8. Halle
HALLE
Maybe I do need a therapist, because what the fuck was I thinking?
Kissing Cash was harmless; he’s probably kissed a dozen girls this week alone. But with the whiskey, the moon, the way he looked at me…
That was a mistake. A big one.
Now the memory keeps looping in my head like one of those shitty country songs that gets stuck on repeat at The Bar.
All I can think about is his hand finding my waist and the split-second where he kissed me back before my brain slammed on the brakes.
I’m thirty-two years old, divorced, and still putting myself back together with home renovations and pink hair dye.
And he’s…what, twenty-one? Twenty-two?
I’m not letting my rebound be a kid. Everyone already thinks I’m making poor choices. If I go down that road, it will prove everyone right.
The Bar is dead tonight, which isn’t helping me to not spiral.
A slow Thursday means fewer distractions and way too much time alone with my thoughts.
Aunt Aria called in sick—food poisoning from some sketchy takeout.
So it’s just me, Uncle Matt, and a handful of regulars who nursed two beers apiece.
The low hum of the neon sign buzzing above the back counter mixes with whatever country song is playing.
My reflection in the mirror behind the bottles catches my eye—hair twisted up in a messy knot, smudged eyeliner, and the little crease between my brows that’s become permanent since walking out of what was supposed to be our forever home.
I look tired.
I look like someone who should know better.
The kiss happened about a week ago. I figured Cash would be the type to just let a single kiss happen and understand that it was only ever going to be that, but he’s been in here every shift since, watching me with those green eyes like he’s waiting for me to talk about it.
There’s absolutely nothing to talk about, though.
This isn’t high school. It meant nothing.
So I do what I do best. I’ve ignored him, pretending like nothing happened and he’s just a patron here—short answers, busy work, pretending I need to check stock in the walk-in every time he lingers too long.
I’m fucking pathetic. He keeps showing up and I keep pretending I don’t notice, and I don’t have a single thing to say that would make any of this make sense.
Customers slowly start to trickle out and Uncle Matt comes up to me. “Halle, Aunt Aria needs me. Can you handle closing up by yourself tonight? Most of the side work is done and it looks like everyone might clear out early.”
He looks at me as if I’m supposed to give him permission, but he’s the fucking boss of me. I get it, though. It means leaving me alone in The Bar, and he doesn’t know if I’m comfortable with that. I open my mouth to talk but loud mouth beats me to it.
“I can stay here with her and make sure she’s safe and heading home,” Cash says from across the bar.
Uncle Matt smiles at Cash. “Thanks, dude.” Then he hauls ass out the door, placing a quick peck goodbye on my forehead.
My eye twitches as I watch Cash wave at Matt as he leaves, annoyance creeping into my tone. “Do I look like I need a babysitter, Cash?”
“No, but you’ve been actively avoiding me, and I don’t like that.”
“Well, Benjamin Cash, I don’t really care what you like or prefer, unless you’re ordering drinks from the bar. You’re overestimating your position in my life. Avoiding talking about the other night would mean that something happened worthy enough of a conversation, but there isn’t.”
He says nothing more, just takes a seat at the end of the bar, his eyes never leaving me. I keep busy, finding any nook and cranny to deep clean because I’m very much avoiding him.
The last customer finally shuffles out around eleven-thirty and Cash has disappeared from his seat at the end of the bar.
I assume he’s also gone home. I flip the sign to CLOSED and lock the front door, exhaling like I’ve been holding my breath for hours.
The quiet settles heavy—just the clink of glasses as I load the dishwasher, the drip of the beer taps, and my own thoughts getting louder.
I’m finishing putting away the last of the glasses when I hear the back door creak open. My stomach drops.
Who the fu—
I grab the shotgun Aria hides behind the bar and swing around the bar to see the back door, the gun raised at torso level just like my dad taught me. Cash steps inside, his motorcycle keys dangling in one hand and his helmet in the other.
“Do you want to get shot?” I ask, still pointing the shotgun at him.
The corner of his mouth pulls up slowly, like he’s actually considering the question.
“Go ahead. At least I’d die looking at something beautiful.”
My brain stops computing his words, and my cheeks burn with rage as my core gets the stupid fucking butterflies.
Don’t you fucking dare, Halle. You’re too old and in the middle of a goddamn divorce. This is not the time.
He walks toward me, like I’m not pointing a loaded shotgun at his chest. His eyes stay on mine the whole time, only stopping when the barrel is maybe six inches from his sternum. He looks down at it then back up at me, then he reaches with one hand and pushes the barrel toward the floor.
“Easy, Darlin’. I told Matt I would stay to make sure you left safely, and I meant it.
Do you need any help?” He shrugs like it’s casual, but his eyes scan the empty bar, then land on me.
There’s something protective in the way he stands there, filling the doorway.
His hair is messy and his T-shirt fits him in a way I clock before I can stop myself, and I hate that I clock it.
It was a mistake. He’s too young. I’m not even in a place to begin thinking about being with a man. I need to stop.
“I’ve got it. You can head out.”
He moves past me, setting his belongings on the stool, and starts collecting chairs, flipping them onto tables with easy efficiency. “Not leaving you here alone—I just said that.”
I laugh sharply. “I close by myself all the time, Cash. I don’t need your protection.”
“Well, the way you hesitated with the gun tells me that I need to stay.”
“Maybe I just didn’t want to shoot you.”
He finishes putting the last of the chairs up and looks at me. “Never hesitate if you believe there’s a threat. You fucking shoot, Halle.”
I set the tray down harder than necessary. “Look, if this is about the other night—”
“It’s not. And we don’t have to do the whole awkward replay. You’ve ignored me all week. I get it.”
“No, we do.” I cross my arms, leaning against the bar. “It was a mistake. I was emotional, you were … there and willing. End of story. We aren’t doing this.”
He pauses mid-chair, one eyebrow lifting. “Doing what, exactly?”
“This.” I gesture between us. “Whatever you think is happening. You’re young; I’m not. I just got out of an eight-year marriage that imploded. I’m not looking for a rebound, and even if I was, it’s not going to be with some kid who still thinks life works like a country song.”
Cash sets the chair down slowly. His jaw tics, but he doesn’t look angry. More like…amused? And just like that, I’m pissed off more than I was before.
“I’m not a kid, Halle.”
“You’re younger than me by a decade. Close enough.”
He walks over, stopping on the other side of the bar. Close enough that I can smell his cologne—something woodsy and clean that makes my pulse stupidly skip.
Damn it.
The attraction is there, whether I want to admit it or not. He’s tall, solid, with that quiet confidence that makes my skin feel too warm. His eyes drop to my mouth for half a second before meeting mine again, and heat curls low in my belly.
I hate how much I notice him.
“You kissed me, Halle,” he says, voice low. “I just kissed you back. For a second, anyway, before you hit me.”
“It was a mistake,” I repeat, firmer this time, mostly for myself. “I’m not letting my first stupid decision post-divorce be hooking up with the hot younger guy whose family might as well also be my family. That’s pathetic as hell.”
His mouth curves into a half-smile. “You think I’m hot?”
I roll my eyes so hard it hurts. “Not the point, Cash.”
He chuckles.
I should kick him out. I should tell him to leave again. Instead, I find myself grabbing the broom, sweeping around his boots while he finishes putting the glasses up.
After a few minutes, I ask, “Why are you really staying?”
“Matt shouldn’t have left you. Were you never told the story of the time Aria killed someone in The Bar who was trying to come after my mom?”
I laugh. “I can’t believe you actually believe that. You know that’s just a story they told to scare you boys.”
“This is a small town, Halle, but that doesn’t mean it’s always safe. There are strays that roll in here all the time.”
“I can handle myself.”
“I know you can.” He glances over, serious now. “Doesn’t mean you should have to.”
I focus on pushing dirt into a pile, ignoring the way my chest tightens.
Zach never would have done this—never even worried about me walking to my car.
He was always too busy, too important. Cash standing here after a slow night, refusing to leave …
It feels different and too much to deal with right now. So, I bury it further down.
When I go to take the trash out, he grabs the bag from me and takes it out. He doesn’t push the kiss conversation again, but I feel it humming between us.
Every time his arm brushes mine as he reaches for something, every time our eyes catch across the room … The attraction is mutual. I can see it in the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention.
I can’t want him.
But God, part of me does. It’s the traitorous part that’s been lonely for longer than I care to admit. The part that notices how strong his forearms look when he lifts a keg like it weighs nothing. The part that wonders what it would feel like to let someone want me without all the baggage.
I shake it off and head to the office to count the drawer. Cash follows, leaning in the doorway while I work.
“I’m not some damsel. I’ve handled worse than a slow night at The Bar,” I tell him, not looking up from the bills.
He huffs a laugh. “You’ve said that probably half a dozen times, and I’m still not listening. Are you going to get the hint?”
I snort. “You should really respect my boundaries and go. I’m alone with you in a bar. Who’s to say you aren’t a threat to me?”
“Oh, if I was a real threat to you”—he steps closer, voice dropping—“you’d be backed up against that wall right now while I find out what your lips taste like again.”
My hand goes still with the money in it.
I don’t look up because if I look up he’ll see it on my face, and I will absolutely not be giving him that.
“Whatever you say,” I say, shoving the cash into the deposit bag. “Attention whore.”
He laughs, low and warm and completely unbothered. He already knows he won that one.
So do I.
By the time we kill the lights and step out the back door, the night air is cool and damp, carrying the scent of pine from the woods behind the building.
I lock up, keys jangling in the quiet. My bike is parked under the security light where I left it—my most prized possession. Zach hated that I loved to ride so Aunt Aria kept it here for me. First thing I did when I got back to Cedarbrook was take her.
Cash walks me over, hands in his pockets.
“That’s yours?” he asks, surprise flickering across his face when I swing a leg over.
“Yeah. Why?”
He stares at the bike, then at me, like he’s piecing something together. “Didn’t realize it was yours. Can’t believe I actually let you smoke me out the other day. Won’t happen again.”
I smirk. “Oh, it will definitely happen again, Thornwood.”
I slide my helmet on while he stands there, looking dumbfounded—mouth slightly open, eyes tracking the way I settle onto the seat. There’s a flash of something hotter in his expression—respect mixed with that same pull I’ve been fighting all night.
“Be careful,” he says finally, voice rough.
I nod, starting the engine, the low rumble vibrating through me.
It feels good. Grounding. Like I’m in control again.
I don’t look back as I pull out of the lot, but I feel his eyes on me the whole way down the road.
The wind whips at my jacket, cool against my flushed skin.
My thoughts are still spinning—mistake, kid, rebound, attraction I don’t want—but the bike smooths some of it out.
Just me and the dark highway curving toward Grandma’s house.
I thought kissing Cash was the mistake.
The real mistake might be how much I want to do it again anyway.
The house is dark when I pull up. I kill the engine and sit there for a minute in the driveway, helmet in my lap, staring at the porch light I left on. The living room is still half-rearranged from my weekend chaos, but it feels more like home every day.
I run my fingers through my tangled hair and sigh. Cash’s face keeps flashing behind my eyes.
He stayed. He wanted to stay and keep me company.
My stomach flips again and I shove the feelings down.
No. You aren’t going there.
That’s what I keep trying to tell myself, even if there’s a part of me that wonders what that would feel like.