone dings again.
Because you’re nuts.
“Okay, not so sweet.” I roll my eyes and text Faith.
Made it to Wanted. Are you at the spring fling thingie?
I thought you were moving in next weekend.
No. I’m here with a truck.
We’re in Nashville this weekend.
“What?” I say out loud. “Are you serious?” I glance at Barrel. “I was going to ask Faith if we could stay with her and Mackay tonight.”
Welp. Guess I’ll see you when you get back.
I’m not worried about it. I refuse to stress over anything surrounding this move. I want positive vibes as I step into my new beginning. But I hesitate, biting my lip because I want to bring up Ian. But that’s so obvious.
Fortunately, she saves me by bringing him up first.
I’m soooo sorry we’re not there! I really thought that you were moving next weekend. Want me to give you contact info for a couple of people? Mackay’s brother Ian is there and my friend Becca.
I ran into Ian. He was not impressed with me. I think he thinks I’m too over the top.
He’s wrong then. You’re fabulous. And Ian’s great, he’s just…literal. I’ll give you Becca’s number.
So she obviously doesn’t think Ian and I would be a good fit either.
She didn’t say that but I’m fluent in reading between the lines of text messages. I’ve been honing my skills since middle school.
“I’m not here to meet boys anyway,” I mutter out loud. “I’m here to love on fur friends, not boyfriends.”
K, thanks.
I send a text to the director of the animal shelter I start work at on Tuesday.
Long story but can me and Barrel sleep at the shelter tonight?
Sure. Door code is 1988.
“A man who doesn’t ask questions. I love that.” I feed Barrel his dinner, watch him slurp water all over the floor and himself, and then we head back out and down the stairs.
“Time to feed me now, buddy.”
Everyone in Wanted is very friendly and the food is first rate.
I can feel myself beaming with joy and satisfaction that with every person I talk to, I get further confirmation that I made the right decision in moving here.
My stomach agrees.
I have already eaten a hot brown sandwich but in a slider form, perfect for walking around the festival, with fries, and an elephant ear.
Then I went for round two with mac and cheese bites and pineapple whip.
I’m happily stuffed and already planning my morning run tomorrow.
After the drive to Wanted in the truck and a big dinner, I’m going to be craving it.
I love my morning run. I’ve always enjoyed running and the stillness of early morning. Particularly at this time of the year when the air is crisp and the grass is covered in dew. The promise of the new day ahead is invigorating.
I hesitate at the mint julep stand, a little concerned it might impact my morning run. “How much bourbon is in it?” I ask the woman working the booth.
“Enough.” She gives me a wink.
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
I’m not much of a drinker but it looks so delicious and refreshing, I can’t resist. Barrel is sitting patiently on his bottom while I pay for the mint julep and within seconds he’s surrounded by a trio of kids around seven years old.
“Can I pet your dog, ma’am?”
This little kid just ma’amed me.
“Yes, you can, and thank you for asking. Though I’m more of a miss than a ma’am. I’m twenty-five.” And…I’m overexplaining. I chuckle at myself. “Anyway, his name is Barrel and he’s very friendly. He likes head rubs.”
“He’s so soft,” the boy says, running his hands gently over Barrel’s fur.
My dog’s tongue flops out and he settles in to be adored. While the boy pets his head, a little girl scratches his back.
Amused, I turn back to collect my mint julep and find myself face to face with Ian Lennox.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he demands, crossing his arms over his broad chest.
I study him. “Uh…I think it’s pretty obvious what I’m doing. So if your stream and water wheel aren’t working I had nothing to do with it this time, I swear.” I hold my hand up, palm out.
“You ordered a mint julep that contains bourbon from a massive conglomerate distillery.”
Whatever I thought he was going to say, it wasn’t that. I blink. “I’m new here,” I tell him. “And when I see a refreshing drink I just drink it.” I reach my hand out to accept the plastic cup from the woman.
I take a sip of my drink. I can’t taste much bourbon but I don’t mind. It’s mostly sweetness and mint. “It’s delightful, honestly.” I rattle the cup to stir it up a little and take another sip.
“Sorry, Ian,” the woman in the booth says with a shrug. “It’s cheaper. People just want to get knocked on their ass at the Spring Fling, not savor the flavor, and I need to make a profit.”
Ian looks chastened. “I know. I get it and I love your food. I eat the brisket like once a week. But I wanted Winnie to try Four Brothers while her palette was still clean.”
I feel my eyebrows shoot up. “You sure know how to flatter a girl.”
His jaw works. “My apologies,” he says tightly.
He sounds so rigid and formal I half expect him to bow to me before he turns and leaves. But he doesn’t, which is disappointing. I would have really enjoyed a bow. But he just turns on his boot heel and leaves.
“Don’t let him get under your skin,” the woman says, leaning on the booth on her forearms. “Ian is a hard nut to crack.”
“I don’t want to crack his nut.”
The woman laughs. “If I was twenty years younger, I would. Still waters run deep and all that, you know.”
“He’s not my type."
Tossing the rest of my mint julep back, I note Barrel has laid down and is dozing in and out of sleep while his new friends have settled in next to him, eating caramel corn. When the little girl drops a piece, he just turns his head and snags it with his tongue.
My dog is going to be sick if we don’t leave the festival soon.
“Can I have one more of those?” I ask the woman.
Might as well get one for the road. Along with some caramel corn. Those kids snacking on it made me jealous.
Barrel might not be the only one with a stomachache tonight but I’m willing to chance it.
“Sure, thing, honey, but I’m cutting you off after that. I’m telling you, these are dangerous and I don’t want you getting in any sort of trouble.”
“I can’t even taste any bourbon,” I protest.
“That’s why they’re dangerous.” She hands me another mint julep.
She’s not wrong.
By the time I have bought my caramel corn and drained the second cup or mint julep, the festival lights are on and time seems to have ceased to exist.
It feels like I’m on a very sluggish carousel. Jangly intrusive music, laughter, bright lights, all surrounding me as my vision spins just a little.
I’ve talked to people whose names I won’t remember later.
I’ve entered a bourbon baking contest for tomorrow when I definitely do not bake.
I’ve set up an animal adoption event at the local library for three weeks from now after striking up a conversation with the director at the bakery booth.
And I joined a clogging troupe when I don’t even know how to clog.
I find myself standing in front of Ian’s stream, Barrel next to me, mesmerized by the burble as it rolls down over the rocks. I lean forward and let the water trail over my fingers.
“What do you think?” he asks.
“It’s so beautiful,” I say when Ian approaches and stands to my left, arms over his chest.
Tears well up in my eyes.
“Are you…crying?” he asks, astonished.
“It’s just so beautiful,” I repeat, because it is. “Life is beautiful.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Ian says, his voice husky.
Still waters run deep.
I would really like Ian Lennox to kiss me right now.
To squelch that thought I impulsively scoop a handful of Ian’s stream water up and suck it down.
He frowns.
“I’m thirsty."
In more ways than one.