Chapter Three
“Scar?”
“In here. Just finishing getting ready,” I shouted from the bathroom down the hall.
Thick waves of rich brown hair fell past my shoulders, my fringe bangs framing my cheeks. The subtle dab of blush and deep red lipstick illuminated my face in a way that I hadn’t seen for weeks.
I’d tried to talk myself out of going at least a hundred times over the last few days, but ultimately, I knew that as soon as Maggie showed up, she would’ve forced me into different clothes and out of this apartment, so I chose to do so of my own free will.
At least then I would approve of my outfit.
And now, despite the hint of guilt that still hung around, I was glad I had.
“Well, look at you.” Maggie’s smile lit up in the mirror. “All black tonight, I see,” she said, poking fun at my incessant love of the color. “No surprise there.”
“It’s not all black,” I said, holding my hands up and presenting my cherry-red nail polish.
She squinted back at me and continued. “And you’re wearing your black cowboy boots? Looks like someone might be a little more excited than she thought.” She grinned, her excitement dancing around her like lightning bugs on a warm summer night.
“Stop. You’re being dramatic.”
“No, seriously, Scar, you look great. You had me worried there for a bit. I’m just glad to see some of my girl poking through.”
The corner of my lips curved up, almost imperceptibly, as I gave my reflection a second look.
My black jean skirt was distressed enough to look casual but short enough to insinuate that I felt the slightest trace of a storm brewing at the bottom of my belly.
My oversized black button-up was half tucked, displaying the black and gold belt buckle underneath.
All pulled together with my absolute favorite black suede knee-high cowboy boots.
“Thanks, Mags.” I smiled. “And thanks for pushing me to go out with you tonight. I needed it.”
“Always.”
The last six months had been nothing short of shitty, but at some point, in the hours spent with myself, I realized I had a choice to make. I could move forward or I could stay stuck in the past, in a life that was no longer mine.
Did I feel heartbroken? In a way, yes. But throughout my obsessive deep dive into Zane’s and my relationship, I began to realize that the heartbreak I felt came from the idea of Zane and not actually Zane himself.
Over the last year or so, before the wedding, our lives had slowly crept into monotony.
I’d just assumed that was normal, that all relationships dulled and sparks fizzled.
But after peeling back the layers, I saw that our relationship hadn’t dulled or lost its spark… It’d just never had one to begin with.
And while I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want an answer as to why he’d called it off, or at least an explanation as to why he waited until our wedding day, there was something I’d found myself wanting more than any of that.
I wanted fireworks. I wanted butterflies. I wanted a love that felt infinite.
But what if I didn’t deserve any of that? And that was the real reason the wedding didn’t happen? Not because of Zane, but because of the choices I’d made in the past.
“Shit.” Maggie’s voice whipped me back to reality.
She was reaching for a can of hairspray that had fallen from the cabinet when I saw she was still in her work clothes.
“You’re not wearing that, are you?”
“You know me better than that,” she said, perking her eyebrow up at me.
“I mean, I figured, but I was just making sure,” I insisted.
“This is what I’m wearing,” she said, shimmying out of her cut-offs and snagging a strapless jean dress from her bag. The dress had silver buttons from top to bottom, right up the middle, and as she slid the thick material over her body, it clung to her perfectly.
“Damn,” I said.
“Exactly the response I was looking for. Although, I’d been hoping it would come from Booker and not you.” She smirked, moving left and right as she ran her hands down both her sides. “All right, you ready to do this?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Can I get a vodka tonic and a whiskey on the rocks with a splash of grenadine, please?” Mags shouted across the makeshift bar. “Oh, and two tequila shots!”
“Magnolia!” I shouted.
“What? It’ll be good for you. Hell, it will be good for us both,” she said, her eyes motioning to something across the room.
I glanced over my shoulder to see Booker Baker, the six-foot cowboy who resembled every other six-foot cowboy. Levi jeans, dirty boots, and a white T-shirt that was somehow pristinely white despite running a very active and presumably hands-on farm.
I returned my glance to Maggie.
“Cheers to that.” I smiled.
“Cheers!”
The ice-cold liquor burned, bulldozing to the back of my throat.
My head instantly started buzzing and the live band who was set up on an improvised stage at the front of the barn only emphasized the buzz.
This wasn’t a typical barn party because nothing Booker Baker did was typical.
Set up cohesively around the room were three different bars, all appearing to be stocked with every type of alcohol you could dream up.
The lighting inside was almost as magical as the stars illuminating the sky tonight.
Hundreds of string lights dangled overhead, making it bright enough to see but dark enough to create the perfect ambiance.
The black tin barn itself could easily hold three hundred people, and while there weren’t that many people here tonight, there was still enough to label this as quite the shindig.
It wasn’t what you’d picture, I could promise you that.
Sure, it was rugged and rustic with a dirt floor and hay bales stacked to the ceiling on one side, but it was chic and elegant too.
The smell of expensive leather twirled through your nose, presumably from the large collection of expensive-looking saddles that were plastered on most of the walls.
The double doors stood at least thirty feet high and peered out to the Tennessee Mountains.
It was a view plucked straight from a postcard.
“Does this even qualify as a barn?”
“Depends who you’re asking. For Booker’s family? Yes.” She smirked.
“I guess that’s true,” I huffed. “This kind of barn only feels right for a family that basically owns this town.”
“But I do love the decor, very Ralph Lauren–esque,” she said, as her eyes scanning the room in what I assumed was an effort to keep tabs on Booker.
“Of course you do,” I said, taking another gulp of my drink and allowing the burn of the whiskey to eliminate some of my nerves and the sweet grenadine to give me a burst of confidence. “Let’s dance!”
Maggie’s grin drove across her entire face. “Let’s!”
The wooden stage was small and lifted only a few feet off the ground, but the familiar country songs flowing from the singer’s mouth in front made it easy to blend into the blur of humans moving their bodies.
Maggie and I shifted and scooted until we reached the center of the crowd.
I was sure I knew most of the people around us, but for the time being, I decided to focus on Maggie and the music.
“She’s good,” I said, shouting toward Maggie.
“Yeah, she really is,” she replied while allowing her hips to sway side to side. “See, aren’t you glad I forced you out of the house tonight?”
“I’ll let you know at the end of the night.”
Her mouth fell open and her boots skidded to a stop.
“I’m just kidding. Yes. I’m very grateful. Obviously. Just trying to take it all in, ya know? This is the first time I’ve been out in public as a single girl in literal years.”
The word single felt weird as it rolled off my tongue. It pinged my heart at first, like a BB gun had been shot right at it, but then there was something else… A similar feeling I’d had earlier that drew my attention away from the pain.
“I guess I didn’t really think about that. Shit, Scar. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “It was going to happen eventually, and if I’m being honest, I needed you to be here when it did. So now that that’s over, let’s quit bringing the mood down and dance.”
Maggie reached for my hands and twirled us in a circle. “I love you. It’s all going to work out. Mark my words.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” I said with a smile.
The nighttime air snuck in through the open doors and windows, colliding with the rhythm of the music and sending sparks through my body.
I threw my head back, closed my eyes, and found myself back in college, Maggie and I savoring every last song on the dirt-packed dance floor at our favorite little country bar, The Ranch.
We’d sing at the top of our lungs until the night ended and then stumble home, giggling until our faces hurt.
Tonight might not be as carefree as those nights, but it wasn’t horrible either.
Here I was, thirty years old, single and dancing the night away as if my world wasn’t floating around me in a thousand pieces.
But for whatever reason, at that moment, the thought of the future didn’t feel so scary.
Instead, a glimmer of hope seemed to have latched on to me, spinning me around and around.
If you would’ve told me six months ago that I’d be here, not in Chicago with my should-be husband but instead left at the altar and surrounded by all familiar faces, I would’ve laughed in your face and told you that you were crazy.
But now, months after Zane called off the wedding, I couldn’t imagine being anywhere but in Quincey Falls.
The rhythm slowed and the words of Morgan Wallen’s “Spin You Around” buzzed through the air. Everyone, or at least what felt like everyone, shuffled their feet closer to their dancing partner.
“Oof. Might have got ahead of myself there,” I muttered.
“Huh?”
“I think I need some fresh air,” I blurted out.
“Want me to come with you?” Maggie asked.
I almost responded, but Booker’s voice beat me to it.
“Hey, ladies. How’s it going?”
“Good. We’re loving the band!” Maggie’s enthusiasm and doll-like smile had him in a trance.