Chapter 6 #2
He’d sensed a lot of interest in whatever was happening between him and Wren. If they knew, he wished they’d tell him.
Anyway, the sense that they were being watched was why he’d stopped at the last minute, why he’d pulled back.
Did she think he was playing her? He wouldn’t blame her if she did.
God, he was so out of practice, he didn’t know how to navigate situations like this anymore.
Since his divorce, he didn’t date date. Oh, he’d had a fair bit of sex, but hooking up was different from buying a woman drinks, talking to her over a couple of hours, contemplating whether there was potential for more.
He couldn’t do more, didn’t want to do more.
And really, shouldn’t he figure out his life first, his next steps—how to handle his mental block and PTSD, how to restart his career—before he started seeing someone?
Okay, so, just like the hour he’d spent drinking coffee with Wren the other day, this wasn’t a date date.
And judging by Wren’s suggestion that they come here instead of the more upmarket places in town, she didn’t think it was one either.
Right. Hopefully they were on the same page.
He was simply having a drink with his dance instructor…
His dance instructor. God, if his friends found out he was taking a hip-hop class with a bunch of teenagers, they’d laugh their asses off.
And then tease him for the next twenty years.
Dane followed Wren to the bar and watched as she slid onto a barstool and crossed long, slim legs.
Date or not, he couldn’t help picturing being on his back, those legs straddling his hips, her hair, long and curly spilling onto his chest, soft and wild…
“Dane?”
He blinked, brought back to the present by Wren’s hand on his arm.
He looked at her, then at the bartender who was waiting for their order.
“Sorry, I zoned out for a second.” He placed his phone on the bar and took the barstool next to Wren.
His knee brushed hers as he sat down. Her perfume, light and floral, drifted past his nose.
Her scent… Concentrate, Trafford! “What are you having?” he asked her.
“I’ll have a glass of your house Chardonnay,” Wren said. Dane ordered a beer and rolled his shoulders, conscious of a little stiffness settling in.
Wren noticed. “Are you okay?” she asked, as he lifted his hand to knead his shoulder.
“Mmm, my shoulders are stiff,” he replied, noticing her only makeup was some mascara and a natural shade of gloss. “It can’t be from dancing, right?”
Wren leaned forward, held his eyes, her expression serious. “It can’t possibly be from dancing, Dane,” she told him.
“Oh. Why not?”
“Because you didn’t do anything today that remotely resembled dancing,” she told him, her eyes crinkling.
“Ha ha, funny.” He couldn’t help smiling, understanding that her teasing wasn’t malicious. And yes, the fact that he was an awful dancer was well established. The bartender placed their drinks in front of them, and Dane picked up his beer bottle. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.” Wren sipped her drink and sighed. “That hits the spot.”
Dane looked around the bar and smiled at the vinyl sign displaying “Jasper’s Rules.”
No sage, salt, or spiritual shit.
Spirits are served, not seen.
Mention a ghost sighting, and you buy a round for the house.
Don’t tell me the lights flickered, I pay the electric bill.
If you feel a chill, it’s a draft. Sit closer to the heater.
“Jasper is a skeptic?” he asked, chuckling. He nodded at the signs.
“The town’s biggest one,” Wren replied. She looked around the bar and pointed to a man with a full, gray beard and barrel-like chest. The tattoo on his massive bicep peeking out from below the band of the sleeve of his T-shirt told Dane that he was an ex-marine.
He looked like he took no shit. Dane immediately liked him.
Wren leaned forward and lowered her voice.
“Oh, and he’s not joking about buying a round if you mention a ghost. One Superbowl a few years back, the place was packed, and a True Believer mentioned that Captain Blackwood, the Civil War soldier, was sitting at the bar.
Jasper heard him and that round cost him a bomb. He hasn’t been back.”
“No ghost talk, noted. But I have been thinking about the town’s paranormal believers versus skeptics war. Is it real or just for show?”
Wren rocked her hand from side to side. “That’s a hard question to answer,” Wren said, tapping her finger on the rim of her glass.
“The bulk of the business owners and residents like the tourist money, and while they might not believe in the supernatural, they are happy to lean into the all-year-round Halloween theme—with a few exceptions, like Jasper. But even if Halloween wasn’t the center of the world here, Jasper’s bar would be the same. No frills and no fuss.”
And then she added: “There is a small group of residents who are virulently anti anything paranormal, who think the town is messing with ‘dark forces.’”
Dane didn’t quite see how, by displaying a couple of skeletons and watermelon jack-o’-lanterns they were inviting in “dark forces,” but instead of asking, he placed his elbow on the bar, happy to listen to her.
Wren continued, leaning in a little closer.
“But there’s another group, who truly lean into the paranormal, some who moved here for the energy, who believe the town is a portal to the other side.
They hate the fact that the town makes money off their beliefs; they say they are exploiting the ghosts. ”
“Uh … can the dead be exploited?” he asked.
“That question keeps some people up at night,” Wren said, smiling.
He loved her wide mouth, the way her amusement deepened the green of her eyes, the tiny lines that feathered the corners.
She wore, he noticed, dangling silver earrings that looked like—he leaned forward—broomsticks?
He lifted his finger and touched one gently, watching it swing.
There was her perfume again, rising from lovely, heated skin.
“Luna gave them to me for Christmas,” Wren said, her voice pitched higher than before.
He saw her swallow, watched her throat bob, and clocked her flushed cheeks.
Yeah, she was attracted to him, not as much as he was to her—he couldn’t think of anything he wanted to do more than take her to bed—but he affected her. He smiled, pleased.
He couldn’t kiss her, not in a brightly lit bar surrounded by people who’d watched her grow up. If … no, when he kissed her, he wanted to do it properly. Take his time to explore, to feast. He sat back and took a long swallow of beer.
Think about something else before you embarrass yourself, Trafford.
Wren looked around the bar, pushing her hand through her long curls. Were they as soft as they looked? He couldn’t wait to find out.
“Bird!”
Wren whipped around, and Dane watched, with no small amount of irritation, as Hayes and another guy walked toward them. They crossed the bar, two Wren-seeking missiles. And yeah, this definitely wasn’t a date type of place.
Wren hopped off her seat and was swept up into the arms of Hayes’s friend, and Dane’s hand tightened around his beer bottle.
What was it with the men in this town who thought they could pick her up and whirl her around?
He didn’t care how long she’d known them, when last she’d seen them, a handshake or a nod was perfectly acceptable.
There was no need for this public show of affection.
Just when he didn’t think he could stay in his seat any longer—not that he had any idea how he’d manage to get them to disengage—Wren was put back on her feet and hopped back onto her stool. She looked at him and gestured to her friends. “Dane, meet Thom Sheffield. You met Hayes a few days ago.”
“Dane came to check out my shop yesterday,” Hayes told her. He had, and he’d been impressed. Hayes and his people ran a hell of an operation.
Dane stood up and, yeah, reluctantly, held out his hand for the other guy to shake. “Dane Trafford.”
Thom’s grip was firm and brief. “The town’s new doc.”
God, this again? “Not happening. I’m too much of a hard-ass for family medicine,” he said, resuming his seat.
“I haven’t seen you for a couple of years, Bird,” Thom said. “How have you been?”
Wren answered him, and Dane knew their catch-up session wouldn’t end anytime soon.
Seeing that their hands were empty, he sighed, signaled the bartender, and asked Hayes what he wanted to drink.
“Just a Bud Light,” Hayes answered, pulling up a barstool.
Yep, there went his alone time with Wren.
He should’ve taken her to one of the spooky bars in town.
They might have been paranormal-themed, but at least he wouldn’t have had to fight two other guys for Wren’s attention. “Thom will have the same.”
After he placed the order, ordering another glass of wine for Wren and another beer for himself, he looked at Hayes. “You all grew up together, right?”
“In a way,” Hayes replied, resting his hands on his faded jeans. “We just happened to all be kids who returned regularly to spend the summer here. Wren stayed with her godmother; Thom’s parents had a summer house here; Poppy and I stayed with our grandparents.”
“Poppy?” Dane asked.
“Poppy ran around with us, too, she’s Wren’s best friend.” Hayes lowered her voice and looked to see whether Thom was listening. “She’s about to marry Thom’s younger brother.”
Dane frowned. “And that’s a bad thing?”
“He and Thom don’t speak. Haven’t for a while.”
Hayes took the beer Dane offered him, then picked up Thom’s bottle and nudged his arm. Thom took it without taking his eyes off Wren. Jealousy spiked, hot and sharp, and Dane had to look away.
“I heard that you hurt my girl today,” Hayes stated.
Dane’s attention immediately focused on Hayes’s face, wondering what the hell he was talking about. “Uh … what?”
“You stepped on my daughter Hadley’s foot at dance practice,” Hayes said, barely managing to contain his grin.