Chapter 2
CHAPTER
TWO
SEBASTIAN
I have no business being here. The thought has repeated itself approximately three hundred times since I walked into Rusty's Bar an hour ago.
Maybe four hundred. The bar is crowded, loud, and hot.
People are packed shoulder-to-shoulder around tables, laughing, shouting, living lives that seem completely foreign to me.
I spent most of my life avoiding exactly this kind of thing. Especially after moving to the mountains. My cabin sits nearly forty minutes outside Shotgun Peak. No neighbors. No traffic. No noise. Just trees and fresh air. And silence—Beautiful, wonderful silence.
Most days I don't see another human being. Exactly the way I like it. Or at least the way I've convinced myself I like it. Tonight, though, something felt different.
I'd spent the entire day restless. Unable to focus or settle. Every room seemed smaller than usual. So against my better judgment, I'd driven into town for just a drink. Now I'm regretting it.
A burst of laughter erupts from inside the bar. I grimace. Yep. Definitely regretting it. I need a break outside.
The cool evening air feels like heaven compared to the chaos inside. I'm leaning against the brick wall beside the entrance, nursing a whiskey and enjoying the first peaceful moment I've had all night.
Cars occasionally roll past. A few people wander along Main Street. Nothing unusual. Nothing exciting. Exactly how I like things.
I take another sip, close my eyes, and enjoy the quiet. Then something bumps my ass. I freeze. Oh hell no. I’m not about to be the entertainment for some chick who’s had too much to drink. I don’t play those games anymore. I’m way too old for that shit.
I turn around. And immediately forget how to breathe. The most beautiful woman is standing behind me. Not just any woman. A bride. A literal bride. My brain takes several seconds to process what I'm looking at.
White wedding gown. Veil. Bouquet. Mascara streaked down both cheeks. The whole thing. She looks like she stepped directly out of a wedding ceremony.
For several seconds neither of us speaks. I just stare. She stares right back. Her chest rises and falls rapidly. Like she's been running.
Her hair is slightly windblown. The bottom of her dress is dusty. One of her shoes appears to be missing. I'm still trying to process all of this when she speaks.
"Hi." I blink.
She blinks. Then we both continue staring at each other.
"You're wearing a wedding dress," I finally say. Brilliant observation, Sebastian. Absolutely brilliant.
She looks down at herself. "Oh."
A pause.
"Right." Another pause.
Then she says something that somehow makes the situation even stranger.
"I forgot."
I stare. "You forgot?"
She nods. "Momentarily."
"You forgot you were wearing a wedding dress?"
"To be fair, it's been a very long day."
“Did you also forget you just touched my ass?” I quip.
The woman exhales heavily. Then glances toward the entrance of the bar. Then back at me. Then toward the entrance again. Like she's trying to decide something. She doesn’t answer my question.
Finally she points toward my whiskey. "How strong is that?"
"Pretty strong."
"Good."
Another pause.
"Do they sell stronger?"
I can't help it. A laugh escapes me. The first genuine laugh I've had in weeks. Her eyebrows rise. Mine probably do too. Because I honestly can't remember the last time a complete stranger made me laugh. Especially a stranger dressed like she's halfway through a wedding.
A tiny smile tugs at her lips. It's the first sign of life I've seen in her face. She’s beautiful. Really beautiful. Big brown eyes. Soft features. A mouth clearly trying not to smile. The realization irritates me immediately.
Beautiful women are trouble. Brides are definitely trouble. But this girl? She looks like a runaway bride. Probably the final boss of trouble. I should walk away. I should finish my drink and get in my truck. Then drive back to my mountain… immediately. I could forget this ever happened.
Instead I hear myself asking, "Did you leave the groom at the altar?"
The smile disappears. A shadow crosses her face. "Technically."
I frown. "Technically?"
"I made it all the way to the altar first."
I stare at her.
She stares back. Then she shrugs. "I figured I should get partial credit for that."
Against all reason, I laugh again. The sound is deeper this time. Longer.
And suddenly she's smiling too. A real smile. The kind that transforms her entire face. The kind that hits me right in the chest. Dangerous. Very dangerous.
I take another sip of whiskey.
"You know," I say, "most people celebrate weddings."
She folds her arms. "Most people don't discover their fiancé was paid to propose."
The words hit me like a freight train. My amusement vanishes instantly. "What?"
The smile disappears from her face. She immediately looks like she regrets saying it. Her eyes drift toward the street. Toward the mountains. Anywhere but me.
For a moment she looks incredibly small and heartbroken. And suddenly the wedding dress doesn't seem ridiculous anymore. It seems tragic.
I set my glass down on a nearby barrel. "You okay?"
The question leaves my mouth before I can stop it.
She laughs. "No."
The honesty catches me off guard. Most people lie. Most people say they're fine. Most people pretend. Not her.
"No," she repeats quietly. "I don't think I am."
Something twists unexpectedly in my chest. An unfamiliar feeling.
Protectiveness. Which makes absolutely no sense.
I don't know this woman’s name. I don't know anything about her.
Yet standing here beneath the glow of the streetlights, watching her fight back fresh tears, I find myself wanting to solve whatever problem put that look on her face.
She glances up and our eyes meet. And for a second the world goes strangely still. No bar noise. No passing cars. No laughter from inside. Just the two of us standing on a sidewalk in Shotgun Peak.
Every second I stand here talking to a runaway bride, the more convinced I become that this is a terrible idea. The problem is that I don't seem capable of walking away. So before I can overthink it, I decide to change the subject.
"You know," I say, "there's still something bothering me."
She blinks. "What?"
I cross my arms. "Why'd you grab my ass?"
For a second she just stares at me. Then her eyes go wide. "I did not grab your ass."
I raise an eyebrow. "You absolutely did."
"I bumped into you."
"You grabbed me."
"I brushed against you."
"You grabbed me."
Her mouth falls open. "That's a very serious accusation."
"I'm very serious."
A laugh escapes her. A real laugh. Not the brittle, broken one from earlier. This one is warm. Alive. The sound hits me harder than it should. "You're unbelievable," she says.
"I've been told that."
"Nobody has told you that."
"They have."
"You're lying."
I shrug. "Maybe."
She laughs again. There it is. That smile. God help me. For a woman who just abandoned her wedding, she has an incredible smile.
I don't usually notice smiles. Or women. At least not anymore. Living alone on a mountain tends to reduce your opportunities. But hers is impossible to miss. It transforms her.
The sadness doesn't disappear entirely. It's still there. Lingering behind her eyes. But for a moment I get a glimpse of who she is underneath all the heartbreak. And I like what I see. Way too much.
I point at her. "You're avoiding the question."
She folds her arms. "No, I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm really not."
"You grabbed my ass."
"I bumped into it."
I bark out a laugh. "Bumped into it?"
"Yes."
"Like it accidentally wandered into your hand?"
She immediately loses the battle against another smile. "Maybe."
"That's not how anatomy works."
"According to you."
"According to science."
She snorts. Actually snorts. Then immediately looks horrified by the sound. Which somehow makes it even funnier. Now we're both laughing.
This feels easy. Too easy. I've spent most of my adult life keeping people at arm's length. Yet somehow this woman keeps slipping past every defense I have.
Finally she sighs dramatically. "Fine."
I narrow my eyes. "Fine?"
"I'll tell you."
I wait.
She points at me. "You can't get mad."
"I'm already excited."
She shakes her head. Then she bites her lower lip. A nervous gesture. A cute gesture. "I wasn't sure if you were real."
I stare. "What?"
She gestures vaguely in my direction. "Look at you."
I look down at myself. Jeans. Boots. Black henley. Nothing unusual.
I glance back up. "I am looking."
She throws her hands in the air. "Exactly."
"That explains nothing."
A reluctant smile spreads across her face. "You were standing completely still."
"So?"
"So you're huge."
I blink. "Huge?"
She immediately turns pink. "Not huge huge."
"Interesting clarification."
"You know what I mean."
"No. Please elaborate."
Now she's laughing so hard she's practically doubled over. I find myself grinning like an idiot.
"You were leaning against the wall," she says. "Not moving. Not blinking. Just standing there looking all..."
She trails off. I wait. "All what?"
Her cheeks become even redder. "Muscular."
The word comes out in a rush. I stare.
She groans. "Oh, this is awful."
I can't stop smiling. "Please continue."
"No."
"You started this."
She points at me again. "You looked like one of those giant lumberjack statues people put outside tourist shops."
I blink. "A lumberjack statue."
"Yes."
"I'm offended."
"Good."
"I don't even own an axe."
"You look like you own twelve axes."
I laugh. And she joins in. And suddenly neither of us can stop. Finally she catches her breath.
"I just wanted to see if you were real."
"So your solution was to grab my ass?"
"It wasn't a grab."
"It was definitely a grab."
"It was a gentle investigative touch."
I lose it. The laugh that escapes me is loud enough to turn a few heads near the entrance of the bar.
I’m already noticing every expression. Already wanting more time. I shake my head. Bad idea. Terrible idea. Possibly the worst idea I've ever had.
"Come on," I say.
She tilts her head. "Where are we going?"
I jerk my thumb toward the bar. "Inside."
Her eyes widen. "I don't know."
"I do."
She laughs. "Do you?"
"Yep."
"What if I don't want to go inside?"
"Then I'll stand here and annoy you until you agree."
"You seem very confident."
"I am."
She studies me for a moment. The smile never leaves her face. "What if I'm dangerous?"
I glance at the wedding dress. The missing shoe. The mascara streaks. Then I shrug. "I think I've already accepted that risk."
Her laugh is soft this time—genuine.
I clear my throat. "Let me buy you a drink."
She looks surprised. Then pleased. Her smile grows. Bigger. Brighter. "I'd like that."
And the second she says yes, I know I'm in trouble.