Nine
Winter
As soon as I arrived in town, I made a group text with all of my best friends and let them know I’d be there.
Nora doesn’t live here anymore since she moved away for college and landed a job in Seattle, but everyone else still does.
Over the years, I remained in contact with Reign and Ella Mae.
At a minimum, we’d text frequently and video chat at least once a month, and they’ve both visited me in NYC.
I’ve been home for almost a week, and we’ve yet to meet up because of conflicting schedules.
Despite their busyness, I bet they had a better week than I did.
I thought I’d be helping Saint the one day, but my mother kept nosing into my business and volunteering for me.
So I got to relive that awkwardness every single day.
Each day, we rode to the shop together, only for Saint to disappear when we arrived, leaving me in Sandy’s hands for instructions. Neither of us has broached the topic of the painting.
We just got back to my parents’ house a few minutes ago and found it empty. A note on the table lets us know that my parents are on a date, Dougie is staying the night at a friend’s house, and there’s no info on Cypress, but that’s not unusual due to his age.
Seeing as we’re alone and I’m still being a chicken about being around Saint, I practically sprint up the stairs to my room. Flopping down on top of my bed, I pull out my phone and hope that Friday night brings plans.
Me: Anyone want to meet for a drink at Bottom Barrel?
It doesn’t take long before I get a reply from both Reign and Ella Mae.
Reign: I’m in. 8 sound good?
Ella Mae: 8 works for me, too. Does that work, Win?
Me: See you then.
Today I helped paint some of the ornaments, and despite wearing an apron, I’m quite a mess. The couple of hours of free time work in my favor, allowing me to get cleaned up.
Clad in my favorite jeans and a comfortable chunky knit sweater, I survey myself in the mirror. I styled my black hair in loose curls that look flirty and added some winged eyeliner to frame my brown eyes. Happy with the look, I add a smidge of clear lip balm and grab my purse.
As I drive to town, the anticipation builds for reuniting with my besties. I sing along to my pop playlist, and before I know it, I’m looking for a parking spot downtown. Once parked, I walk with giddy excitement to the bar.
On the outside, Bottom Barrel doesn’t appear to have changed one bit other than the chipping paint here and there. It’s well known that this is a crowd favorite here in Yule, but I’ve never actually stepped inside since I was underage before moving away.
The door is heavy when I push it open, and I’m greeted with a rush of warm air.
It feels fantastic in here after walking in the chill.
For a couple of minutes, I stand to the side of the entrance, looking around the space.
It’s a pretty rustic chic establishment, heavy on the rust. Scuffed hardwood floors, a mishmash of different tables and chairs, a crowded bar on one wall, and an area for dancing.
When a hand frantically waves back and forth, I look over just in time for Reign to yell my name.
They’re sitting at a table near the corner and have a seat saved for me with jackets on it.
As I get near them, their enthusiastic hugs practically tackle me.
We all laugh, and they grab their stuff from the chair, making room for me.
“What’re we starting with?” I ask, gesturing to the three shot glasses already on our table.
“Tequila.” Reign grins at me knowingly.
I groan. “You know tequila does awful things to me.”
“I think you mean that you do awful things when tequila is involved,” Ella Mae corrects as she laughs at my clear refusal to confirm or deny the statement. There’s been more than one occasion when tequila got me in trouble.
“Drink up,” Reign encourages. We all oblige, picking up our glasses and slinging back the fiery liquid.
“Ugh.” I pant. “Why don’t we have lime or salt or anything? That’s disgusting.”
Ella Mae flags down a server and orders a few more rounds for us with accompaniments, which make the next drinks go down easier.
We’re good and truly tipsy when we’re finished drinking. We haven’t gotten up from our spot yet, choosing instead to people-watch and catch up.
Our conversation is interrupted when a guy dressed in cowboy attire approaches us.
He introduces himself as Chet and then proceeds to hover over me as he flirts.
My eyes move up his frame, taking him in.
It’s clear from his perfectly clean clothes and callus-free hands that he isn’t a real cowboy.
It becomes clearer the longer he talks that he’s from out of town, which makes sense with it being Yule’s busiest time of year for tourists.
This guy probably figured he’d try on the cowboy look while visiting and pick one of us up.
This Chet fellow has been singling me out, and I’ve tried to make it clear that I’m not interested. Just as his hand comes down to land on my arm for what feels like the millionth time, he’s moved backward. Saint and Royal now stand on either side of him, puffed up and pissed off.
“She’s not interested,” Saint tells him.
The guy argues. Tries to tell Saint he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Saint is having none of it. Turning to me with an eyebrow cocked, he asks, “You interested in the wannabe cowboy here?”
When I shake my head, Saint makes a shooing motion. Chet doesn’t take the cue, instead turning to look at Reign and Ella Mae, both of whom he’s been ignoring until now.
Royal steps in the way of Chet before looking at Ella Mae and saying, “They’re not interested either. It’d be best for you to be on your way now. That way, things will stay friendly.”
Both men cross their arms over their chests as they wait for him to scurry away.
The three of us women break out in a fit of giggles over the look the scared out-of-towner shot at the guys. It probably wouldn’t be as funny if we weren’t four or five drinks in. But we are.
After the men exchange glances, Royal urges Ella Mae and Reign to leave the table. He insists he’ll see them home. They say goodbye, and then it’s just me and Saint. I gulp nervously at the look in his eyes.