Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
HALLIE
“To Hallie! For finally taking pity on me and coming home.”
I laugh as Clara holds her shot glass aloft before tipping her head back and swallowing without a flinch. Delilah takes hers, too, but her face twists as the sting of the alcohol hits her. I grimace in sympathy.
“You sure you don’t want one?” Delilah asks.
I shake my head. “I’m good, thanks. Besides, someone has to stay sober here.”
“That’s Gabe’s job tonight,” Clara says. “But we won’t pressure you, babe.”
It isn’t like I’ve never had alcohol before.
I went to the liquor store and bought some on my nineteenth birthday like everyone else, but I’ve never been a fan of the taste.
And admittedly, I don’t like the idea of getting drunk and feeling out of control.
Or using it as a crutch like Amanda has in the past.
“What’s it like being the one drinking the drinks tonight instead of pouring them?” I ask, nudging Clara’s side.
She grins. “I love Dockside with everything I have, but I won’t deny that it’s nice to be away from it for the night.”
“Cheers to that,” Delilah says, raising her empty glass in another toast.
The bar in Tobermory—not the one with the karaoke, much to Luke’s delight—is a very different vibe than Dockside. Although Clara conceded on participating in karaoke, she still wanted us to get off the island for a change of scenery.
And this certainly is a change. The music is loud, the voices even louder, and the floor feels a little sticky beneath my boots. Beer signs line the walls, interspersed with old licence plates from all over. It’s a bit of an eclectic mix, but I find I don’t mind it. In small doses.
“ And ,” Clara adds, “I get to hang out with my bestest girls.” Her nose wrinkles. “Plus, my brothers.”
“They’re not so bad!” I defend.
Delilah nods. “Yeah, I happen to be particularly fond of one of them.”
Clara waves us off. “Neither of you had to share a bathroom with them growing up. You wouldn’t be so fond then.”
We turn back to the bartender, and they return their shot glasses. Clara and Delilah both order some kind of mixed drink. I stick with my water.
“This is the first time I’ve been out since I took guardianship of Parker and Sophia,” Delilah says. The statement is more factual than sad, but I know it’s still hard for her to talk about sometimes.
Clara wraps an arm around her. “All the more reason for us to do this tonight. You deserve a break.”
Delilah hugs her back, but then she straightens, her eyes lighting up. “Hey, Luke told me about the movie shoot. I’m so excited!”
“Movie shoot?” I ask.
Clara doesn’t answer, so Delilah jumps in. “A production company reached out to Maggie and John a bit ago and offered them a very hefty amount of cash to rent part of their parking lot for a couple weeks.”
My eyes widen. “What movie is it?”
It isn’t unheard of for bigger Hollywood productions to film some scenes in small-town Canada to save a few bucks, but crews have never come to Kip Island before.
At least, not since I’ve been alive. It is a bit surprising, though.
Our little island would make the perfect setting for a cute, cheesy Christmas movie.
“I have to pee,” Clara declares, abruptly changing the subject. “I’m going to the bathroom.”
I look to Delilah, but she only shrugs. “I’ll come with you,” she says.
I jerk my thumb over my shoulder. “I’ll go find the guys.”
My two friends take off, heading toward the back of the building. I turn away from the bar and crane my neck, trying to see which table Gabe and Luke ended up at. They were supposed to be saving us seats, except we got sidetracked when Clara and Delilah decided to do shots.
Before I get very far in my search, a body slides into my line of vision, blocking me in. The man is somewhat attractive. He’s slightly taller than me, and he has hair that’s blond and shaggy. His smile is nice, if not a little conceited.
I stand there awkwardly as I wait for him to move.
“What are you drinking?” he asks.
It takes me a moment to register that he’s speaking to me. “Sorry, what?”
He gestures to my empty glass. “I asked what you were drinking. I’ll get your next one.”
Oh. Oh . Is this flirting?
I feel self-conscious telling him it was just water; that I don’t really drink. “Oh, um, that’s okay,” I say with a tentative smile.
He leans on the bar, pressing into my space. The perusal his eyes make of my body sets my cheeks on fire. “C’mon, let me buy you a drink.”
I shake my head. “It’s really okay. I’m just trying to find my friends. You don’t?—”
“I insist. It’s not every night I get to talk with a beautiful woman like you.”
His eyes seem to bore straight into me, and the pressure mounts.
I’ve always had a hard time saying no, especially in environments I’m not familiar with.
If Clara and Delilah weren’t in the bathroom, they’d be all over this, telling the guy to get lost. The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t quite make myself say them.
“I, um, guess I’ll take a strawberry daiquiri.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Thank you.”
Inwardly, I cringe. I don’t particularly want the daiquiri, but I can just nurse it for the rest of the night. Or pawn it off on the girls. Clara is always experimenting with drinks at Dockside, so her tastes are vast.
The man flags the bartender down and orders our drinks. Then he turns back to me and flashes a shameless grin. “I’m Deacon.”
“Hallie,” I reply. I fidget with the zipper on my purse, feeling out of place.
Why didn’t you say no? You should’ve said no . You’re such a chicken .
Deacon studies me. “I haven’t seen you around here before. You visiting?”
I shake my head. “I’m from Kip Island.”
The bartender slides my drink toward me. I swirl the straw around my glass, prolonging having to take a sip.
Deacon lifts his glass of whiskey to his lips. Then he arches a brow when he notices I haven’t touched mine. “Is there a problem? Is it your drink?”
I open my mouth, ready to assure him that no, everything is fine and my drink is perfect. But someone else beats me to it.
“Yes,” Gabe says. There’s a hard edge to his voice that doesn’t match his usual disposition. “There’s definitely a problem.”
I shoot him a look that says, Don’t be rude . But he doesn’t even see it because he’s glaring at Deacon.
Deacon glances between me and Gabe, and then he holds his hands up in surrender. “My bad, bud.” He plucks his whiskey off the bar and takes a step back. “I didn’t realize she was taken.” He turns and walks away.
My cheeks blaze. I’m certain I can feel the bartender’s eyes on us, drinking in the drama. They most definitely see their fair share, night after night.
I fold my arms across my chest and look up at Gabe. “What did you do that for?”
“What?” he asks. “Get rid of a pest? He was bothering you.”
Annoyance swirls, but I’m not entirely sure why. “How do you know I wasn’t enjoying myself?”
Gabe takes a step forward, right into my space. I fight the urge to step back. His arms bracket me as he braces against the bar. “Because,” he says, those brown eyes piercing, “I know you, Foster.”
“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think,” I counter, feeling brave. “It’s been ten years.”
His gaze burns as it travels the planes of my face—maps the slope of my nose, the apples of my cheeks, the ridge of my brow.
“It could have been a hundred and I’d still remember the way you touch your hair when you’re nervous.
The way your eyes dart around, searching for escape.
Because I know you . Always have and always will. ”
The conviction in his tone is a promise. And that sends a warning to my brain. Gabe’s sincerity scared me back then, and it absolutely terrifies me now. Because all promises end up broken eventually.
“Well, you’re wrong.” I tip my chin up in defiance. “I was having a really good time getting to know Deacon.”
The lie is a little bitter on my tongue, but I’m used to the taste by now.
Gabe’s brow raises. He pushes off the bar, releasing me from the cage of his arms. Then he sweeps a hand toward the high top table across the room where Deacon has planted himself. “By all means, don’t let me stop you, then.”
The look on his face tells me that he thinks I’m bluffing. But I refuse to let him win. I take a sip of my drink, and then I walk away. I can feel Gabe’s gaze on me, so I take purposeful strides forward. Let him think I’m way more confident in this half-formed plan than I actually am.
Inside, I feel a little like I’m walking myself to the gallows, but my pride has taken over. Turning around and admitting that I was wrong is not an option. Letting Gabe know just how much I truly haven’t changed over the last ten years is not an option .
“Um, hey,” I say to Deacon. I reach up to tuck my hair behind my ear, but I stop myself. Instead, I flip a strand over my shoulder and hope I don’t look like a complete idiot.
Deacon’s eyes slide to me. “Hey,” he says with a grin. “You ditch your guard dog?”
I shrug. “Something like that.” My eyes dart around, looking for something—goddamn it, anything, really—to make conversation about. When they land on the blessedly empty pool table, I have to resist the urge to drop to my knees in prayer. “Do you know how to play pool?”
“I do.” He sets his whiskey on the table. “You up for a game?”
“I don’t know how to play. Maybe you could teach me?”
Wrong . This feels wrong. Unease settles in my stomach as Deacon drapes an arm over my shoulder and leads me toward the table. As he sets up our cues, I look over my shoulder, and my stomach drops to my feet.
I can finally see the table that the guys managed to claim. Luke is clearly trying to get his brother’s attention, but Gabe’s gaze is trained across the room. On me. My skin heats, and I know my cheeks are flaming red.
A hand lands on my arm, and I startle. Turning back to Deacon, I find him studying me. I force myself not to shrug off the contact.
“You ready?” he asks.
I nod. “Yup.”
Deacon launches into a demonstration, but I’m hardly paying attention. Because I can still feel Gabe’s eyes on me.
And they burn .