9. She Didn’t See Him as a Protector
She Didn’t See Him as a Protector
Lola
“Nope. No way.” Brooke stripped her blouse over her head and tossed it on her bed. “You can’t go out wearing that .” She waved an accusing finger in my direction.
I glanced down. “What’s wrong with this?” The faded black turtleneck was old, but it was functional and fit my mood. I didn’t feel like wearing my pretty new clothes anymore.
Brooke’s nose wrinkled. “Your skirt has baby puke all over it.”
Did it? I thought I’d wiped it off. I took another look.
Oh. The milky streak caked between the pleats was barely visible.
Sort of. The little boy with his tumble of golden curls had felt a lot better after he’d sprayed his upset tummy all over me.
His mother had been mortified, but I wasn’t bothered.
I shrugged. “Occupational hazard.”
Brooke unzipped her skirt and shimmied it down her hips.
She tossed it at the hamper, but it missed and landed on the floor beside the bed.
It was the only thing out of place in her bedroom.
From the colour-coded clothes hangers in her wardrobe to the labels stuck on every box of neatly stacked shoes, everything in Brooke’s house was perfectly organised.
She glanced at me over her shoulder as she slipped off her bra. “Did you remember to bring a change of clothes?”
I blinked. Aiden had tangled my mind into a hundred balls of wool. All the threads that held me together were so jumbled that I could barely remember to put on one set of clothes. There was no way I’d remember to pack a second.
“Sorry,” I said weakly. “I forgot.”
“Lolly!”
“You said we were going out for a couple of drinks to unwind,” I reminded her. “What’s the big deal?”
“It’s Friday night!”
“So?”
“Half the town will be at the Old Cellar. You need to look hot.”
Frowning, I sagged against the doorframe. “I’m not sure I’ve ever looked hot in my entire life.”
“What are you going on about? Of course you have! You just need to stop hiding under all those layers. And what if he’s there tonight?” she teased with a sly grin. “You know, a certain cabinetmaker who dresses a bit like a lumberjack?”
My stomach plunged to my loafers. I didn’t want to see Aiden.
I couldn’t .
The humiliation of his rejection outside the coffee shop was the new shadow stalking my steps. Busy days at work and nights spent with Brooke had distracted me. No one waited for me in the village store anymore. My welcome mat hadn’t received any gifts or a solemn visitor offering an apology.
But late at night, in my bed, the memories of Aiden hadn’t been dulled by the days that had slipped past.
I could still hear his whispers, still feel the tingle on my skin of him kissing each of the freckles along my collarbone.
My heart hadn’t forgotten how he sighed, the softest sound, when my finger had traced the trimmed edges of his beard, his eyes locked on mine like I meant something to him.
There hadn’t been a single sign Aiden was about to rip my heart out.
“That certain cabinetmaker has never been at the bar before,” I pointed out. His notable absence on our previous girls’ nights had been a big factor in why I agreed to this terrible idea.
“Yeah, but the game’s on tonight. All the guys come into town. At least, that’s what I’m counting on.” Grinning, Brooke grabbed a scrap of red satin off the bed. “I’ve got a dress even Harry can’t ignore.”
“I’m sure he’s not ignoring you on purpose.”
She tossed me a dubious look. “Has Aiden said anything?”
“Uh, no…”
“Lame.” Brooke jiggled her hips to slide the tight satin over her bottom. “If Aiden is there tonight, you need to look your best. Oh! I know just the thing!” She clapped her hands as she bounced on her toes. “Makeover!”
“No.” I held up my palm before her latest idea went any further. “Absolutely not.”
Brooke’s face fell. “But—”
“No way. This isn’t a teen movie montage where you dress me up, take off my glasses, and suddenly all the guys in town notice me.”
Brooke pouted. “Will you at least change into something not covered in stinky milk puke? I’m sure I’ve got something you can wear.
You’re taller, but we’re probably about the same size.
Well, except for the boobs.” She grinned.
“Here.” Metal squeaked as she ran clothing hangers along the rails.
“ This would look great on you.” She held up an emerald dress.
I wrinkled my nose. Sequins. Lots of them. “It’s, um… shiny?”
“Everyone can do with a bit of extra sparkle.”
I shook my head. No way was I wearing sequins.
Brooke turned back to her wardrobe, hands on her hips.
“Oh! This one.” She slipped a hanger off the railing and held out a simple black shift dress for me to inspect.
“Modest and boring, and it’s in the funeral colours you’ve liked so much this week.
We could pair it with a cute belt or a necklace or something. ”
After a few more half-hearted refusals from me and a lot more pleading from Brooke, I caved. With the modesty of an awkward teenager stuck undressing in a school locker room, I peeled off my turtleneck and skirt and slipped the dress over my head.
Brooke stood back, looking me over as she tapped her chin. “You need a little something more. I know just the thing!” She held out a cropped denim jacket. “Chic. Laid-back. Perfect for the bar.”
“Sold.” Anything to get this over with. “Can we go now?”
“Almost…”
Brooke grumbled bitterly when I only agreed to a touch-up of the powder on my face and a fresh swipe of lipstick. The cloud of perfume she spritzed made me sneeze. Finally, she launched a fresh attack, approaching me with a curling iron and a hopeful smile.
Folding my arms, I glared at her. “Nope.”
“But—”
“Double nope.” I let my frustration melt away with a warm smile. “Makeover complete. Let’s go…”
The Old Cellar was a formidable building at night. Like a scene torn from a gothic horror film, two storeys of sandstone and black trim loomed behind gnarled trees shaking loose autumn leaves.
People swarmed the top balcony and the gardens outside.
I twisted the cuffs of the denim jacket in nervous fingers. Brooke wasn’t kidding. This place was packed. But before I could stammer an excuse to leave, she grabbed my hand and pulled me inside.
“Hey, do you see Harry?” she asked as she dragged me through the crowd. “I hope I haven’t wasted my new dress on a bunch of crusty old pervs.”
Almost tripping trying to keep up with Brooke, I scanned the bar.
A herd of men clustered together, eyes glued to the game playing on the screens lining the back wall.
Harry’s familiar crop of red hair was nowhere to be seen, but I recognised some of the faces.
A couple of the firefighters. The butcher who’d sliced through his finger and needed two stitches, and—God help me—Evan Barnes.
Fear zipped down my spine, speeding my loafers silently across the floor. Putting distance between me and Evan was the only thing that mattered.
In my rush to get away, I almost missed seeing the man who nodded at me as we passed. He had the kind of face that coaxed me to smile back, even though I had no idea who he was. Dimples softened his weathered skin, and his dusty blond hair gave him a boyish sort of charm.
“Brooke, who’s that—” My words died in my throat.
The mystery man nudged the figure hunched beside him at the bar—broad shoulders, dark hair, and a red-checked flannel shirt.
No, no, no.
“Aiden’s here!” Brooke breathed, her fingernails digging into my arm. “I told you he would be!”
The man in question flicked a glance over his shoulder. He saw me. I know he saw me. His jaw clenched so hard that a muscle popped near his temple. He ignored the mystery man and turned his back. At least he was consistent in his hatred for me.
I tugged Brooke’s hand in the direction of the doors. “Can we go—”
“Free seats!”
She tightened her grip on my hand and ploughed ahead, dragging me to the two free stools at the end of the bar. Her hand shot up. The bartender ignored her completely, but she just grinned, unfazed.
“Just so you know, Aiden’s looking at you,” she said.
I snorted a laugh. Not likely. “Who’s that with him?” I asked, carefully trying to steer the conversation somewhere— anywhere —other than Aiden.
“Who?” Brooke’s voice pitched with interest, and she craned her neck, getting a good look in all directions. “Oh. Him.” She sat back, disappointed, and waved her hand as if his presence were a giant waste of time. “Ryan Hollyoak.”
“One of the Hollyoaks, huh? I haven’t seen him in town before.”
“He’s quiet. He breeds stinky cows and stuff. The church ladies rave about him, but…” Brooke shrugged. “I don’t see the big deal.”
“What? Too…blond?”
“No.”
“Too ruggedly handsome?”
Brooke rolled her eyes. “Hardly.”
“Too…not Harry?”
Instead of the smile I was expecting, she sighed. “I really thought he’d be here tonight.” Her confidence seeped away, and she sank lower on the stool.
I tried distracting Brooke by asking her about the new reality show she was hooked on. That chatter amused her for about two minutes until her fingernails started tapping impatiently on her knee. She hiked her chin and not-so-subtly peered down the bar.
“Oh!” Brooke’s hand shot out to grab my arm. “Aiden looked again.”
This time, I didn’t stamp down the flicker of hope fluttering in my chest. “Really?”
She squeezed my arm tighter. “He’s heading over to order. Quick! Go get drinks for us, okay? It’s the perfect excuse to say hi. We aren’t getting much love from the bartender anyway.”
I edged off the stool. “I’m not sure—”
“Go!”
She shooed me off with an encouraging smile, but my stomach twisted into a lump of knots.
Why did this feel like a terrible idea?