Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Prescott
The leasing agent strides through the empty room sandwiched between a game shop and a day care in a strip mall in Billings. “The keypad can easily be reprogrammed, and you can even give each client their own code.”
I’m staring out the window. A small piece of paper dances across the street, blown by the wind. He saw my underwear. If he saw my underwear, he pretty much got the whole full moon. And he calls me Red.
I accused him of going for the low-hanging fruit of nicknames because I’m a redhead. He was being cheeky.
Well, I was cheeky first.
My reflection in the glass smirks back at me. My eyes shine. Do I like that he calls me Red after my underwear?
God, I’m afraid of the answer.
Now’s not the time to be thinking about any of this. How’s his meeting with his mom going? He was supposed to have lunch with her an hour before my viewing. Is he still in town?
“Pressie?” Dad asks roughly. “You here on earth with us?”
Startled, I spin around. “Yes, sorry. I was thinking about…” How Haven’s first impression of me was practically obscene, yet he wasn’t overwhelmed with lust. But he still kissed me.
“What do you think?” the agent asks with a smile.
I think I sold all my shit and would have to purchase new backgrounds and props. Mine were out of style anyway. What is even in?
Shouldn’t I be more prepared if I’m thinking of opening a studio? I can rent it out, but there’s already a space that does that. My questions are signs that I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. “I’ll have to think about it.”
“Pressie.” Papa’s impulsiveness is palpable. Does he want me out of the house?
“I need to consider everything.” Like whether I’d like to be a photographer again. I can’t take pictures of Haven all my life. Is it an option?
“What’s there to consider?” He holds his arms out, heedless of the agent listening to every word. “It’s not far from Huckleberry Springs. You can commute, or hell, live in the back room.”
My cheeks flush. The agent is dressed in a maroon skirt and cream shirt, a summery yet business-casual ensemble. I’m in the same skirt that flew up on me when Haven drove by. I’m even wearing the same underwear.
“Go ahead and take the time you need,” she says. “There’s a lot of interest. No pressure, of course, but I just wanted to let you know. ”
“Thanks.” I summon the professional smile I used on prospective clients back in the day. I didn’t need it when I worked with Buford. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
I start for the exit. I don’t have to make the decision now. I should have a business plan before I do. An idea of the clients I’m willing to take. Studio only? Events? Ugh. Weddings.
“I don’t get to the city much,” Papa says to the agent behind me. “I used to travel a lot when I rode bulls.”
“Really?” she says, politely interested.
Papa always finds a way to talk rodeo, and he’s found a brand-new subject. The poor woman might regret this whole showing and never take a call from me or Papa again.
While he’s regaling her with his wins, I take out my phone and send Haven a text.
Me: How’s it going?
The reply is quick.
Haven: It’s not. She didn’t show.
My heart falls like a rock. Oh no.
Me: I’m so sorry.
Haven: Maybe she’s late.
I look at the time. Really late.
Me: Are you still at the restaurant?
His mom recommended a brewery not far from the zoo. It’s a place I’d love to go to, but Papa likes cheap beer, hard liquor, and plain food. When I looked at the place online, it was the kind to repel him.
Haven: Yep.
That poor guy. She puts him through so much, and he keeps taking it. He’s doing it all alone. It’s not right.
“Papa,” I interrupt him while he’s mid-story about the ride in Prescott, Arizona, that earned me my name. “Can you give me a ride somewhere?”
Haven
I gave up and ordered after an hour of waiting.
My steak and pasta plate were whisked away fifteen minutes ago.
My mom still hasn’t arrived. To justify how long I’ve taken up a seat on what seems to be a busy day, I ordered a couple appetizers and their IPA.
It’ll take me a while to chew through that drink.
I pick up my phone. Maybe my mom’s training went long. Again.
Me: Hey, I’m leaving soon. You coming?
I set the damn thing face down. She isn’t going to reply. I don’t know when I’ll hear from her, but she’ll have some excuse about today.
Squinting out the window, I frown. A familiar pickup leaves the parking lot.
“Hi.”
I whip my head around at the heavenly sound. Prescott has on the same outfit I first saw her in. Too bad there’s no wind in the brewery. “Hey. What are you doing here?” I point to the window. “Was that Silas leaving?”
She nibbles on her lower lip. “I took a chance that you’d still be here, and that I could ride back to Huckleberry Springs with you.”
My mood rises out of the gutter. “Yeah, of course. Have you eaten?”
The young server who’s been slowly losing her patience with me arrives with my beer, a basket of mozzarella sticks, and a tray of wings.
“Your guest arrived?” she asks lightly while giving Prescott a hard look.
“No, but someone found me. Order whatever you want, Prescott, or help yourself. Or both. It’s on me.” I slide the menu across the table.
She sits in the booth across from me. “I’ll try what he’s having.”
“It’s an IPA,” I warn her.
She grimaces. “In that case, I’ll have your most popular beer, which I assume is not the IPA.”
“It’s not.” The girl grins, already enamored with Prescott. I know the feeling. “I’ll be right back.”
I position the apps between us. “I’m not too hungry. I already ate.” My stomach acid flares just admitting that.
Sympathy fills her eyes, but she grabs a mozzarella stick. “I’m sorry. But I really am a sucker for melted cheese of any sort.”
“What about wings?”
“As long as there’s ranch.” Her eyes light up when she spots the container of ranch along with the blue cheese dip. “Perfect.” She scoops up marinara with her appetizer and bites off the end.
Her eyelids flutter, like it’s the most delicious food she’s ever eaten. And just like that, I’m grateful that I waited so long for my mom.
Sitting alone for over two hours, thinking about whether I should leave or not, when I know I should, has mentally taxed me. I’m tired. I’m stressed. But I can’t call Iverson or Durban. I can’t tell them that Mom most likely stood me up. They’d ask what else I expected.
So I sat here. Both wishing for Mom to show up and hoping that she would keep her brand of whirlwind away from me.
It’s funny, I usually avoid whirlwinds, and yet when Prescott’s particular unpredictability twists me up, it’s not the same.
Prescott seems like she’d be chaos, but she’s steady, even when she doesn’t know what she wants.
Because she knows what she deserves . A guy could learn a thing or two from that.
Prescott grabs another cheese stick. The server drops off her beer, and Prescott smiles around her food. She finishes chewing and takes a big gulp of her beer.
Her gaze finds mine, and she raises her brows. I’m watching her. Staring.
“Sorry, but bar food is my weakness. I’ve told Papa that he should serve it when I know damn well he wouldn’t follow code on anything.”
“Don’t be sorry. I ordered them out of guilt. How’s the beer?”
She turns the handle toward me. “Better than yours, I bet. Try it.”
“People love to hate on IPAs.”
“I don’t like to gnaw through my beer.”
“I’m going to have to get you to like IPAs now too?”
“You’re doing it with whiskey. Want the last mozzarella stick?”
Not if I get to hear her moan again. “All yours. How was the studio?”
She slows her chewing and dabs a napkin at her mouth. Sucking in a big breath, she sets her food down.
“It was great. Ideal.” Her wooden tone says otherwise. “Spacious, good lighting. Nice bathrooms for changing rooms and ample storage. If I said the word, Papa would sign the lease. ”
“But?”
Her pretty pink lips shine from the grease of the food. She’d taste sweet and savory right now. “But I don’t know if it’s what I want to do.” Her expression turns sheepish. “Is it bad to admit that I kind of enjoy bartending?”
Nothing she enjoys should be shameful. “Is it getting hit on? Didn’t happen enough at weddings?”
“Funnily enough, it did happen more than I would’ve thought. But with men old enough to be my dad—or grandpa.”
“Oof, and here I am with only six years on you.”
She laughs. “You think your pickup game is good enough to rival theirs?”
“Did they try the ‘are you from Tennessee’ line?”
“I believe it was more like, ‘I’m in room three fourteen. Bring your camera.’”
“You didn’t jump on that?” I make sure to sound scandalized, and she rolls her eyes. “One time, one of Edna’s friends told me she’d pay me two hundred dollars to mow her lawn naked.” When Prescott’s jaw drops, I chuckle. “She lives on eight hundred acres.”
“That’s so inappropriate.”
“Edna never invited her back for that reason. She might tell dirty jokes, but she has her limits.” I fold my hands, enjoying today more than I thought I would. “You like bartending?”
“I like tending bar at Bootleg.” She frowns and stares out the window. “It’s not a quiet house. Papa’s an odd mix of laid back and uptight, and he must’ve been a hottie back in the day, or he would’ve driven Mom crazy.”
“He drove her wild instead.”
“Eew, Hennessy. Why’d you go there?” Our laughter draws attention, and that’s a first for me. She rolls her lips in. “I thought I’d be upset at him the whole time, but I don’t know. With Mom gone, it just seems too hard to be mad at him. He is who he is, and I’m tired.”
“You’ve been through a lot.”
“I guess.” She shrugs. “Eh. Could’ve been worse. To cap off losing my mom, my cat, my career, and my boyfriend, my skirt could’ve blown up in front of a complete stranger on my first day in town.”
That might’ve been the cherry on top of an awful few years for her, but the memory of seeing her ass still brightens my day.
Prescott
I chowed down all of the food Haven ordered, and then had another beer while he nursed his IPA. We stayed at the brewery for another two hours after I arrived. I didn’t see how much he tipped the server, but she almost bum-rushed him at the door to thank him.
We’re not quite to his pickup, and I’m enjoying the warm summer air.
He slows the closer we get. “Time to head back?”
“We could. Or…” I look around. We’re on the edge of town, and leaving would put an end to a really pleasant afternoon. Can we make it a nice evening? “We could see what they have for distilleries.”
He stops at the hood of his pickup. “Red, you wound me. Don’t you think I’ve been to them and tried everything they have?”
A stroke of jealousy paints my insides. Why? I’ve never wanted to go to a distillery before. “Haven, it’s official. You’re cooler than me.”
“Nah.”
“How could you not be? You’re a cowboy, for one.” It has to be the beer that keeps me talking even though I drank them over a span of hours with food. “And two, you make whiskey.”
“And vodka and gin.”
“Cool vodka and gin. Hennessy, this is the most fun date I’ve ever had, and it’s not even a date.”
His smile freezes for a second before he laughs. “You know what? I’ll take it.” He jogs around to the passenger side of his pickup. “In that case, we should keep this nondate going. How about we get some samples and go to a park?”
“Isn’t that illegal or something?”
“Just a tasting. Mostly for you because I have to drive.”
“I haven’t drunk in a park since I was a teen.”
“Prescott Keys, are you telling me you were a wild child?”
A grin spreads across my lips. “It was actually my mom.” I get into his pickup, and I’m surrounded by his sandalwood scent. “She thought if she made it less forbidden, I wouldn’t be as interested.”
“Did it work?” he asks in a low voice. He props his hands on the top of the pickup, and the frame surrounds his strong body. My heart stutters.
“Actually, yes, but I was eighteen and didn’t have a lot of friends.” Maybe I shouldn’t drink more. I’m telling him that I only get hit on by grandpas and was a reluctant loner. “I could use another memory of park drinking.”
“Park tasting,” he says seriously. “I won’t let you get tanked. ”
“I trust you with my alcohol, Haven Hennessy.” I like hearing him say my whole name, and I like saying his.
He pushes away. “Let’s go get some samples.”
I’m more excited than I’ve ever been to do something with a guy. This isn’t a date. That’s why it’s better. I’m just hanging out with a cool guy.
He climbs in. “Too bad you missed the street fair they had in town right before you came. Huckleberry Springs had one too, but they’re only going to hold it every other year.”
“I love street fairs. The energy. The people. The booths. They inspire me.”
He gives me a lopsided smile when he pulls out of the parking lot. “I worked them both with Cruz last year. Elodie had a booth at each one.”
“I haven’t been to the bakery yet. I keep meaning to go.”
“How ’bout lunch on Monday? She’s added soup and sandwiches now.”
“I do owe you a meal.” I should be talking myself out of meeting up with him again, but he covered the restaurant.
“And a movie.”
“Can we watch a movie at the park?”
His brow furrows as he pulls into another parking lot. A distillery looms in front of us. It has character, but nothing like an old gold mine that’s been in the owner’s family for decades.
He works his lower lip between his finger and thumb. The light scrape of his whiskers scratching against his skin fills the cab. What would those feel like on my skin?
He’s taking too long to answer. I’m going all in on tonight, and he’s pulling back. Was I coming on a little strong? I’m just really enjoying myself.
I tear my gaze away. “You probably can’t get a signal.”
“With all the industry in Billings, there’s no shortage of signal. I’m just trying to think of what movie would be good.”
“What’d your dad like?”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Everything, but he loved shoot-’em-ups, especially if they were cop dramas.”
“Then pick one of those.”
A full smile takes over. “All right, then. We’ll go to the park that overlooks town. I have a blanket and a strong signal. We can lie in the back.”
“It’s a nondate.” I say it for myself more than to make it clear to him. I’m the one who thrust myself onto him.
Something I’d like to do in so many ways.
Watching a movie with him in the bed of his pickup is like climbing into the coals and hoping I don’t get burned. Yet I’m wedging my way in.
He dips his head, heat simmering in his eyes.
“A nondate.” His jaw goes tight. Like he doesn’t like the non ? It’s just my wishful thinking. “Tasting first. Then we’ll go watch a movie and drink lots of water. And if things go well, the wind will blow your skirt up again.”