Aulie’s lips quirk, traveling down my hat and flannel.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing, you just look like a lumberjack,” she says. “Get it?”
I shake my head. “In with you.”
“You’re never any fun. Come on. You’ve got to give me some props for that one.” She crosses the threshold and turns around to face me, unleashing a broad, soul-crushing smile. The brilliance of it explodes in the dim light of Collin’s Pub, the local bar whose menu boasts the greatest collection of potato dishes in the State.
“Nope. Not dignifying it.” I cross my arms and flash a faux stern look her way. “You should know better by now that I’m too mature for name-calling.”
“Yeah, okay.” She giggles. “You’re supposed to be Wickham, not Darcy, by the way.”
Stepping inside the pub, a familiarity overwhelms me. I’ve never actually visited this Chawton Falls establishment, but an Irish bar in New England is an Irish bar in New England—wooden paneled walls, cracked wooden support beams, and a less-than-pretentious bar in the middle. Forty-year-old men with sad, weathered faces stare emptily into their pint glasses, occasionally glancing at the big-screen TVs covering every corner of the bar. An old, well-used pool table sits up on a platform, and two dartboards hang nearby.
The door shuts behind us, and a few faces gaze at us. Recognition briefly flashes over their faces, but no one makes a move to say anything or approach.
Relief washes over me. The bar isn’t full, and they’re going to let me exist.
Eighties rock blares over the speakers, and I bring my mouth to Aulie’s ear. “I thought you said this place would be crowded.”
“Oh, just wait.” Her fingers wrap gently around mine, and she tugs me past the bar. Sparks shoot up my arm from the contact. “Hi, Frank!” she says to the bartender.
“Hey, there’s my girl! I haven’t seen you in a while.” He narrows in on our hands and directs a less-than-warm stare toward me. “You two be good. I’ll be in here if you need anything, Aurelie.”
“Always!” she says, dragging me out the back door. It takes a few blinks for my eyes to adjust to the fenced-in area that greets us. Twinkling lights weave through the branches lining the edge of the seating area. A fire blazes in a large, square fire pit with a bar top raised along its circumference. Twenty-somethings huddle around it, warming their hands and drinking beers.
TVs hang in wooden boxes. All tuned to the pre-game show. Boston has some nice rooftop bars, but this is something only a small town like Chawton Falls can have.
Again, a few eyes fall on us, but no one moves to ask for an autograph or a selfie.
Instead, Aulie falls prey to the attention of the people around us, stopping and saying hello to excited faces every few feet.
Eventually, we make it to a tiny booth in the back. Aulie slides in, and the diplomatic smile she’s had plastered on her face falls a fraction. “Give me a second, and I’ll get our beers and shots.”
“I’ve got them. Take a second to catch your breath, Ms. Popular.” I grin, and she rolls her eyes. “Oh, now that’s not very Lydia Bennet of you.”
“I’m choosing to interpret her character as unsociable and taciturn at the moment.”
“I wonder what the head of the fair would think of that.”
“Get me a shot of tequila, and I’ll flirt you into a stupor, Parker. I just need a second.”
“I’ll be right back. Try not to get in too much trouble while I’m gone.”
“No promises.” She giggles.
I dip my head and press a kiss to her temple. Her lips part with a gasp, and I swallow down the misstep. That was probably laying it on too thick. “Anything—erm—any particular beer you want?”
“Oh, something pumpkiny please.”
“You’ve got it, Dessy.” I turn and head to the bar, the feel of her skin and a slight saltiness dance on my lips.
Everything is still. Everything is quiet and good in the world. But then I see the TV, the headline—Jack Parker, Absent for Night Dedicated to Late-Father Due to Suspension, sits below a desk full of talking heads.
And my thoughts spiral out of control once again.
ChapterFourteen
