Chapter 2
Brett
The Perky Porch is just as I would have expected from the name. It’s quaint and homey with good music, great vibes, and the intoxicating smells coming out of the kitchen are to die for.
I’ve been sitting at the end of the bar for half an hour nursing a light beer, contemplating what to order for dinner, and listening to Tyler Childers over the jukebox. Being new in town, I don’t know this little place well enough yet, but if vibes are anything to go by, this place is rocking.
Small towns have always had their way with me, or me for them, whichever way you want to look at it.
I grew up a country boy, born and raised in Nashville.
The country way and the lifestyle are in my blood.
This isn’t anything new to me, but the change of scenery is, and that’s what I’ve been craving for a while now.
Somewhere new. Somewhere I can just be me. No expectations and, more importantly, no drama. I don’t do drama very well. That shit just creeps up into your veins until you eventually rot.
I raise my beer to my lips, not wanting to think about all I’ve left behind, because right now, nothing good—aside from my family and best friend—is waiting for me back home.
I’m mid sip when I see someone in my peripheral walking up to the counter. I notice the tan cowboy boots before anything else, followed by the legs belonging to the owner. Hot damn. Then, as if in slow motion, one foot slides on something, and the woman falls forward with a loud ‘holy fuck’.
I see the trademark puddle where someone must’ve spilled a drink, and no one cleaned it up yet.
The woman careers on a wild, slippery slope across the hardwood. Her arms flail and she slides right toward me. I’m out of my seat in a flash to steady the long-legged, chestnut-haired beauty before she crashes and hurts herself.
“Woah, there little darlin’,” I say, as her hands press against my chest to break her fall. I don’t miss the way she makes a gasping sound like the wind just got knocked out of her sails.
It’s not enough force to push me over, not by a long shot. I’m just glad I got to her when I did. I steady her with my arms around her shoulders as her lean weight falls into me.
“Holy shit,” she breathes as I hold her steady, a waft of something deep and luxurious delights my nostrils as we both pause. Sandalwood? Amber? Maybe a touch of vanilla, or cinnamon? Whatever it is, it’s rich and divine, just like her.
“I didn’t know ice skating was a thing around here.” I try to make light of the situation as I reluctantly let go of her, but I don’t move my stance, just in case the bottom of her boot is still slippery.
“Or maybe they put one too many shots in whatever you’re drinking.” I throw in a wink for good measure.
She blinks several times before her eyebrows knit together at my words. “Hey, I’m not drunk!” she protests. Geez, she has a cute face and pretty eyes to boot. She isn’t happy about my joke, though, but that just makes me smile even wider.
I tip my hat by way of apology. “Of course not.”
“I slipped on the damned hardwood.” The beauty thumbs behind her to the slick floor, as well as a squashed piece of lemon that didn’t help matters.
“Hazardous,” I agree. “Can I at least buy you a drink to calm your nerves after that near death experience?”
She narrows those brows again. Okay, so it’s fine for a complete stranger to be suspicious of me. Plus, if she’s a local, she’d know I’m new in town.
“No, thank you. My nerves are just fine.” She straightens herself out and my lips twitch as I quickly scan her over.
This woman is even more beautiful now I’m up close and looking into those chocolate whirlpools for eyes; her long lashes frame them perfectly, and I detect a cute freckle or two scattered over her cheeks.
She has minimal makeup, her skin glowy and soft. A natural beauty.
She wears dark denim jeans, a fitted dark purple shirt and those boots that look like they are made for walking. “Are you sure? I’ve slipped on a lemon wedge before in my time, you could’ve really hurt yourself.”
She scans me up and down quickly, and I have to admit, I like it.
It could just be wishful thinking, but do her eyes linger a second longer than necessary over my torso?
I’m in my usual attire: a Henley, flannel shirt—open because there’s a chill outside—plus my trusty old Levi’s and dark brown cowboy hat that’s never seen me wrong.
“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” she says eventually.
“Okaaaay.” I drag out the word because I can.
“Look, thank you and all for saving me from meeting my maker, or smashing my head on the bar—not a good look—but I’m tired and hungry and I need to order some food.
” She rights herself, pulling her shoulders back with some kind of indignation, presumably embarrassment, but she has nothing to be ashamed of.
This is fate. Then she steps closer to the bar, gripping the edge of it with her hands.
I chuckle at the meeting my maker comment.
Feisty.
I like that more by the passing second. It’s amazing what you can learn about yourself in a space of a few seconds in a new small town I can’t actually remember the name of. It also doesn’t hurt that the woman who just ran into me is cute, too.
I internally slap myself because I’m here in Wyoming to lie low and keep my nose out of trouble, not save any damsels in distress.
And The Perky Porch is the last place I was expecting to do that.
I’m still internally laughing my ass off at the names of things around here: Butterfingers Bakery?
The Dusty Spur Diner? Lonely Star Outfitters?
I don’t know who came up with the names, but I secretly like it.
“I’m Brett,” I say absently as she waits next to me to place her order at the counter. I guess that’s where she was heading before her near fall.
From my side glance, it appears she’s trying to forget I’m here, her fingers tap on the edge of the bar as she stares straight ahead at nothing but bottles of booze lined up on the back wall.
She finally replies with: “That’s nice.” As she begins wafting herself with the menu, strands of her chestnut hair blow around with the motion.
“I thought it was customary in a small town for everyone to be friendly?” I mutter out of the side of my mouth, intentionally directing it to her.
She spares me a glance. “You’re obviously new around here.”
I laugh. “Is it that obvious?”
“Kinda.”
I smirk, but quickly sober. “Won’t you tell me your name, darlin’?”
I don’t know why her sigh amuses me, but it does.
It’s like she’s having some kind of internal battle with herself.
I don’t really think it has anything to do with me, not that I’m the world’s biggest Casanova, but women usually respond to me in a more positive manner.
I think it’s the accent, or the hat. Her hostility makes me even more curious.
“It’s Bailey,” she finally says, though she may as well have added, ‘now go away.’
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Bailey.” I nod and awkwardly hold out my hand toward her.
This is what southern men do, but she looks down at it, her eyebrows knitting together for a millisecond before she reciprocates a quick, very tight handshake.
Not the watery, flailing kind you find so much in people these days. This woman means business.
It’s impressive, to say the least.
The way my big palm curls around her small hand, and the warmth that encases our touch, sends sparks through my body.
Sparks that shouldn’t be there because I just met this woman.
I know it’s stupid, because she could be here with someone…
I don’t know that she isn’t. And I’m supposed to be keeping a low profile…
“Do you mind if I order my food now?” she says, as she looks from me to the server, and I gesture that she should proceed. Not that she needs to ask me.
She rattles off a long order, obviously she’s here with other people, and pulls out her wallet from her back pocket. It’s then I fish my card from the top front of my flannel and lean over towards the credit card machine. “Allow me,” I say, and before she can pay, I tap the card against the screen.
Her head whips around and those angsty, dark eyes meet mine. “Why did you do that?”
“Well, it seems appropriate after what you’ve been through tonight,” I say, looking up at the server, giving her a chin lift. “There’s a spilled drink with a pesky lemon wedge causing some disruption over here, sweetheart.” I motion over to the scene behind me.
“I’ll get it cleaned right up.” The server, named Jill, smiles and tears off the meal receipt, passing it to Bailey.
“Sweet,” Bailey says, then turns to me. “Brett? You really didn’t need to do that, but thanks.”
I nod. “Any time.”
“And for saving my life.”
Wait, is that a hint of a smile?
I shake my head. “My momma is always tellin’ me to pay it forward, and I like to do that whenever I can.”
“Well, that’s awfully generous to pay for me and my friends’ meals.” As quick as she thanks me, her eyes narrow again. “Wait, you’re not trying to pick me up, are you?”
I’m not, but why would that be so terrible? Maybe my charms are wearing thin?
I purse my lips for a second and tilt my head to assess her, resisting the urge to laugh again.
I don’t think that would go down well. “No, I’m just trying to gain some brownie points with the good Lord up there.
” I point up towards the ceiling like that will give some clarification. “I’ve had a string of bad luck lately.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she replies, glancing toward the far end of the restaurant for a moment. “That happened to my friend, Sadie over there,” she goes on, flicking her head in that direction. “She went through a terrible time. But now look at her—happy in Wyoming and in love with her boss.”
My eyebrows shoot up in surprise as I follow her glance over to the far table where two girls are sitting chatting, a redhead and a blonde. “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” I muse.
“Not at all. I’m just saying, your luck can change in an instant.”
My eyes widen and she waves her hand in the air between us. “Shit! No, I didn’t mean it like that. OH MY GOD.” She slaps a hand over her mouth.
“Didn’t mean it like what, exactly?” I lift an eyebrow, hoping she’ll clarify. This is a fun game.
“Um… nothing. Did I mention I was tired?” she muffles over the top of her hand still covering her mouth.
“You did, Ma’am.” I don’t know if pressing my lips together will save me from wanting to chuckle once more, but it’s well worth a try. Fuck, she is damned cute. So is the crimson flush suddenly adorning her cheeks. Hot.
“I think I might need to sit down,” she says. “Or have a shot.”
I grin. “Long as you don’t go skatin’ again.”
Her eyes linger on my mouth for a fraction of a second, then she looks back again at her waiting friends. “Fine,” she sighs. “One quick shot. But I’m paying.”
I think I could get used to those dimples.
I’m used to women fawning at my feet, not because they want me, the real me anyway, the man they think they know.
This is refreshing. I like being in a place where nobody knows me and nobody cares. I haven’t had enough of that in my life for years.
“A quickie, you say?” I chuckle under my breath because I’m a cheeky jackass who clearly has no filter.
“Don’t even,” she fires back at me like a cannon.
“Tequila?” I offer.
“Now you’re talking.”