1
Maverick
I swirl the glass in my hands, watching the ice slowly melt into the syrupy gold liquid.
“You okay, hon?”
I tilt my head up and am met with the friendly face and warm smile of a middle-aged woman. Her gray-streaked blonde hair is tied back with a scrunchie, and a rustic green apron with the name of this place, Bunny’s, sits neatly over her light-blue chambray shirt.
I reach for my wallet and slide a twenty across the counter. “Yeah, fine. Sorry.”
Not sure how long I’ve been nursing a drink at the end of the bar, but I sense I may have overstayed my welcome. It’s June. Tourists have already started descending, even though harvest season doesn’t start for another month. She’s probably trying to free up some real estate.
“It’s okay.” She slides the twenty back, assessing me with a gentle kindness in her eyes. “I’m Bunny Hatfield. Nice to meet you.”
“I’m—”
“Maverick Benson, I know, honey.”
I drop my gaze, my fingers fiddling with the rim of the glass. “Right.”
Of course she knows. In a small town like Silverstone, my oldest brother, Wagner, returning to take over the family winery and reverse its failing fortunes is sure to be big news.
The grumpy bastard doesn’t need my help, but he didn’t shoot down my offer to crash in our grandparents’ cottage at the vineyard while I finally, at the age of twenty-six, figure out what the hell I’m going to do with my life. It also gives me a chance tospend more time with my favorite person in the world, my four-year-old nephew, Sammy.
I had to get out of the city. Too much hurt. Too much betrayal. And a toxic relationship that blew up my entire life, causing me to spiral until I hit rock bottom. Silverstone is exactly what I need right now.
When I look up, Bunny has moved on, serving another customer. Good. Normally, I’m fine with small talk, but I’m not in the mood today.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. That’ll be Ollie with an update.
Ollie: Wellington Sr. signed the contract. Congrats, man. The place is officially yours. You are now legally and financially responsible for a mountain of debt, a barn with broken plumbing, and a herd of half-wild horses.
Me: Let’s focus on the positive, shall we?
Ollie: You forget I’m a lawyer? I’d be out of a career if I did *positive.*
Me: You forget you’re also my best friend?
Ollie: True. Let me try that again. I’m *positive* you are now legally and financially responsible for a mountain of debt, a barn with no plumbing, and a herd of half-wild horses.
Me: You and I need to have a little chat about the definition of positive next time we catch up.
Ollie: I’m happy for you, man. Seriously. If buying a horse rescue center is what you want to do, I’m in your corner. Where are you now?
Me: I’m at a bar.
My cell blares the grinding intro to “Pony” at top volume, causing a few patrons to side-eye me curiously. I quickly swipe to decline the call, cursing under my breath for letting Sammy play on my phone this morning.
I lift my cell and take a photo of the sign behind the bar.
Me: Sorry. Can’t talk.
Me: No cell phones at the bar.
Ollie: I don’t know what I’m more worried about. You being at a bar, or the fact you’ve somehow time travelled back to the early 00s.
Me: Silverstone ain’t the big city, my friend.
