Chapter 3
Three
Mackenzie
It would be like the river turning to fondue chocolate, but no one was allowed to dip their strawberries and bananas in it.
Scott Shaw was holding me. And it felt so good. Why, oh why, did he have to go and forget me?
Maybe it was the whole disappearing for a decade that did it.
I didn't want it to end, but assuming I could simply stay in his arms was unwise. So was looking up into his smiling eyes when he said my name.
My name? What in the ever-loving cheeseburgers was happening? "You remember me?"
"Did I hit you harder than I realized?" He cocked his cute head to the side. Besides the brown flannel shirt that was oh so soft against my skin, he wore a Lost Creek High School Bigfoot t-shirt underneath, worn jeans, and equally worn brown boots. He had his ball cap on backwards with his light brown hair curling along the edges.
In high school he was adorably cute, and kind, but also kind of a badass. He didn't fall in with the cool clique. He played sports but wasn't a jock. He got good grades but wasn't a nerd. He was just...Scott.
My Scott.
As I looked at him—really looked at him—for the first time in years, I realized he wasn't just cute anymore. He had a rough masculinity that wasn't there before. He was like one of these mountains: strong and immovable. And that shot his level of attractiveness from a ten, to ten thousand.
Lord have mercy on me. I could not—could not —exist in this small town with this level of hotness unavailable to me. It would be like the river turning to fondue chocolate, but no one was allowed to dip their strawberries and bananas in it. Cruel.
"I'm just surprised you recognized me," I blurted with the finesse of a teenager.
I really needed to stop thinking about high school.
He jerked back a little. "Seriously?" His eyes swept over me in a way that made my toes curl and my heart beat a lot faster.
"Uh, yeah?"
His eyes narrowed. "Is that why you've been avoiding me?"
"Me? No." I sputtered and flailed. "Okay yes. Maybe."
Everything about him softened from his broad shoulders to his brown eyes. "Oh thank goodness. I thought you hated me."
Wait...what? "Why would I hate you?" And why did I have to keep blushing from head to toe? I had to be beet red by this point. Plus my boots were entirely too small for this amount of toe curling.
"I don't know," he said with a bewildered shrug. "But you've been home since October and we haven't spoken once. You duck into doors or hide your face. I've been convinced I accidentally did something in high school and that you've hated me for all these years. Plus Joanne comes into the bar all the time. You and Joanne are joined at the hip and yet you're not there. Therefore, you clearly hate me."
"No! I, okay, let's back this up." I flung my hand at the store across the street. "I saw you in there and you didn't recognize me." That's what happened, right? Right?? I was sad and in a hurry and completely flustered after driving for hours in the rain...was it possible I read his reaction all wrong? That my insane hope I'd walk into town and Scott would see me as a woman—finally—and sweep me off my feet, had blinded me to reality?
If this was just a misunderstanding I was going to die of embarrassment.
"When?" his voice jumped two octaves.
"Literally the day I got back into town."
He frowned. "I...don't have any idea what you're talking about."
This was so bad. So. Bad. "You were looking at soap and I was buying crackers. There were a bunch of rowdy tourists buying beer."
"Oh shit." He went white. "Now I know what you're talking about. Shit. Shit!" He yanked off his hat and ran his big man-hand through his hair, spinning in a small circle before he plopped the hat back where it was and pressed his hands together like he was about to say grace. "Those assholes had made my life hell the night before at the saloon. I saw you when you walked in. I planned to come over and say hi but those jerks." He shook his head and sighed. "Look, I left out the back door because I was afraid I'd lose my shit on them. I didn't want to make a scene. I didn't want to start a fight with five guys. And I definitely didn't want to get arrested. So I left. It had nothing to do with you."
Well...that was a version of events I hadn't even considered. But it made sense. All the sense. That group was unusually obnoxious. Even poor Christine looked like she wanted to disappear behind the cash register. "So you did recognize me?" Something fluttered inside my chest. Something old and new at the same time. Something that felt good.
Scott remembered me.
"Of course. When you started avoiding me I thought I'd done something wrong. That's why I didn't say anything at your dad's funeral. I didn't want to upset you on that day of all days."
That was sweet. And kind. I pressed my hand to my forehead. "I'm so, so sorry. This is all just a mix-up." A stupid, embarrassing, boneheaded mix-up.
He let out a chuckle. "No, it's okay. I'm just relieved I don't have some deep, dark, completely forgotten transgression from a decade ago to make up for." Even his voice did things to me. It was smooth but soft. Warm and inviting.
"Nothing of the sort." I frowned. "You and I must have very different memories of high school if that's where your mind went." Scott was incredibly kind to me. I always felt safe with him. There was nothing better than listening to music over shared earbuds while resting my head on his shoulder. When my world flipped upside down, he was the calm steady center that kept me from spinning off into space. I could not imagine any scenario where he could ever have done something heinous enough for me to hate him.
He shrugged. "The first time you looked the other way I figured you were having a tough time and I should leave you alone. But then you kept doing it. The day you jumped into a pack of tourists to avoid me I figured it was bad."
And now I was ten times more embarrassed than when I thought Scott forgot me. "Nothing bad. Just me being me." It would be great if the earth swallowing would commence already.
He sighed with relief. "I've been racking my brain trying to come up with something I did. But you want to know the good part about that?"
"Sure." I could not pull off cool. I don't know what part of me thought I could pull off flirting. I could not.
"I got to remember a lot of amazing things."
"Oh."
"I know a lot has changed but I was hoping we could be friends again."
Friends. Ugh, it was a wonderful word. I missed Scott and his soft comfort, but that word was so...not it.
He'd friend-zoned me. Again.
But it was a million times better than being forgotten, or even worse, hated. Being friends with Scott and his merry band of misfit lost boys had once been more than enough. It would be enough now, too. "Of course we can be friends. But I have my own car now so you don't need to worry about driving me places or that I'll fall asleep right before we get there."
He dipped his head to meet my gaze and my heart skipped an entire beat. "I don't mind, Mackenzie. If you need a ride, give me a call."
"I don't have your number," I blurted out. Smooth. So smooth.
He smiled again and my stupid heart swooped. "Yes you do."
Scott walked me across the parking lot to the saloon and then got to work while the book club pretended like they didn't just watch me enter the bar with Scott.
My friend.
"Yes, but the way he chose his victims is what really kept me turning the pages." Liam Goodrich was doing the bulk of the talking about the actual plot of the book, not that I was listening. My eyes caught on Scott every time he emerged from the back. "He didn't choose his roommates. He always picked someone else on the block."
"I thought that was so smart," Junie Sinclair gushed. "And he was careful not to leave any connections."
"Until he kept the dog," Aunt Sharon groaned. "How does a serial killer who enjoys murdering people care more about the dog?"
My gaze strayed to the bar where Scott was now doing inventory. He had a pencil he kept clamping with his teeth or sticking behind his ear. Every time someone said murder or death or killer he shook his head.
I had a feeling he wasn't a huge fan of the serial killer focus of the book club either.
"Because dogs are amazing!" Aviana laughed. "Isn't that right?" Barnaby drank up her attention as her hand dropped to scratch his head.
"Barnaby is the only one of you who isn't borderline psychotic," Scott grumbled.
Still Standing looked very different from the last time I stepped inside. The section we were seated in had been completely transformed. The booths were renovated with new polished wood and buttery leather, the floor was clean and free of peanut shells, everything gleamed. It even smelled like vanilla. An array of bourbons and whiskeys neatly lined the shelves behind the bar.
It was all very, very impressive.
"Just because our favorite kind of plot involves murderers doesn't mean we are too!" Maeve said it like she said it every time she saw Scott.
He pointed his pencil at us. "The first time someone around here disappears, I'm turning every one of you in. Except maybe Mackenzie. I don't think you've totally corrupted her yet."
My heart did a weird swooping thing again and I had to remind it that Scott was not going to fall in love with me.
Friends. We were friends.
" You could corrupt her instead." Maeve winked.
Time stopped. My ears rang. She did not just say that.
Scott's eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"
I sat there in stunned silence. Oh no. No, just no. But it kept happening anyway.
Aviana grinned. "Maybe we should start a romance book club that meets a different week." Then she put her chin in her hand and bounced her eyebrows first at me, then at Scott. "You two could be the founding members."
Oh hell.
Scott tossed his dish towel over his shoulder and leaned forward on the bar. "I find my own dates, you murderous little book nerds. And so does Mackenzie." He looked right at me, nodded once, and went back to work.
That dagger went right through my heart. Yes, Scott finds his own dates because Scott is not interested in dating Mackenzie.
"I don't recall seeing you on any dates recently," Aunt Sharon shot back. "Perhaps you need a little help."
He hung his head, leaning on the bar. This was torture for him. We'd only just agreed to be friends again, just spoke more than a sentence for the first time in a decade, the last thing he needed was my aunt forcing me onto him romantically.
Maeve looked up from a red leather-bound notebook. "The last date of yours we noted was when you took Leslie Hilt to dinner at the Lodge one year and four months ago."
That was oddly specific and quite a while ago. "You keep notes of Scott's dates?" That was beyond extreme. It was disturbing. My Aunt and her friends were gossips but this was borderline stalking.
No, it was definitely stalking.
Maeve's eyes darted to me. "We keep notes on everything."
What was that supposed to mean?
But before I could ask, Scott's shoulders started shaking with laughter. "This is batshit insane. Go back to your books and leave me out of it or I'll kick you all out too." His eyes darted back to me with what I swear to all the fairies in the forest was a twinkle in his eyes but was probably just good old-fashioned friendly shared amusement.
Aunt Sharon pursed her lips. "Fine, back to the book."
The group was as animated and weird as I expected. Maybe even weirder. They spoke at length about the psychology of the serial killer, even acting out one of the murder scenes, but didn't spend a single moment debating the story structure or writing style. They put themselves into the shoes of the unfortunate sister who eventually unraveled the identity of the killer, debating how they would have approached things differently. They noticed things I was pretty sure no one would notice, maybe not even the author.
I felt the discussion starting to wind down—thank god!—when Aviana turned to me. "How are you doing? Ready to run for the hills?"
"A little," I admitted. "But I'm also impressed. If I ever need help tracking someone down or digging up dirt, I know who I'm calling." They could compete with Swifties. In fact, I'd pay money to see it.
"Thank you," she preened.
"Will you be joining us next month?" Junie leaned closer.
I had to admit, it was nice being out of the office. And the house. And talking to people who weren't named Joanne or Lucy. But there were some obvious downsides. All the murder talk for one, not to mention the painfully awkward suggestion Scott and I should start a romance book club.
Joanne, Aunt Sharon, and Maeve were all going to be mighty disappointed when they discovered we were just friends. "I don't know. Just listening to you all has me terrified that a serial killer is going to walk into my bedroom and murder me."
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Scott freeze. Aviana's lips turned up and her eyes twinkled and I got the impression I'd just said the wrong thing. "But we don't have serial killers in Lost Creek."
"Yet," I muttered. "We're a small town in the mountains. A killer could slip in, do a murder, and slip out. He could hide in the wilderness, coming and going as he pleased."
Yeah, my imagination had gone into overdrive over the last hour and a half.
"Or..." she drawled, "you could have a big, strong bar owner protect you."
Harrison Smith groaned. "I was on board with getting them in the same room, but this is too much. You have to stop."
Even sweet Harrison was in on this? "What made you guys think this was a good idea? We're friends. Please stop."
As if there was some sort of secret signal, they all began gathering up their stuff. Aunt Sharon and Maeve slid out of their booth and came closer. "Look," Maeve said first, "your dad asked us to make sure you found your way back. We tried getting you out of the house with Joanne. Didn't work. So we're pulling this card now." She glanced past me to the bar where I could only imagine Scott was either hiding or glaring daggers. "Your dad always liked Scottie, and well, Scottie has always liked you. "
My stomach dropped. No, they misread the whole situation and now I was going to have to have an even more embarrassing conversation with Scott than the one we already had today. “You have no idea how wrong you are.”
Aunt Sharon cupped my cheek. "Trust me. He's always watched you, and you've always watched him. Why neither of you ever made a move, we're not sure. But you're both here, you're both single, and you could both use some excitement in your lives. Let him make you lunch, huh? See what happens."
Somehow this strange day kept getting weirder. Like each incident said Hold my beer, I can do better. "You set us both up on a surprise blind date?"
She gave my cheek a pat. "Sure did. Have fun, sweetie!" And with that, the entire TBCIMA book club left. I stood staring at the door in stunned silence. Part of me in shock and the rest dying in flaming embarrassment.
It's only Flaming Embarrassment if it's from the Flaming region of Mortified In Front Of The Whole Town.
"You like mac & cheese bites?" Scott said as easily as asking about the weather. "I had enough for the group already in the fryer."
I spun around. "We're letting them get away with this? What happened to I find my own dates? " I didn't know whether to be angry, embarrassed, or relieved.
"Well, I also don't look a gift horse in the mouth." He shrugged. "We're back to being friends, aren't we? Let me feed you." There wasn't a trace of pity on his face.
In fact, he looked hopeful. What was happening? And why did let me feed you sound so damn sexy? "Okay. Sure. Fine. But you don't have to."
Scott rolled his eyes as he stepped around the bar and pushed open a swinging door. "Do I look like the kind of man who does anything he doesn't want to? Kitchen." He jerked his head.
Well this was new. Decisive and demanding were not words I previously would have used to describe him, but it sure fit now. And it looked good on him. "No you don't." I gulped and did as he said.
"Besides, this is hands down the most fun that group has ever been. You got them to stop talking about murder. You might be my new favorite person."
Favorite person but not the one he wanted.
In the middle of the kitchen sat a large stainless-steel table. Scott pulled out a stool. "Take a seat. You're in luck. I have a bourbon tasting group booked for 2pm so I was about to prep their lunch, which means you don't have to subsist on jalapeno poppers and nuts."
"No chicken wings?" My dad got takeout wings from the saloon once a week after mom passed.
Scott shot me a look. "That's on the rotating menu. If I keep them around all the time Big Al turns this place into a mess. Bones and sauce everywhere."
"Good to know some things never change, unlike this bar. Someone's been busy." Still Standing was the very definition of a dive bar. Well, it was . Now it was borderline trendy.
Scott's cheeks turned slightly pink as he turned away, busying himself with the fryer. "Uh, yeah. Uncle Jerry grumbled and said it was a waste of money, but now that our profits have tripled, he's keeping quiet."
I whistled. "Tripled? Nice work."
"Thanks." He set a plate in front of me with cube-shaped fried macaroni and cheese and a white dipping sauce. "How does a salad and a pimento cheese chicken sandwich sound?"
My mouth instantly began watering. "You're seriously making me lunch?"
The intensity of his gaze took my breath away. "I'm seriously making you lunch, Mackenzie. You in?"
This was not a date. This was two friends catching up after a long time apart. Aunt Sharon wanted there to be something here and there simply wasn't.
Even if my heart was more confused than ever, this was a good step in repairing a friendship that once mattered to me more than anything else. "I'm in."