Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
I make sure to nod in the right places, but none of Mayor Branch’s words are actually sticking.
I get the vague impression of duties, phone ops, interviews, and floats.
Phil saw the man I used to be. The recurring thought is louder than all the others.
Is she going to get her friends and have a good laugh?
She already made it clear she doesn’t’ like me. This is an easy weak spot to exploit. I showed my soft underbelly. This is the time to go for the kill shot. It’s what people do. I have the invisible scars to prove it.
“That’s all for tonight. We had a hectic start to our meeting, so I won’t keep you.”
Chairs scrape over the wooden floor. I stand, robotically going through the motions.
“Korren.”
I turn toward the voice and meet a bright blue pair of deep-set eyes. In her late fifties, to early sixties, the woman is vaguely familiar.
“I’m Mable. I work at the bakery.”
“That’s right, it’s nice to see you again.”
Giving a polite smile, she moves toward the exit. “I’m excited to see you getting involved with the community. We weren’t sure if you’d stay. Plenty of people come and find the quiet isn’t to their liking.”
“I enjoy it just fine.” She’s fishing. But I don’t know why. I’ve heard small-town nosiness is a part of life.
“Oh.” She presses her palms together, bringing them to her mouth. “That’s wonderful to hear.”
Is she a town ambassador?
I hum in agreement and step to the side to avoid blocking the aisle. She moves with me.
“Well, since you’re sticking around, I have a daughter about your age whom I think you’d get along with.”
Is this what Bridger, Fletch, and Rye were talking about? Is this woman playing a love match right now? People brush by us, and I mutter apologies.
“She’s nearby if you’d like to meet her.”
A cold sweat breaks out on the back of my neck.
The last thing I want to do is meet a potential mating partner.
Mable looks at me expectantly. I struggle to think up a valid reason to decline without offending her.
The room seems to shrink around me. People cast curious looks our way.
I see the leggy blond clad in a knee-skimming black dress wave.
Her golden highlights and choppy shoulder-length hair remind me far too much of my ex.
“Sorry, Mable. He’s already got plans.”
I stare at Phil, shocked. Did a doppelganger appear out of thin air?
“I didn’t realize the two of you were dating,” Mable says waspishly.
“We aren’t. It’s game night over at The Gilded Chance.”
“Oh.” Mable perks up. “In that case, don’t let me keep the two of you. Connecting with friends is important. Integrating your life in a new place is a challenge. But I can see you’re a pro at this. We’ll see you soon, Korren.”
I hope not.
“You have to watch out for that one. She fancies herself a matchmaker. With six daughters, I can’t imagine why.” She rolls her eyes. “Mable has a keen interest in pairing them off.”
“You’re stuck with me for at least a while longer than I guess.” I study her. “Is it actually game night?”
“More like the game planning night with a side of trivia.”
“Are you big on board games?” I follow her lead, relaxing as people keep their distance. Right now, I appreciate her more standoffish vibe.
She laughs. “We’re a guild.”
“Wait. Like DND?”
Shoulders stiffening, she stands taller. “Is there a problem with that?”
“No. It’s great. I haven’t played in years. My previous work schedule didn’t allow for campaigns. But miniatures always keep my hands busy, eyes sharp, and mind relaxed.”
“Huh.” She frowns.
“What?” Raising my eyebrow I study her wrinkled brow.
“It’s not what I expected you to say.” Her lips curve up.
I grunt. “Should I be insulted by that?”
“No.” She quickens her pace without responding.
Is she afraid to be alone with me? My stomach aches. The previous disdain is preferable to whatever I’m experiencing right now.
Like the rest of the town, the pub has a timeless air about it.
From the aged, wooden barrels stored on a shelf attached to the ceiling, to the dark wood walls.
Slate boards attached by the bartender boast the latest brews on tap.
Coupled with the brick exterior, The Gilded Chance makes me feel like I’d stepped back to time.
There’s no real theme other than a cozy, dimly lit space.
A stage is set up in the back left corner.
A juke box rests on the wall in the back, on the right side.
There are two pool tables, a tiny area in the corner for darts.
The rest is all seating. I hear the group over the general buzz of the crowded space.
Fletch scowls. “No. We just spent a month in a frozen tundra. I’m ready for new scenery.”
Bridger shrugs. “But we have all the props and decorations.”
Dar raises a finger. “Phil’s back, she can help whip up new things.”
We stop in front of them. “I could help with that, too.”
“What was that?” Phil asks aggressively.
“Phil, you’ve brought us a new victim,” Fletch yells, rubbing his hands together.
“I saved him from Mable,” she explains, plopping into the seat Dar patted beside her.
Pausing, I hover behind her. I don’t want to crash a friend group tradition.
“Ugh.” Fletch grimaces.
“Better be on guard,” Rye cautions
Bridger raises his drink toward me. “’Cause she’ll try again.”
Fletch pushes an empty chair out with his foot. “Join us.”
“I might’ve hallucinated it, but I thought he said he could help with the game-play props.” Rye nods at me.
Grabbing a menu, Phil refuses to look at me. I sink into the chair next to her.
“I did; Miniatures were a hobby of mine I’d like to get back into. I haven’t played an actual game in years, though.”
“Lucky for you, we’re just about to start up a new one. Vote for somewhere not cold, and you’re welcome to participate,” Fletch mumbles.
I bark a laugh. “Only then?”
“We have standards to uphold. Can’t you tell?” Rye smirks.
“No. We don’t.” Dar shakes her head.
Fletch smiles at them. His gaze lingers a few seconds too long on Dar. Is she looking back at him from beneath her lashes? I study her twin, Bridger, who seems clueless about their mutual attraction. Interesting.
“I’ll go with the majority.”
“Oooh, diplomatic.” Bridger taps the table with his fingers. “Smart man.”
“You know this lends to your thoughts on bringing back the hobby section in the store.” Dar’s face lights up.
“I don’t know.” Phil’s voice is muffled as she shrugs.
“We all know this place could do with more options for entertainment,” Rye adds, sipping from his dark stout.
“Dad never bought into that.”
“But you’re running the store now, right?” I look at her, surprised by her meekness.
She glares at me.
There’s a moment of quiet that sweeps around the table. I cringe mentally. Did I just open a can of worms?
“Yeah. I guess I am.” Her posture turns defensive.
I push forward. “So, you can make the changes you want to see. I get how intimidating and daunting it can be to dismantle old systems.” I grimace. “Believe me.”
The others laugh, and the awkward moment passes.
“But I think it’s worth it in the long term. This seems like the perfect market for crafts. I can’t imagine they enjoy having to leave town or order everything by mail.”
“He has a good point.” Fletch points his bar pretzel at me.
For a moment, I see genuine interest and a glimmer of excitement spark in the depths of her dark eyes. It’s quickly extinguished. “I’ll think about it.”
“What about that assistance you offered, good sir?” Fletch expertly steers the conversation along.
I rub my chin. “Depends on what you have in mind.”
“Let’s vote on the new campaign first,” Rye insists.
“Are you free to join us? It’s one Saturday a month for the most part. That way it doesn’t interfere with anyone’s work schedule,” Dar explains.
“I’m pretty sure I can fit you in.” I wink.
Fletch shifts in his chair. Is that irritation I sense?
“Don’t put yourself out on our account,” Phil drawls.
“There’s that Pepper I know.”
“Pepper?” Bridger chokes on his pale ale.
“Don’t even think about using that name, Murphy.” Phil’s words are dagger sharp.
“I think he earned the right, given the circumstances.” Sarcasm drips from Rye’s comment.
“If that’s what it takes to keep Mr. Sunshine happy and the townsfolk off my back, so be it.” Phil signals the waiter over.
I listen as they break down their usual game plans.
Mid-level, engaged, and intricate without being too demanding, it’ll provide the perfect monthly escape.
Back at the height of my career, days off were for recovery and catching up.
Seeing what a healthy work-life balance can look like makes me realize just how little I was living.
“I’ll send everyone information after I order the official campaign,” Dar promises as she stands. “I have to open tomorrow, so I’m going to head out.”
“I’ll walk with you.” Finishing her drink, Phil grabs her purse.
With the girl’s departure, the mood at the table shifts.
“I hear you’re roped into the lantern festival,” Bridger says.
“Yeah. Still not sure what all it entails. The meeting was hijacked by the crash out front.” My stomach clenches. “Any news on that?”
“Everyone was fine. It was a set of teens making bad decisions. It looked and sounded a lot worse than it really was,” Fletch explains.
“I’m glad to hear that. Cause it was terrifying.” I shudder. An odd pause hits. My senses go on high alert as the men exchange looks.
“Listen. We know Phil can be a lot to deal with. But she has her reasons,” Bridger starts.
I frown. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you’ll be spending a lot of time together, and we don’t want to see her hurt again.” Fletch’s voice sheds its familiar warmth.
Again?
“And you think I’d do that? Not sure if you noticed, but she can’t stand me.”
“It’s not personal,” Bridger assures me. “She’s got a lot on her plate.”
“Not that we haven’t let a rotten egg slip past before.”
Jesus, what did her ex do? “Warning received.”
“Sometimes the prickliest people have the biggest hearts. When they’re hurt badly enough, they have to close themselves off to heal. That stage isn’t pretty.” Bridger frowns. This is personal.
“Speaking from experience?” I prod.
“Dar had a nasty divorce and a shitty year prior to the breakup,” he replies softly.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Bridger nods.
Phil is a mystery wrapped in denim and sprinkled with wit and sarcasm. The more I learn, the more I want to know.
“You don’t have to worry about me. I can tell she’s been through a rough time. I can take a little briskness.”
“Oh God.” Rye snickers. “You like it, don’t you?”
I choose my response carefully. “I’ll admit to being intrigued.”
Fletch bangs a fist on the table and laughs. “More like a glutton for punishment.”
I frown. “That’s extreme.”
“Maybe we should be warning her not to hurt him,” Rye says.
“She’s not that bad,” I protest.
“It’s worse than we thought, boys.” Bridger shakes his head. “I fear he’s a goner.”
“She did rescue him today—might be mutual,” Fletcher points out.
I grab a napkin, ball it up, and pitch it across the table. “I’m sitting right here.”
“This calls for a betting pool.” Bridger rubs his hands together.
Sighing in exasperation, I’m more amused than annoyed. This feels like a night out with the boys. Tangible proof that turning my life upside down to walk away from everything wasn’t a total bust, or the misstep my father believes it is.
Enduring the gentle ribbing, I flip the tables. “Why are the three of you still single?”
“Hah. Do you have a couch for us to lie on and spill our guts?” Rye asks sarcastically.
“Bridger is the resident playboy.” Fletch offers the fact up with a wide grin.
“Untrue. I’ve dated around, but I never led anyone on, and nothing was too serious.” He glances over my shoulder at something I can’t see. “No one’s ever felt like the one. When I find her. I’ll be all in.”
His nonchalance and faith that things will align astound me. “What if you don’t meet her?”
“I will when it’s the right time. I can feel it.” He taps two fingers over his heart.
A serial dater with a secret side of hopeless romantic.
“Slim pickings. And I was busy getting my business off the ground.” Fletcher gives a half smile. “The unfortunate side effect of life in a small town is you know everyone.”
“And no one’s ever caught your eye?” I ask, skeptically.
Fletch sighs. “You know the story, timing was off.”
“Rye?”
“I had a couple of long-term relationships that didn’t work out for one reason or another. I’m open to start dating again, though.”
“Who?” Bridger asks.
“It was a general statement, not a declaration of intention.” Rye nudges him with his elbow.
Bridger looks bashful. “Hey, I had to check.”
“Because he’s nosey, remember that, Korren,” Fletch says.
Bridger sniffs. “I like to be informed. There is a difference.”
They continue to bicker, and I relax. I survived my first moment of high anxiety since the move, and the world didn’t end. Maybe it got better. I can hear a voice in my head that sounds suspiciously like the stranger by the lake.
This place is different.
I might start believing in magic if this continues.