1. Sabrina #2
But there was no way he could know. He hadn’t even recognized me, so I couldn’t imagine he’d been keeping tabs. While I may have looked a hell of a lot different from I had at seventeen, it would have been nice if he’d at least remembered my signature death glare.
I sat silently, making intense eye contact. A technique I’d mastered years ago. Worked every time. He was already filling the silence, giving me the upper hand.
“Which of your brooms did you ride back into town?” He smirked, clearly amused by his own wit.
“Left them all at home. Brought my G-Wagon instead,” I shot back. “I save the brooms for special occasions.”
“Human sacrifice?”
Matt returned with our drinks, his brows shooting up at that comment.
Gabe took a big sip of his beer and swallowed, then broke into a satisfied smile. “It’s delicious. Want a sip?” He held the glass out to me like he really thought I’d willingly put my lips anywhere near where his had been.
“No. Keep your gross beer. Maybe the bitterness will help you finally grow some facial hair.”
He huffed like he was offended. Please. That little dig was nothing.
“And whiskey is so sweet and delicious,” he sneered.
I held the glass up and examined the color.
It wasn’t up to my usual standards, but it would do for now.
“It’s not sweet. But whiskey is honest.” I closed my eyes and took a sip.
“It’s not trying to be anything but what it is.
When I sip whiskey, I’m acknowledging that I’m drowning my sorrows and avoiding my problems like James Fucking Joyce. It dignified and stylish.”
He scanned our surroundings, then leaned forward, lowering his voice. “You haven’t changed, have you? Still a ball-busting shrew who thinks she’s better than everyone.”
I bristled. “I’ve changed a lot, actually.” Though it was a challenge, I forced a smile. “I’m stronger and meaner, and I have significantly less tolerance for mediocre men.”
“I suppose twenty years in DC will do that to a person.”
“Compared to a life spent too afraid to leave the confines of one’s small town?” I clapped back. “I’m doing great.”
He shook his head and sipped his beer, looking entirely too comfortable for my liking. “I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you. The kind of evil streak you possess is typically visible from space.”
“I know.” I raised my glass in a mock toast. “I do look amazing. Thank you.”
His mouth twitched. “Can’t argue with that. Drinking the blood of kittens to stay young?”
“Kitten blood is so last year.” Waving, I took another sip. “I’ve moved onto sucking the souls out of crappy small-town mayors.”
Matt appeared beside the table and set a plate in front of me with a flourish. “I’ve got Sugar Shack pork tacos for you.”
“Thank you.” I gave him a polite smile.
“This is slow braised pork shoulder,” he went on, “with a maple bourbon glaze, pickled red cabbage, apple fennel slaw, and a Vermont cheddar crema.”
“Looks great,” Gabe said with a forced smile.
The tacos did look delicious. And refreshingly trendy for small-town Vermont. My stomach grumbled, but I couldn’t eat a taco with my hands right now. I’d lose my edge in this standoff, and if I’d learned one thing in my career, it was that one should never give up a tactical advantage.
Gabe, clearly not having the same reservation, picked up a taco and took a big bite.
“I heard about you, you know,” he said, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “Heard you were a fixer. The person to call when things get ugly.”
Wow. Had my lore really made it all the way up here?
“Because I can handle it,” I said curtly, sticking with the cool persona. “I manage crises.”
“Because you’re willing to do ugly things?” Casually, he took another bite.
I bristled. I didn’t enjoy being on the wrong side of ethics, but it was part of the job on occasion.
“Someone has to do it,” I said. “Can’t solve actual problems with maple syrup and parades.”
He rolled his eyes. “Makes sense. You always did take losing a little too personally.”
Fury ignited inside me. Leaning forward, I locked eyes with him, ensuring he saw the anger there.
“I didn’t lose,” I snapped. “I got mono. One test, and my perfect GPA was shot.”
“Still counts.” He shrugged.
Shrugged.
“You were valedictorian by default,” I said, pulling my shoulders back. “I took harder classes, held down two part-time jobs, and didn’t have Mommy and Daddy taking care of my every need.”
He finished his taco and tilted his head, considering me. The jackass was so handsome and easygoing it made me want to rage. Not that I’d show him how he affected me. I was a pro at remaining icy cool.
Still, beneath the surface, I was ready to throw hands.
“It’s funny,” he said, picking up his beer. “All that power in Washington. Your big job and fancy clothes and degrees. But here you are, still the bad guy. Must be hard, coming home and slipping into second place again.”
Eye twitching, I ground my teeth, working to get a handle on my aggravation. I’d been attacked by a sheik’s bodyguards and private military contractors. Once in a private jet over the Indian Ocean. But never had I wanted to throttle a man so badly.
All the Zen, the breathing techniques, the therapy I’d done to ensure I wouldn’t crack, went straight to hell.
I picked up a taco, giving him a moment to bask in his insults.
Then I threw it.
The corn-shelled delicacy hit him in the chin with a wet slap. Sticky pork slid down the front of his shirt and a slice of fennel stuck to his jawline.
Silence fell over the brewery. Behind me, pint glasses clinked.
The two of us stared at one another.
The taco had barely hit his lap when it dawned on me that I may have overreacted.
Also, this would be major town news before I even made it to the parking lot.
Across the room, a phone was lifted. Dread swept through me. Great. This would be all over TikTok by morning.
Whispers spread across the space like wildfire.
“Taco.”
“She threw a taco.”
“At the mayor.”
Gabe stared at me, nostrils flaring, and peeled the tortilla off his lap, then dropped it onto the plate between us. “Good to know your conflict resolution skills haven’t improved since middle school.”
A rush of anxiety pummeled me. Between my explosive anger and the scrutiny of people I hadn’t laid eyes on in a decade, my instincts were telling me to run.
“Thank you for a lovely evening.” Sneering, I picked up my bag and coat. Then I headed for the door.
Every eye followed me.
Good.
Let them stare.
Head high and shoulders back, I strutted to the exit. My reputation had already been destroyed in DC; let Maplewood judge me.
The parking lot was dark, quiet, and slick with patches of ice. Focused on the gravel so I didn’t slip, I rounded the side of the building.
I was still a dozen feet or so from my car when a loud clang startled me, making me come to an abrupt halt.
I held my breath and scanned my surroundings.
Another clang. Then the dumpster rattled.
Squinting, I assessed the large metal container. I’d taken a step toward it when a black bear emerged.
I reared back, putting distance between us, but my heel caught on a patch of ice and I tumbled to the ground and landed with a graceless splat.
“Fantastic,” I muttered, scrambling to my feet.
As I stood, I wobbled. Shit. My heel. It had snapped clean off.
“What the fuck?” I yelled at the bear as I backed up.
She was only ten yards away. And she had a glittery pink shoe hanging out of her mouth.
Heart pounding, I threw my arms out. “What’s your funking problem?”
A strong hand clutched my wrist, pulling me back.
“Get back,” Gabe hissed. “Don’t yell at her.”
“She started it,” I argued, jabbing a finger her way.
“She’s a bear.” He tugged me against his annoyingly hard chest.
The irritation flooding me because of the bear’s antics only multiplied. Of course Gabe was ripped.
I shoved him away.
“Fuck you,” I yelled at the animal. It wasn’t that big, by bear standards, and I was done playing nice.
I chucked my broken heel at the bear, though it hit one of the dumpsters with a loud thunk instead.
“These are Jimmy Choo,” I shouted.
“Don’t taunt her,” Gabe gritted out. “That’s Betsy Ross.”
I turned and glared at him. Of course my Podunk hometown had named the beast. “I’ll take my chances with the bear over a man anytime.”
The animal had me locked in its sights now. Shit. In the back of my mind, logic kicked in. This was a dangerous situation. But I was too fired up to care. “Stay away from me. You fuck with me, and I’ll hunt you down and turn you into a rug.”
She continued watching me.
Blinked a few times.
Then stood on her hind legs.
My stomach plummeted. Oh shit. Yelling at her may have been a mistake.
Rather than come after me, though, she dropped back down and wandered away, knocking into a stack of empty kegs beside the dumpster.
One tipped. Then another. A third rolled across the parking lot, gathering speed before slamming into the side of a red Jeep.
A heavy thud echoed off the building. It was followed by a loud hiss filling the night air.
Gabe groaned. “My tire.” He rushed toward the Jeep and crouched next to the dented rim and rapidly flattening tire.
“The damn bear blew my tire.”
A ridiculous rush of amusement bubbled up inside me. I tried to hold it in.
I really did.
But the laughter burst out of me despite my efforts.
This was officially the weirdest day of my life.
I waved at the retreating bear. “I forgive you for the shoe,” I called.
Behind us, half the town of Maplewood had filed out of the bar and were watching. Some of them were filming.
Fantastic.
Refusing to cower, I hobbled to my car with one heel intact, climbed in, and drove away. As I pulled out, Gabe Harding was still standing in the parking lot, frowning at his flat tire, covered in maple pork taco.