She sits up a bit straighter and one side of her lips start to show the slightest hint of that smile I want to see.
“I can ask you,” she points a finger at me, “any question I want and you’ll answer?”
I smirk and flick my eyebrows at her. I know what she’s implying. I'm notoriously private, especially since I retired from Teal Tigers and all but left the music scene. I don’t do interviews, I don't do appearances, I don’t do questions.
“Yes. Any question, but you have to answer minefirst.”
“That doesn't sound like much of a game. What if I don’t answer?” she asks, knowing it can’t be that easy.
I tilt my head toward the bar. “If you don’t answer, you take a shot of tequila.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll answer anything you want to know. No shot needed. But if it makes you feel better, fine. Same rules for me.”
Her lips curl into a wide smile, exposing the slightest dimple, as she claps her hands in front, rubbing them together. “Alright, fire away.”
I tilt my head back across the bar toward her grandparents.
“You looked like you were in the middle of a root canal with that conversation. Figured you could use some rescuing.”
She juts her chin out at me with a questioning hum. “You know that's not a question, right?”
I nod, taking another sip of my beer. “I know. So why did you look like you would rather be anywhere else? It’s your brother's wedding and I know you’re happy for them. So why don’t you want to be here, all together, in Jackson?”
Her surprise is quickly replaced with irritation. She pulls her hands into her lap and huffs, looking up at the ceiling for a second. I watch while she tilts her head side to side like she's debating quitting my game already.
Finally, she lets out a long sigh, reaches across the table, and plucks my beer right from my hand.
“You know what, screw it.” She takes a long pull from my beer and I chuckle. Before I realize it, she stands up, drags her chair next to mine, and sits so close our thighs are touching.
There’s the woman I remember from before. It only took one long weekend with her and the rest of the Chapman gang to realize she gives no shits about personal space and seems to be comfortable around everyone.
The problem for me is that this level of closeness is clearlyclouding my judgement, because I don’t move at all. In fact, for some stupid reason, I lean in closer and she doesn’t budge an inch.
She sets my beer back on the table and looks right at me. “My life’s kind of a mess.” The tone of her voice raises at the end, almost like a question.
I arch an eyebrow at her, beckoning her to continue. She takes another sip of my beer and goes on. “I got laid off last week, I don’t have a new job yet, and for once, I don't really have a plan. So yeah, a mess is a pretty accurate description right now.” She raises her hand in a fist and makes a train conductor gesture. “All aboard the Hot Mess Express.”
She takes another sip from my bottle. “Oh, and I’m too afraid or proud — I don’t know — to tell my family because if I do, I know they’ll smother me and treat me like ‘fragile, little Gracie’ again.”
What the hell? A million thoughts run through my head, but mostly I just feel a burning sense of rage I try to bury down. I remember her gushing about how she had her dream job working at a non-profit. Her eyes sparkled whenever she mentioned the place and anyone with a pulse could feel the passion she had for it. So the idea that anyone would take that away from her makes my blood boil because I never want her to feel hurt.
“What happened? Why would they do that? They can’t—” My hands curl into fists when the questions all flood out of me in a rush.
This is not what I expected. Well, I don't know what I expected exactly. Maybe something more trivial, but definitely not something as life-altering as that.
“Nope. You already asked your question and I don’t want the pity party.” She holds a finger up to my lips in a shushing gesture. “My family doesn't know and I’d like to keep it that way. I’mgoing to make the most of it, enjoy ski season bumming around in my van.”
I nod, seeing the determined look in her eyes. Her immediate response takes my rage down a notch. She must see it, because her playful smile returns.
My mind can only register her smile for a second before my brain spirals down a new path. Living in her van like a nomad, as a single woman in the middle of winter? I know I shouldn’t be one to judge. I did it too, in those early years before our first record deal. I get it. Those were some of the most exciting days of my life, but I’m also six-two and can handle myself. Something about her being alone like that doesn’t sit right with me. I pack those thoughts away though when I see just how confident she is in her choice.
“So.” She swirls my beer around, mimicking my gesture from earlier, to see how much is left. “It’s my turn now.”
Her smile is playful, if not a bit mischievous. I’m just glad she’s looking more like herself.
She lets out a long hum, tracing a finger over her lips, a shade of pink that matches some of the strands in her hair. Everything about her is so beautiful and bright.
