Chapter Four
Keri
I spend the rest of the evening sulking from behind my desk while staring at market analysis spreadsheets and scrolling through MLS listings from neighboring towns on my desktop computer.
I’m not proud of the way I stormed off after Adam boldly told me my photo wasn’t any good.
Truth be told, he’d hurt my feelings. I mean, not to toot my own horn, but I know I’m a good-looking woman.
Heads turn when I confidently pass by. I stay in shape by eating right and exercising.
I hardly drink, and I never go to bed with my makeup on.
For crying out loud, my nickname in high school was “Angel Face,” and a few locals who’ve known me forever still call me by that name to this day.
When I was a teenager, my grandmother somehow talked me into joining the local beauty pageant scene.
I hesitated at first, but then I kept winning.
Soon, I had first-place trophies and glittering crowns on full display in my childhood bedroom.
Grandma Clayton hand-sewed my unique gowns.
She taught me to walk in high heels and apply lipstick.
She convinced my dad to splurge on expensive dance lessons in nearby Newnan, Georgia, so I’d have a talent for the competition.
With their support, I received a scholarship after winning Miss Georgia Peach.
The prize money helped me pay for college.
I’ve always been indebted to my father and to sweet Grandma Clayton, who gave me a reason to shoot for the stars.
Too bad those stars fizzled out when I took over the family business after my father died.
Aside from selling the Milton property to Hollywood celebrity Ridge Wilson last year, I haven’t had a decent sale in months.
I’d give anything to feel that deep satisfaction of winning again.
Nothing compares to the intense euphoria I’ve felt winning pageants or scoring the top bid on a property.
It’s a kind of self-belief that has always reinforced my drive for the future.
But since the Milton sale, my future feels uncertain.
Pretty face aside, I’m just an average woman trying to make an impact in a tiny country town in the middle of nowhere with no prospects.
No hope. And with no idea what’s next for me.
And don’t get me started on the deplorable dating scene in Heartsboro.
It’s been nonexistent ever since the fallout with my on-again, off-again boyfriend, Kip Johnson.
He turned out to be a bona fide arsonist when he deliberately burned down the Jamison barn after elderly Ralph Jamison died and left the farm to his grandson, George.
Kip always wanted the property for himself, bullying his way into the family as lead farm foreman.
Thank God I dodged a bullet with that man.
After his brief stint in jail, he packed up and moved out of state.
The wasted years I spent with him are nothing but shadows in my rearview mirror.
I lean my head back against my office chair and close my eyes. The exhaustion settles around me, loneliness threading through my thoughts. When was the last time I enjoyed a night out or went on a date? That hollow feeling deepens, settling into my bones.
Most of my girlfriends left Heartsboro in a cloud of dust after graduation, and I don’t blame them.
Fortunately, we still see each other once or twice a year at our high school reunions, or when I deliberately take time off to pay them a visit.
My besties, Candace and April, both live in Atlanta.
Candace has a house in the burbs with her lawyer husband and two kids.
April is dating a data scientist specializing in AI while she focuses on her mission-driven work as a Program Coordinator at an Atlanta animal shelter.
I often wonder what they’d think of their Angel Face now if they walked in and saw me sitting alone in the dark, feeling sorry for myself.
The only thing I have to look forward to is the to-go box of Miss Jenny’s cold brisket and sides sitting in the office mini-fridge. I’m pathetic.
I growl and hoist myself up from the chair, intent on finding something, anything to do on this Friday night that doesn’t involve work or leftovers.
Twisting the tilt wand on the large window blind to shut out the lamplight from Main Street, I pause when I notice Adam’s camper van parked on the corner near the Tipsy Daisy.
My eyebrows arch with an immediate thought.
Or maybe…?
Maybe I could head over to Miss Janie’s bar and formally apologize to him for my earlier behavior?
Maybe I could take it a step further and offer to buy him a drink?
Yes. I’ll buy Adam a drink. After all, it is a Friday night.
I know for a fact that since the weather has turned warmer, Janie has live music at The Tipsy Daisy on the weekends.
When was the last time I enjoyed live music?
My high heels click with purpose, and I’m energized by my spur-of-the-moment idea as I rush upstairs to my apartment and change clothes.
I ditch the professional garb for jeans and a pretty, pink short-sleeved sweater.
I take it a step further and slip on my palomino-colored cowboy boots with intricate flower embroidery stitched on the sides, a gift to myself after the Milton property closing.
I pull my hair into a high pony and dab my lips with shiny gloss.
Eyeing myself in the mirror, there’s a certain gleam in my eyes.
I remember that look. I smile at my reflection, knowing I have an ulterior motive with my casual clothes and sudden interest in live music at my neighbor’s bar.
I want to slow dance with a California man.
***
“Keri!” Janie hollers from across the bar.
I wave at her as she points to an open stool near the end.
The place is packed with folks sitting at every single booth and table.
Several more couples are dancing in front of a small stage where an acoustic trio is playing a classic two-step.
The Friday night happy-hour vibe in the air is electric.
I sit next to a younger couple deep in conversation and notice right away the man rubbing his strong palm back and forth across her denim thigh. I swallow hard and flick my ponytail as I pan the room, looking for Adam.
“Welcome back,” Janie says, dropping a coaster in front of me. “I haven’t seen you here in ages. How are you, girl?”
I offer her a heartfelt smile. “I’m… good. Felt like coming out tonight.”
“Well, you picked a great night.” She points to the musicians on the stage. “The Franklin Trio is a huge draw. Folks are coming out in droves to dance tonight.”
I nod. “I can see that.”
“You want the usual? Vodka soda with two limes?”
“Hmmm. Not tonight.” I lean my elbows on the bar top and tilt my chin with purpose. “Tonight I want your best tequila. On the rocks. No salt, but with two limes.”
Janie raises her eyebrows. I don’t blame her. I’ve never ordered tequila in her bar before. Ever. What’s gotten into me?
“Did you score a big sale or something today? You out celebrating?”
I shake my head. “Naw. Just in the mood for something a little different.”
She smiles as if she understands. “Coming right up, Angel Face.”
I laugh at the nickname and swivel my stool so I’m facing the dance floor and the stage of musicians while she makes my drink. The music is thumping, and the dancers are moving in sync to the rhythm. I bob my head to the beat.
“Here you go, Keri.” Janie sets a short glass garnished with two rimmed limes on the coaster, and a tall glass of water next to it.
This woman and her twin sister, Jenny, know me too well.
I’m all about hydration. I watch her push up her long sleeves, revealing several colorful tattoos on her forearms. “You want to start a tab?”
I grin and raise my tequila in the air. “Sure. Why not? Happy Friday.”
Janie laughs. “Happy Friday.” She turns her attention to the couple next to me.
I squeeze both limes into the short glass and take a quick sip.
The alcohol burns my throat as I swallow.
Even though this drink has zero carbs and fewer calories than most cocktails, I’d forgotten how potent it is. I need to take it slow.
The music shifts into a bluesy, soulful rendition of “Tennessee Whiskey.” I sway on my stool and look out at the packed dance floor of couples clearly having a good time.
That’s when I spot Adam dancing with the cute, young waitress from Jenny’s café.
My initial impulse is to stare. It’s a primal reaction, like watching a car crash.
I can’t look away. I’m transfixed watching him, his strong arms wrapped tightly around her midriff.
His long hair obscuring his profile, pressed against her cheek.
The way his hips move seductively to the sexy rhythm of the song.
My mouth goes dry. I gulp my drink, eyes stinging. Shock pins me to my barstool. I can’t move. Paralyzed, I watch him dance with this woman. My inner dialogue screams, “That should be me!” Regret creeps in. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all?
“You want another?” Janie asks from over my shoulder.
“Sure,” I reply, unable to look at her. I can’t. My eyes are fixated on my California dream imploding on the dance floor.
The song ends. Couples pull apart and clap for the talented musicians.
The lead singer announces a break and says they’ll be back in fifteen minutes.
Everyone disperses to tables and the bar for fresh drinks as canned music fills the room.
I watch Adam palm the pretty waitress’s shoulder, lean in, and say something that makes her laugh.
She grins, nods, and goes one way. He goes the other way.
Straight toward me.