They wouldn’t. It was almost eight in the evening and the distillery had been closed for two hours. Only the bar was open this late on a Friday night.
Cara smiled wide at him, flinging her long, glossy blond hair over her shoulder. She mouthedthank youand blew him a kiss. My stomach churned. They looked like they were perfect for each other.
Brock entered behind Cara, a big, indulgent smile in place. He used to aim that grin my way. But when his gaze landed on me, his expression morphed into shock. Cara was laughing and pointing to an open table close to the counter when she noticed his expression. She followed his gaze right to me.
My breath stalled. I did not want to do this, but I was the employee. It was my job to greet them. “Welcome to Copper Summit,” I said woodenly, smoothing my hands over my bright-yellow skirt. I’d paired it with black, chunky shoes. The white socks went with the white dress shirt I’d tied at my waist. The sleeves were rolled up. The tag had called it a boyfriend shirt and I had bought it just for that. A boyfriend shirt for the tragically single girl.
I looked like a school kid compared to Cara and her wide-legged gray slacks and magenta blouse with a goddamn ruffle that should look ridiculous and not sophisticated.
Her smile didn’t fade. It grew broader. The gleam in her eyes turned predatory. Or was it the glow of the neon signs for Copper Summit bourbon on the wall next to her?
“Oh my god!” Her rich voice carried across the din. “Ruby Casteel? It’s been forever.”
People stopped chatting and watched us. Did they see a train wreck about to happen? Was I the stranded motorist who couldn’t move her car off the tracks while they gaped at the locomotive bearing down on her?
“How are you?” That voice. That high-pitched tone. That nasal whine. Her casual yet hurtful comments in school threatened to pour back.
Like when I’d gotten a knit sweater I loved with my own money.Ruby, that color really washes you out, but I guess with your skin tone you don’t have many options.
Or when I’d debated trying a sport.Yeah, you shouldn’t go out for volleyball. Riding the bench is just a waste of time.
Then there was the morning I’d worked for an hour on my hair to impress a boy in history class.That natural curl in your hair could be so cute.
She blinked at me, waiting for a reply. If I didn’t know her better, I’d say she was actually happy to see me. But I remembered how she used to smile when we met up at the playground versus when we passed in the hall in middle school.
“Cara, hi. I’m well,” I managed to squeak out. “Hi, Brock.”
She threaded her arm around my ex. “Ohmigod. Do you two know each other?”
I tilted my head and waited for his answer. No way was I telling Cara I was that man’s ex. She either knew or she was going to find out from him. I’d learned long ago that it was better to keep my mouth shut around Cara Simonson.
Brock nuzzled her hair. “Remember, I told you about her,” he murmured. He pinned me with his bright blue gaze. “Hi, Rubes.”
I hated that nickname. My dad called me Rubes and I tolerated it from him. Otherwise, it sounded too close to “Pubes” and Cara had thought that was hilarious, calling me Pubes for all of eighth grade.
Before I could correct him, Cara gasped. “ThatRuby? I had no idea.” She laughed. “Small world. I never see you around, but you were always a wallflower.”
Brock nodded, and irritation sparked in my gut. I was not a— Eh, yes I was.
I had never been the life of the party. I’d have to go to a party first, and I wasn’t the fun-loving, innately sexy girl who got invited to such things. Cara was the one who loved gatherings, and she’d never extended the invitation to me.
As if to punctuate my unspoken thought, Brock wrapped an arm around Cara and tucked her into his side. He used to complain I was too short and he felt like I was sniffing his armpit. Cara was taller. They could bang foreheads for all I cared.
“I thought you worked at the Bozeman location,” Brock said.
Cara rubbed her hand across his chest. The two of them were sickly sweet, sweeter even than the huckleberry syrup I used for cocktails.
“I do. I took on some hours at the bar because it’s fun.” And so I could afford more books.
“Oh!” Cara stuffed a finger toward me. “You’re the social media girl.”
Brock had likely not been complimentary when describing my job. Had they had a good laugh at my expense?
“Yep.” It was social mediamanagement, but I wouldn’t elaborate. The only people I needed to justify my job to were the Baileys, and I respected them a hell of a lot more than these two. One Bailey in particular. His face had become the heroes in the stories I read. Especially the romances.
Especially the dirty romances.
“What can I get you two to drink?” I asked before I could blush. Wouldn’t want them thinking it was because I was embarrassed about my job.
