Jon was right. Zac had never been dependable. What was the point of trying now?
Chapter four
Sunday evening, Leavenworth: Tabitha
“Yougonnawearthatsour expression on your face for the whole week?” Lark asked. She didn’t shrink under the weight of Tabitha’s scowl but doubled down instead. “I want to know how much tequila I’m going need.”
“Real nice,” Tabitha mumbled but forcefully demanded her brows to relax.
“Hey, a girl’s gotta know how much alcohol to work into her monthly budget, and I don’t think per diem counts towards booze.”
“I never pegged you as the budgeting type.” Tabitha had worked with the freelance photographer multiple times during her career as a journalist atRock ‘n’ Ropes, and while Lark’s artistic skill was unmatched, her lifestyle didn’t exactly scream adult behavior.
“Thank you. I work hard to hide my responsible tendencies. Nothing puts a damper on a good time like spreadsheets.” Tabitha watched in horror as Lark braced her left knee under the steering wheel and used both hands to secure her mass of wild blonde curls with a butterfly clip that had been hanging from the beads and air fresheners accumulated on her rearview mirror. She noticed her passenger’s expression and giggled. “Relax, will ya.”
“Please keep your hands on the wheel.” Torn between clamping her eyes shut and grabbing control of the vehicle herself, Tabitha heaved a breath of relief as Lark settled a hand on the top of the wheel. Her chipped nail polish glittered in the waning sunlight as the old RV lumbered around the curves of Blewett Pass toward Leavenworth.
Tabitha had balked when Lark extended the offer to drive. She’d originally planned to meet the photographer in town for the excursions and interview, but with budget cuts, mileage reimbursements were no longer a thing. To top it off, there would only be one hotel room. So while Tabitha was anxious about riding around in the early 1990s behemoth with Lark at the wheel, she was also relieved that her would-have-been roommate elected to park at the local RV park instead. “Gotta have my own space, babe. You understand,” Lark had explained.
Fortunately, the ride over the pass hadn’t been that bad, aside from the lack of a functional seat belt on the passenger side and the feeling that “Gertie” might tip at any moment on the winding roads. Tabitha popped a fistful of antacids as they whipped around another corner.
“What do you think? Stop for food or check in first?” Lark asked.
“Food. Anything is fine.” Something beyond the protein shake she’d had for breakfast and a few antacids in her stomach might settle the rolling waves.
“Aye, aye captain.”
Turning into town, Lark found a spot large enough for Gertie and parked. Tabitha stumbled between the front seats to the side door in the back because the passenger door was “welded shut for your safety” as her work friend had explained. Tabitha hadn’t asked for clarification, but that didn’t prevent her from imagining the heavy door popping open on every hairpin turn and falling to her death because she didn’t have a working seat belt.
“This place looks good,” Lark said with a cheeky grin.
Tabitha eyed the lopsided staircase ascending the side of the building. The red paint chipping off the cedar shingles and haphazardly homemade railing screamed that the establishment was a locals-only haunt.
“Uh. Are you sure?”
“Nope.” Lark bounded upward, each creaky step groaning underfoot. “But that’s the fun of it.” She winked over her shoulder and disappeared through the open doorway.
Swallowing her list of worst-case scenarios, Tabitha followed tentatively after the chaotic blonde. She paused in the doorway, toes barely crossing the threshold. The wood paneling of the large dining room was practically covered in photos and antique outdoor gear. A length of rope spanning one wall, scalloped like parade bunting, was loaded with old scuffed and broken carabiners and quickdraws no longer fit to use for climbing.
“You coming or going, friend?” a passing server stopped to ask. She balanced a couple plates on each arm, stacked high with sandwiches, burgers, fries, and—
“Onion rings?” the question popped out of Tabitha’s mouth before she could formulate a full sentence. The salty scent of fried food wafted with the server’s passing.
“Best in town. Grab a menu from the podium and sit wherever you’d like.”
Tabitha peeled two laminated sheets from a stack of their sticky friends. She cringed and quickly pushed aside the urge to wipe them all down herself.
“Handcock!” the shrill holler came from the bar. Half of the patrons turned in the direction of the shout while the rest looked toward the target. Lark perched on a stool, swiveling back and forth and waving manically. “Belly on up, babe.”
Tabitha glanced around, mouthing apologies to the judgmental gazes. It’s not that the place had been quiet as she entered. Conversation and laughter rolled between the tables and bounced off the walls. The place had a cozy, welcoming vibe, but a shout across the room would have been disruptive regardless. She wove through the groups and reached the old wooden bar and quickly settled onto the cracked leather stool.
“I got you a menu.” She held it out to Lark, who waved her away.
“Thanks, but I already know what I’m getting.” She pointed to the chalkboard behind the cash register.
Tabitha scrunched up her nose. “You know specials are only to get rid of the food that’s about to go bad, right?”
“Don’t go giving away my secrets,” came a deep, silky voice from behind the bar. A man of about forty with close-cropped salt and pepper curls and deep brown eyes smiled at her as he tossed a warped coaster down in front of each woman. “How else am I supposed to unload my scraps on the masses?” There was a heavy overtone of humor in his words, and while she knew she’d insulted the establishment, it appeared he hadn’t been offended by her claim.
