Chapter Two #2
“There are reasons why I chose this town.”
“Such as?”
“Nice scenery, good amenities, a vibrant community. It’s that bit farther off the highway and the river is narrower here, so we have tourists passing through but not necessarily staying, which suits me,” she says.
“But The Bend punches above its weight when it comes to food. The local dairy makes excellent cheese and ice cream. And then there’s the few wineries nearby.
Not to mention that new distillery opening at the end of Main Street. ”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying your retirement here.”
She smiles.
“You Should Probably Leave” by Chris Stapleton is playing on the jukebox and there’s a decent-sized crowd tonight.
Taco Tuesday with happy hour margarita prices is popular.
Most of the small round tables are occupied, while the more dedicated drinkers and those wishing to socialize congregate at the counter.
I already said hello to my friends from last night. Those brave few who listened to me bitch about my ex for hours. May their pillows always be cold on both sides, they never step on a Lego, and they get nothing but green lights going home. Not that there are any traffic lights nearby.
“Have you spoken to your mother recently?” asks Grandma.
I shake my head and take a sip of water. “We really only catch up once a month or so.”
Grandma nods.
My mom is a real estate agent and a workaholic. As much as I admire her drive and ambition, having zero work/life balance is not for me. Mind you, my ex was locked in on the corporate ladder. There’s a small chance I don’t always make the best choices. Time to turn that around.
“Stop thinking about him,” says Grandma. “He’s in your rearview mirror.”
“How did you know I was thinking about the ex?”
“You get this expression on your face…it’s similar to what I’d imagine a person suffering from an existential crisis would make.”
I snort.
She smiles back at me. “That’s better.”
“Just beating myself up over bad choices. How could I think he was the one? What we had was average at most. I was so stupid.”
“That’s hardly a state unique just to you,” says Grandma. “And as Maya Angelou said, know better, do better.”
“I don’t need a man. I don’t even want one.”
“It’s your life, sweetheart. The trick is being brave enough to live it as you think best without getting sidetracked by what doesn’t serve you or bring you joy.”
“Yeah.” I take a deep, cleansing breath. “Thank you for listening to me whine repeatedly.”
“You’re very welcome.”
“On the plus side, yay me for getting the midlife crisis done a decade early.”
Grandma nods. “This is true.”
Which is when an ecstatic voice rises above the crowd.
It actually almost breaks the sound barrier.
Sabrina is about forty with white skin and short platinum-blonde hair.
She owns the local hair salon, drinks stout, and is a keen country music fan.
I know these things because a. she offered to fix my breakup bangs; b.
I bought a round of drinks last night; and c. she was wearing a Dolly Parton shirt.
The person she’s shouting about stands several inches taller than the rest of those gathered at the bar. He has thick brown hair carelessly brushed back from his handsome face and seems to have frozen like a deer in headlights.
Grandma raises her head in confusion. But I am already out of my seat and weaving my way through the crowd.
“You do…you look like that guy…what’s his name?” shouts Sabrina. As much as she loves stout, it sounds like tonight she’s making the most of half-price margaritas. And who could blame her? “You know…the famous one who sings that song!”
Nash shakes his head, appearing more panicked by the moment. Guess cutting his hair and shaving his beard isn’t enough for some of his more hardcore fans. “I’m nobody. Can’t even hold a tune,” he says. “Really.”
“Which song?” asks Carter the librarian. He’s a Black man with short locks who gives excellent romance book recommendations. He suggested I read Daggermouth by H.M. Wolfe.
Sabrina’s perfect brows draw down in consternation. “The one about a car.”
“That doesn’t really narrow it down,” says Mac the mechanic. And I guess he would know. He’s a grizzled affable guy who offers a great deal on oil changes. He told me all about it last night. Though it’s going to take more than an oil change to fix whatever’s wrong with my car.
Nash’s fake smile needs some serious work. “I wish I was rich and famous. Have you seen the cost of groceries? Broccoli in particular is outrageous.”
Thank goodness Sabrina has a shitty memory and can’t remember his name. But it’s going to take something solid to end this speculation. For Nash to be safe in this town, he needs a cover story. And unfortunately for both of us, I know one the good citizens of The Bend just might believe.
I join the circle of people who have the rockstar surrounded, and ask snappily, “What are you doing here?”
“June,” says Nash in relief. Though his relief is soon replaced with a frown. “You didn’t want me to come? But you left—”
“Our apartment, when you kicked me out!”