Chapter 9
“I’m too tired to cook,” I say after locking up the Airstream for the night. We spent the day clearing out debris, running fans to dry out what could be salvaged, and inspecting damage. I’m dirty and could use a shower and a hefty meal that I don’t have to make myself.
Beside me Jack groans, rolling his shoulders. “Me too. I’m going to find a burger. And a beer.” He glances at me, blue eyes appearing flecked with brown in the setting sun. “You wanna come?”
I’m momentarily taken aback at the offer, despite having just spent the whole day together. Sometime in the last week our dynamic has started to shift from reluctant roommates to acquaintances. Not quite friends, but I think we’re on our way there. I think I like it.
“I know just the place.”
Ten minutes later, I turn my truck into the dirt parking lot of Matty’s, the best—only—bar in town. As usual, the parking lot is packed, and I end up driving into the grass behind the bar and parking beside a row of cars that have done the same thing.
“Seems like the place to be,” Jack says.
I glance back at the vintage letter sign with the lit up arrow facing the bar. Black black letters spell out Karaoke Night. “Jonas, you’re in for a treat. It’s karaoke night.”
We weave our way through the maze of cars, and I tug my fleece vest back over my shoulders. It’s that time of year when I’m always putting on and stripping off layers as the sun brings its warmth before slipping behind the mountains like a closing curtain, allowing the chill to return.
Jack steps ahead of me when we reach the door and pulls it open, letting me go in first. I flash him a smile and a thank you as I pass, and he matches it with one of his own, dimples sinking in his cheeks.
He’s windswept, and there’s some kind of dust in his hair from the work we did today.
He looks messy in a casual sort of way that does something funny in my chest. I force my eyes away and take in the chaos of the bar.
It’s loud with voices and someone mildly talented belting an Adele song on stage, the crowd singing along. Behind me, Jack says something, but I don’t catch it, and when I turn around, he’s right there, body pressed close to mine.
“What did you say?”
I’m tall, so he doesn’t have to bend far to lean close to my ear. His breath is warm on my neck, and I have to suppress the shiver that threatens to move down my spine. “I asked if you want to find a table or order first.”
I glance around, and surprisingly find one empty table. Hooking a thumb over my shoulder, I say, “I’ll get that table. Will you order me a burger, fries, and a beer?”
He nods. “Anything specific?”
I shrug. “Whatever.”
“Burger, extra olives, fries, and a beer. Got it.”
A grin pulls up my lips as I take a step back in the direction of the open table. “Ask for the olives in a bowl instead of peanuts.”
I hear his “Absolutely” when I turn around and begin to weave my way through the crowd. There are people I know littered all throughout the bar, but no one I care enough to stop and chat with.
The same cannot be said, however, about two middle-aged busybodies who find me approximately thirty seconds after I take my seat.
They come out of nowhere, as they always manage to do, in a cloud of Bath and Body Works perfume mixed with the cigarettes Myra swears she gave up twenty years ago and the ginger candies Melissa eats like her life depends on it.
“Stevie!” Myra yells, and I spin in my seat to find her and Melissa coming toward me. They’re wearing matching pink velour sweat sets that are covered in rhinestone hearts. Before I can ask what they’re doing, they settle into the open seats across from me.
“Hey, sugar,” Melissa says, grabbing my hand and giving it a kiss on the knuckles before placing it back on the table with a pat. “How are you? Wren told us you had an accident at the Airstream and had a concussion, but she wouldn’t tell us where you were staying so we could bring you dinner.”
I could kiss my best friend. I love these two women, but they would never let it go if they knew I was living with a hot, single man. At least I think he’s single.
Speaking of, my eyes snap back up to Jack, making sure he’s not heading to the table, but he’s still at the bar, and my shoulders relax, attention focusing back on Myra and Melissa.
“I’m feeling much better,” I promise. “I went up to my property today to start working on repairs.”
“Do you need help? I’m sure we could wrangle some young men into helping you,” Myra says. “I married Grey off, so I’ve expanded my search for single men.”
I just bet she has. Grey is Myra’s nephew, and he married Finley last year, which thrilled both of these women more than if Jamie Fraser came to life and gave each of them a lap dance. They wore matching dresses to the wedding, and Myra gave a toast that made even me tear up.
“I’m okay,” I say with a laugh. “But I’ll let you know if I do.”
“Good, good,” Myra says, grabbing my free hand. They’re now both held between the wrinkled hands of these two lovely, meddling ladies. “Now what are you doing here alone?”
Before I can make up an excuse, Jack arrives at the table, a bowl of olives in one hand and two shot glasses in the other. “They had Malort. Never been opened, who would’ve thought?”
He notices Myra and Melissa at the same time as they notice him, although their reactions are vastly different. The ladies, mischievously pleased. Jack, confused but polite.
He gives them a warm smile, the same one that put me at ease in the hospital. “Hi, ladies. Can I tempt you with Malort?”
Myra hoots. “Not a chance in hell, young man. And who might you be?”
“And how do you know our Stevie?” Melissa asks.
Jack’s gaze flicks up to mine, questioning.
“He’s a friend,” I tell them, saving him from having to figure out what the appropriate answer is. “New in town.”
“Ooo,” Melissa says, turning fully in her chair to face him. “We love meeting new people.”
“Jack Sullivan,” he says with a tip of his chin. “I’d shake your hands, but mine are a little full.”
“Oh, Missy,” Myra says, swatting her friend on the arm. “Let’s get out of the way so the fine young man can set his…” She eyes Jack’s haul. “Olives and Malort down.”
The two of them stand, and I watch as Jack takes in their outfits, graciously suppressing his amused smile.
His cheeks have gone red from the warmth inside, and he must have run his hands through his hair at the bar because it’s even messier than before, sticking up at all angles.
His clothes are always clean and free of wrinkles and he keeps all of his things at the cabin tucked away in tidy, organized spaces, but I’ve noticed his hair is always a little disheveled, more so than ever now.
Jack sets the haul down on the table, a little of the liquor spilling onto the coated wood. He wipes his hands on his pants, looking between the two women. “Would you care to join us?”
“Oh, no, honey,” Melissa says, waving in the direction of the stage. “We’re up soon.” She glances back at me, winking. “We’re performing ‘Get Low.’”
A laugh rumbles from Jack’s chest before he sees how serious they are.
“We’ve been practicing all week,” Myra says.
I roll my lips together to hold back my smile, but Jack recovers remarkably quickly. “I’m sure it will be outstanding. I can’t wait to see it.”
The two women turn back to me with Cheshire cat grins, and lead sinks in my stomach because I know what this means—they like Jack. And they’re never going to let me forget it.
They each bend to press kisses to my cheeks, surely leaving behind lipstick marks, before disappearing as quickly as they came. Jack and I stare at each other with matching smiles of amusement.
He sinks into the chair across from me, leaning on his elbows on the table. “So they seem great.”
“They’re something,” I say with fondness. “But unfortunately they’ve decided to set us up.”
He lifts one brow. “Did they say that?”
I shake my head, tracing a finger around the rim of one of the shot glasses, the spilled liquor making the tip damp. “No, but I know them very well.”
“Seems so.”
I catch his eyes. They’re sparking under the dim lights of the bar, the colored spotlights roaming around lighting him up in every color of the rainbow. “You should know what it’s like. You said you’re from a small town, too, right?”
He nods. “Montana.”
I shrug. “More cowboys, same amount of busybodies, I’m guessing.”
A grin unfurls across his lips, and I feel the pleasure of it like an egg cracking at the base of my neck and sliding down my spine. “Mmhmm. Town’s full of them. They’re relentless. Yours seemed nice though.”
“Very nice,” I agree. “But devious too. Relentless,” I echo.
His head shakes. “I don’t believe you. They were sweet.”
“They were charming. It’s how they hide the claws they’ll sink into you when you least expect it.”
Jack’s lips roll together and he glances up at the stage right as Myra and Melissa are allowing two young men to escort them onto it.
“Noted. Okay, let’s each share the most intrusive thing one of the people in our hometowns have done and whoever loses has to sing the karaoke song of the other’s choice. ”
I’m not a gambler in the least, but I’m so sure that I have this in the bag that I reach out my hand for him to shake.
He shakes his head at it, and pushes the shot in my direction. “Let’s drink on it.”
“If I thought olives taste like dirt, I certainly won’t be letting Malort anywhere near my mouth.”
His head tips back in a laugh, Adam’s apple bobbing with the movement, and something about it draws me in. I hardly know him, but from everything I’ve seen, he’s reserved, quiet, attentive without being overbearing. But right now he’s relaxed. Loose. Uninhibited.
“It’s not bad.”
I lift a brow and he lets out another chuckle.
“I developed a taste for it when I worked a summer in Chicago. There was this little bar we would go to after our shifts sometimes when we were dead tired and a little slap happy. We’d drink Malort and watch baseball on the tiniest, shittiest TV you’ve ever seen.
” He stops, shrugs like it’s no big deal, just a fond memory.
But it settles over me like a weighted blanket, heavy and a little overbearing. All the life he must have lived and all the places he must have gone.
So I take the shot glass and tip it back. And promptly cough. And gag. When I look back at Jack, he’s grinning and popping a black olive between his teeth.
“Worse than I expected.”
“I was thinking about asking the bartender if I could buy the bottle off him.”
“I think Matty would pay you to take that biohazard out of his bar.”
His foot nudges mine beneath the table and he leans back in his chair, stretching his back. “So what’s your most intrusive story?”
I shake my head, drumming my fingers on the table. “You first.”
“Hmm,” he says, the sound coming from the back of his throat.
Behind him, Myra and Melissa are singing about windows and walls.
“I told you my mom was a single mom. Our town got a decent amount of tourists because we were pretty close to some ski resorts and there are a few dude ranches. A bunch of well-meaning older women in town carried around wallet sized photos of my mom with her phone number on the back and whenever they met a nice man, they’d hand them out and tell him to call her. ”
“Wow,” I say. “Respectable.”
“You have a better one?”
“Oh, definitely. But first, how did your mom take it?”
His smile is small. “She was a good sport.”
“Did she ever find her Prince Charming?”
A shadow passes over his expression, and he sits up straighter in his chair, the loose lines of his body becoming tight coils. I instantly regret asking, but before I can take it back, he says, “No, she didn’t. So, what’s your story?”
“When the town found out that Wren and Holden had eloped in a private, family-only ceremony, they threw them a surprise wedding. Invited the entire town. Six-hundred people showed up. In the town square. Myra and Melissa even somehow got ahold of Wren’s measurements and ordered her a wedding dress. ”
His jaw hinges open. “Wow.”
“Oh, and it was two years after the original. So it really caught them off guard. They said they needed time to plan.”
He lets out a bark of laughter. “Okay, you’re right. You win.” Glancing back up at the stage, he asks, “What am I singing?”
“‘Baby Got Back.’”
“You had that locked and loaded, huh?”
“From the moment you showed up with Malort.”
He lets out a sigh, pushing a hand through his unruly hair once more.
“Fine. How do I look?” When he looks back at me, it’s to find me already watching him.
His faded navy sweatshirt pulls at his broad shoulders.
His hair is a mess. His cheeks are red from the alcohol and the warmth inside the crowded bar.
His eyes sparkle like the lights on the stage.
He looks like he doesn’t belong here. Like he’s too big for this place.
“Good,” I tell him, and a grin lifts his lips. “Now go sing.”