“You could say that.”
He studied her again, glancing from her glass back to her face, his expression thoughtful. “How long’s it been?”
“What do you mean? Since I last saw my daughter?” She shifted beneath his gaze. This man she’d never met before could see far too much, making her feel uncomfortably exposed.
“Since you got sober.” He said the words without judgment, as casual as offering her a refill.
Her cheeks burned, and she gulped another sip of soda. “Is it obvious?”
“Not many people order a root beer on the rocks,” he said with a kind smile. “Besides, it takes an addict to know an addict.”
Sitting up straighter, she blinked in surprise. “But you’re a bartender.” She hadn’t meant to sound accusatory, but the contradictory combination didn’t make sense.
“Alcohol was never my vice.” He let the statement linger without further explanation and immediately piqued her interest. If not alcohol, then what? Drugs? Gambling? Why was she so eager to know?
“Two years,” she answered honestly. “You?”
“Twenty.”
The number hung between them for a silent moment, both weighty and ethereal. “How?” she breathed, admittedly in awe.
“You know, same as I do. One day at a time.”
Her heart sank. Not the magic hack she’d hoped to hear.
“The meetings help,” he added. “Which makes living here tough sometimes.”
“No meetings?” One more thing she hadn’t considered before making her rash decision.
“I’ve considered starting one.” He grabbed the old-fashioned soda glass he’d been holding when she arrived and ran the rag along the sloping curves, although it was clearly dry. “A catchall group, for anyone in recovery.”
“Why haven’t you?”
“I wasn’t sure anyone would come.” He cast a sideways glance in her direction, still polishing the same glass. “It would help to know at least one other person would be there.”
Her stomach swirled, and she abruptly drained the last drop of root beer, setting the tumbler back on the bar. “How much do I owe you?” She dug inside her purse for her wallet. Had his statement been some kind of invitation? And if so, why did she find it so disconcerting? Men had hit on her in stranger ways, and she’d deftly avoided their advances without a second thought. Why did this feel different?
“It’s on the house. Think of it as my way of welcoming you to town.”
She lifted her gaze to protest, but her breath quickened when their eyes locked, catching her off guard.
Time to go. She snapped her purse shut and hopped off the barstool. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” He tipped his head in her direction, flashing a sexy half grin.
Flustered, she scrambled for the front door.
What was wrong with her? If she stayed in town, sheshouldattend a meeting. She’d just passed up a perfect opportunity simply because the man made her stomach flutter.
Which was ridiculous. She didn’t even know his name.
CHAPTER6
RHETT
Rhett Douglas set the soda glass back on the shelf. It sparkled in the overhead light, not a single spot or speck in sight. How long had he been drying it?Too long. He wondered if the mysterious—and undeniably attractive—brunette had noticed. Most likely. She’d acted a little spooked when she left. Why hadn’t he asked for her name?
Despite how it sounded, his remark about the recovery meeting hadn’t been a pickup line. At least, not entirely. He’d mulled over the possibility several times, but something about Root Beer on the Rocks had renewed his motivation. Which, admittedly, should be a red flag. He’d moved to Poppy Creek to reconnect with his son, not meet women. Especially not a recovering alcoholic with only two years under her belt.
