Chapter 20 Willow
Willow: He kissed me last night.
Rose: He kissed you Friday night too.
Willow: It was different. Hotter.
Rose: Hope the kid wasn’t around.
Willow: Can you be real for a moment?
Rose: Don’t ask me to be real, Wil.
Willow: Why not?
Rose: Because “Real Rose” would tell you to be careful.
My stomach twists, fingers paralyzed over the screen. Not because I expected anything different from Rose. She’ll forever have my best interests at heart.
But because she’s dragging out that little voice in my head, saying the thing I’ve shoved aside. That I’m off the market. Done handing my heart out like it’s got an open return policy.
And I’m at risk of doing it again.
Rose: He’s had an intense year. And fighting a scary battle right now.
My chest tightens and I blow it off. For both our sakes.
Willow: It was just a kiss.
Rose: Fine. Kiss all you want. Just don’t go . . . you know.
Willow: Falling?
Rose: Yeah.
Willow: I’m done falling, remember?
Rose: I do.
Willow: Then what are you worried about?
Rose: He’s a Thorne. If there was ever a man worth the fall, it’s him.
I sigh as my stomach drops. I know.
“So where’s this Bones place you were raving about?” I ask Rose on Friday night.
She hadn’t actually raved about the place. But I know it’s where she ended up causing a major bar fight on her first solo night out in Blue River Springs. And I assume it’s where we’re heading for drinks this evening.
I know what she’s doing. Finding out where I stand since that kiss with Dallas.
And she can go ahead and grill me all she wants. I couldn’t care less that Dallas’s bachelor party is tomorrow night. Including what he may or may not do at such a thing. Nor have I rationalized that since the wedding is technically all for show, the bachelor party must be too.
I suddenly feel nauseous.
Which is stupid, because Dallas has been grumpy about the whole thing all week.
“I’m not taking you to Bones. Not tonight anyway. That’s more of a weekday kind of bar. It’s Friday night, we’ll level up a notch.”
“Gee, thanks. Can’t wait to see what ‘level up’ means around here.”
OK, so maybe I’m a bit grumpy too.
The texts with Rose earlier this week were disheartening—even if she is right.
Just before I pulled back from our heated kiss a few nights ago, something shifted in Dallas, something that threw me off. Almost like his body was acting before his mind caught up.
And sure, those make for the best kisses, but is that what I want? For him to lose himself in me?
Would it be too much to ask for a man to find himself with me?
I’ve been wondering if maybe I’m overthinking it. Maybe he’d heard Ellie too. And this is all just my history with heartbreak creeping in. My trust radar going off. They say parents have that natural instinct . . . or prediction when their child is about to wake up.
Judging by his avoidance this week—I’m going with my first suspicion.
He’s closed off.
Emotionally locked away.
Or worse . . . still haunted by grief.
And I’m either falling into my old ways—or I’ve found something that’s worth giving a chance.
Whatever this thing, or non-thing is with us, we’re sort of . . . back to normal.
Even if my underwear is still enjoying its new life in his possession.
He still has that fancy coffee machine running a little extra for me each morning. Makes fun of my knitted socks. And still cuts in on my bottomless rambling just when I’m about to get to my point.
The things that have changed are the things I’ve found myself longing for. His gaze doesn’t linger anymore. There’s no flirty banter when Ellie isn’t around.
To him, I’m just . . . the under-table paid nanny. The one to make his problem go away.
Way to make a girl feel irresistible.
Rose pulls her golf cart over to the side of the street and hops out.
I take in the stretch of bars and storefronts lining the dimly lit street. “So,” I question, stepping out onto the uneven pavement. “We can just leave this here?”
She shrugs. “It’s got my name on it. Who’s going to take it?” She reaches for my arm as I start toward one of the bars. “No, come on. It’s this one here.”
Rose steers me in the other direction through a black door under a dark awning.
It’s warm inside, a nice change from the cool night.
The place is big for a small-town bar. Round tables fill the floorspace and there’s a large built-in bar taking up most of the back wall.
Vintage signs hang from the remaining exposed brick walls and strings of naked bulbs illuminate the room in a muted, warm light, drawing my eye to the wooden beams that run along the width of the bar.
It’s a mixture of rustic, chic, and . . . “trying too hard,” if that was a style.
But the thing that draws my eye the most is the black grand piano perched on a wooden platform at the front of the room, where a woman is playing.
“What is this place?”
“It’s called The Blue Branch. It’s our version of a jazz club or wine bar.”
I narrow my eyes. “But?”
“But it wasn’t getting much business being that, so they let a few fights start up to get people talking.”
I slide onto a seat along the bar. “To give it a good reputation?”
Rose reaches for a menu. “That’s what Wes tells me.”
“So this isn’t a you-and-Wilder spot?”
She huffs out a laugh. “If Wilder comes out with me, he takes me out of town.” She glances around. “Besides, there are particular regulars here the Thorne brothers prefer to avoid.”
“Sounds juicy.”
“That’s what I thought when I first heard about the rivalry between Blue River and Callahan Ranch. But it’s pretty serious. Goes way back to when Connor ran the ranch. Lost his wife because of it.”
“Dallas’s mother?”
She nods, eyes shadowed with regret but pinned to the menu. “Learned the hard way just how deep the feud runs. From what I hear, Ricky and Dusty Callahan are worse than their dad. Play dirty. What started as a battle over a river, turned into a clash of egos.”
“Who’s in the lead?”
Rose shrugs. “Ricky’s probably the only one keeping score.
He and his crew have stopped going around Bones much anymore since it usually ends in one of ours winning a brawl they started.
” She glances back. “They sort of migrated here recently. And it’s for the best. Anytime Dallas and Ricky are in the same room—there’s blood. ”
I scan the menu like I’d get anything other than my usual. “How are the margaritas?”
Rose smirks. “Not as good as mine.”
We applaud the woman playing her second set. And I’m impressed. Her fingers are fluid along the keys, her gaze trained. She doesn’t care that she’s got an audience. Or at least it doesn’t seem that way.
It usually takes me one margarita to get to that point.
She’s also gorgeous. Dirty-blonde beach waves, high cheekbones, strong build.
Bet no one messes with her around here.
She finishes her glass of water and moves behind the bar for a refill. She chugs it halfway then sets it down, eyes pinned on me. “Can I buy you a drink?”
I blink. “Me?”
“Least I could do, you watched my entire set. I’m Laurie.”
I exhale a laugh with a wince. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare. You sounded amazing.”
Rose leans in, shouting over the crowd, and points to me. “Willow plays and sings.”
“Oh, sing too, huh? Carl’s been begging me to add words. You got a gig around here?”
“Oh, I’m only in town for—”
Rose punches my leg.
“New. I’m fairly new in town. Left a decent gig in Manhattan because I . . . fell in love.” I say the words tightly.
“How romantic,” she says with little enthusiasm.
I clench the back of my teeth because I know what she’s thinking. Some artist I claim to be—dropping everything for a man. “It is. But it’s not stopping me. I’ll be back out there soon. I miss playing.”
She gasps, then glances at the bartender. “Well, you’re in luck. Fill in for me tomorrow.”
I frown with a sideways glance at Rose. “Wait, like here? Are you serious?”
“Dead serious. I’ve got another gig tomorrow night and Carl won’t let me off. Hey, Carl.” She waves the bartender down. “I’ve got you a player for tomorrow. And she sings.”
Carl’s brows shoot up. “You don’t say.” His eyes dart to mine. “Be here at nine. Your last set’s midnight.”
“Oh, no. I wasn’t offering.”
“You said yourself you miss it,” Laurie argues. “Plus the tips are amazing on Saturday nights.”
Carl sets a whiskey bottle back on the glass shelf. “Then how come you always callin’ out sick?”
“Because it’s Saturday night, Carl.” Then she covers the side of her mouth and mutters to me and Rose, “Plus the tips for my other gig are usually better.”
“What’s your other gig?” I ask.
She winks and shakes her shoulders. “I’m a dancer.”
Rose mutters an “uh-oh” and takes a sip of her wine.
Laurie leans in. “Tomorrow, Blue River’s most eligible bachelor is having a party, and let me tell ya, I’d work that one for free.”
My heart clutches. Dallas.
The man who’s been acting like I barely exist all week. The one who kisses me like I’m the one he’s being waiting for and then pulls away like I’m the plague.
And maybe I am. Just another woman who’s trying to lock him down when he’s got a town full of Lauries to pick from.
“I’ll be here.” I assure them both. “Tomorrow. And every Saturday night, if you like my set.”
Rose seems conflicted by my promise. Grabbing hold of my arm, she leans in. “Shouldn’t we check with Dallas and maybe even Noah on this?”
I brush her off like she’s with the enemy, smiling tightly as Carl and Laurie drift off to the side. “Why should I?” I hiss. “I’m a free woman. I make my own decisions.”
“I don’t disagree. But even as a courtesy, or just to make sure there’s no issue with—his situation.”
“I guarantee you, Rose,” I mutter, taking a sip of my margarita as I watch the gorgeous blonde liven up the crowd once more. “Dallas will be too distracted tomorrow to even care where I am.”