Chapter 9 #2
“The middle ones. The ones on the left are too dark, and those other ones look like they came straight off a runway.”
I eye the pair suspiciously, not sure where she’s getting that from. The alternating patches of multi-colored denim look pretty chill to me, but what do I know?
“Now what kind of bar is it?”
“What do you mean?”
She gives me a don’t-be-dense look. “We talking local watering hole? Cowboys cozied up to the bar downing pints while families enjoy a meal out? Or like live music, karaoke, that kind of thing?”
“I dunno. They did mention something about music.”
“Research, my friend. What’s it called?”
I squint up at the water stain on the yellowed ceiling, searching my mind for the name. “Umm.” Maybe, I’ve gotten too used to relying on other people to do shit for me. I snap my fingers. “The Grove. That’s it.”
“And where are you?”
“Balsam Grove, Alberta.”
“Bastian, phone!” she yells over her shoulder.
There’s a shuffling sound and then a deep male voice sounds out from beside her. “What’s up, Fab?” He dips his head down, dropping a kiss on her forehead. I could swear I see her blush. Even after five years of marriage.
“Look up The Grove Bar, Balsam Grove, Alberta.”
He whips out his phone, starting to scroll without even questioning the command. Knew that guy was a good one.
“Got it. What’s up? You planning a summer vacay? Good place for kids?”
“No, Aura’s there, but shhh, nobody knows. Top secret information.”
He finally glances up from his phone to spot me. I give him a wave and a sheepish smile. Abby might have instantly forgiven me, but I’m not sure he’ll be as willing to if he thinks I did something to hurt his wife.
But there’s no judgment on his face, just a little surprise and maybe a hint of relief. The guilt churns my stomach again.
“What do you need to know?”
Abby snatches the phone from his hand.
“Okay. I got it. Thanks, hon.”
“Anytime, beautiful.”
I hear a high-pitched shout in the background. “Duty calls,” he says.
“Tell them hi from Auntie Ree-Ree.”
He gives me a salute and steps out of the camera frame.
“Okay, I got it.”
After another ten minutes, we settle on the jeans Abby picked with a brown belt, white tank top, and pink button-up shirt worn open and tied at the waist.
I pause, a little reluctant to say goodbye now that I’ve reconnected with my bestie, but I don’t want to be late.
“Thanks again. And I’m sorry again.”
“No problem, and don’t be sorry. Just don’t let it happen again. I love you, babe. Let me know how it goes, and send me a pic of your cowboy.”
“He’s not my cowboy.”
“Mm-hmm. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I hang up, a massive weight lifted off my shoulders as I do my makeup and style the clothes the way Abby suggested.
Taking a few steps back from the bathroom mirror I check everything out with a critical eye.
Something is still missing. I riffle through my jewelry and pull out a long chunky silver necklace with white beads.
There we go. I should have been able to do this in my sleep, but my brain shorted out on me.
I’ve got my long black ponytail pulled through the back of my baseball hat when I change my mind, snagging the cowboy hat off the dresser. Maybe it’s a little try-hard, but it’ll be easier to blend in. Dropping the hat on my head, I pull it low to shadow my face and nod. Perfect.
My brain’s a little fizzy and my limbs are loose as I stand outside waiting for Quint. Maybe I shouldn’t have had that second bottle of bubbly. I don’t drink too often anymore, so I’m a bit of a lightweight.
He pulls up in a red pickup truck. It’s nothing like the shiny, decked-out ones I sometimes see stuck in traffic in LA. It’s got a few dings, a handful of rust spots, and some muddy streaks on the door. Authentic, just like everything else I’ve seen in this town so far.
It comes to a stop in front of me and Quint immediately jumps out, leaving the engine running.
He holds out an arm for me as if this is an awards show and he’s wearing a tux.
But I take it, because why the hell not.
He looks good. The denim hugging his thighs is crisp and clean, but he’s swapped the button-up for a black T-shirt that clings to his chest and biceps, showing off those hard-earned muscles.
That little jolt of attraction hits me again, but I shake it off.
He walks me over to the passenger side, opening the door and helping me up.
“This isn’t a date, you know,” I tell him as he climbs back into the driver’s seat. I feel like I need to clarify so he doesn’t get the wrong idea.
“I know, but if it were, would that be so bad?”
I turn to look out the window. “Yes.”
“Oh.” His face falls, and I realize how harsh that sounded.
“Not because you’re not dateable or anything like that.
I’m just not in that place right now. Plus we’re working together.
You’re my teacher. That would be so awkward, right?
” Although awkward is not the word that comes to mind when I think of him.
He might be younger than me and come from a completely different world, but he’s a full-grown man.
A fact I’m getting reminded of more often the more time we spend together.
“Oh, so you think I’m dateable?” He grins at me, putting the truck in drive. “Good to know.”
I give him a light smack on the arm. “Not by me. I’m a fucked-up actor. You’re a cowboy from the middle of nowhere. It would never work out.” Man, those two tiny bottles really loosened up my lips.
“Stranger things have happened.”
I need to stop this line of conversation before the alcohol makes me say something stupid. “Whatever.”
It’s not too far to the bar. Nothing is too far around here.
There’s the main street with all the restaurants and bars, and a handful of side streets branching off it.
And that’s Balsam Grove. A dusty sign tells us we’ve gotten to Main Street, where a surprising number of cars line the road.
Quint swings around in a perfect parallel park into a spot at the end of the street, one hand resting casually on the wheel as he glances over his shoulder.
“It’s at the other end of the street. You okay to walk?” He squints down at the slender 3-inch heels on the black snakeskin boots I picked out. Abby suggested something a little lower, but these boots make me feel like a goddess, and that’s the kind of confidence I need right now.
“I’m good.”
“Just thought I’d check. I know sometimes heels aren’t the most practical for walking.”
The corner of my mouth twists up in a smirk. “Oh, I wouldn’t underestimate a woman in heels, Quinton. That would be a big mistake on your part. You might even say a huge one.”
His eyes widen at the use of his full name, and then he smiles. “It’s Quinton now is it? Just so you know, I never underestimate a woman. Wait’ll you get to know my sister. You’ll understand.”
He scoots around the car before I’ve got the door halfway open, holding out a hand for me. I glance at it, then at his earnest face before placing my cool palm on his and hopping down.
“Your hand’s so cold.” He gives it a squeeze, and even though it feels nice, I pull away, glancing around reflexively.
You never know where a pap might be hiding.
But then I check myself. It’s okay. I’m safe here.
No one is lurking around the corner in freaking Balsam Grove.
They’ve never even heard of the place. Although that’s bound to change once we start filming. Anxiety peeks its head up.
A soft evening breeze dances through the trees lining the sidewalk, and I look across the street.
It’s cute and quaint, but a little more subdued than I was expecting.
Maybe I’ve just spent too many hours on set.
Paisley Creek was filmed on a pristine set designed to look like the perfect small town. I think that’s what I was expecting.