“It’s hot in here.” I pressed the button to roll down my window some and stared out of the window.
The breeze brushed across my face, tickling it and serving the purpose of lowering my temperature. The pink and deep orange hues of the sunset were fading away as dusk gave way to night. The lights of the homes and businesses that peppered the hills in the distance enlightened the area.
I hadn’t spent a lot of time in Texas over the years. Most of my performances had taken place in Houston, which, by contrast to this region of the state, was pretty flat.
“We’re only getting into spring,” Gabe said after a few minutes of silence. “Summertime in Texas is when things heat up.”
His comment was layered. Or maybe it was simply my putting more into something than was intended. I tended to do that sometimes as a writer.
I didn’t comment because I wasn’t sure how to reply. A few minutes later, we pulled into the parking lot of the bar. There were fewer than ten cars.
“This place doesn’t get a lot of traffic in the middle of the week,” Gabe said when he noticed me staring around the parking lot. “On the weekends, it’s almost impossible to get parking in the lot.”
He got out, and by then, I’d learned to wait for him to come around and open my door for me.
Again, when he took my hand to help me stand, that pulse of energy and tension cascaded through my limbs and enlivened something inside of me that I didn’t want awakened.
I removed my hand from his hold.
Gabe opened the door and allowed me to enter first. The darkness of the bar was a welcomed sight. I was struck by how much this place reminded me of those movie scenes in which the fish-out-of-water main character walks into an old, Southern bar and all the patrons stare at him.
There were a couple of pool tables toward the back of the bar, a few small, wooden tables and chairs in the front area, the bar to the left, and booths along the back left side. The difference between The Rustic and the bars in the movie scenes was that most of the patrons didn’t pay us any mind. They were too busy, talking amongst themselves or dancing.
I immediately recognized the sounds of Whitney Houston’s “How Will I Know” playing, which I found oddly comforting.
“Are you sure you brought me to the right place?” I asked, looking around.
Gabe retook my hand in his, which I allowed for the time being, and led me to the bar. “Certain,” he answered before turning to the bartender. “Toni, we need a menu.”
The good-looking bartender smiled. “What’s up, boss?” he asked with a nod. “Coming up.”
I turned to Gabe. “Boss?”
He gave me a shrug. I didn’t know whether to read that as Gabe was his boss or Toni called everyone that.
“I recommend the cookie dough ice cream, but the cookies n’ cream is pretty good, too,” Gabe said as he handed me the menu.
I rubbed my lips together as I stared down at the menu. There was an array of selections to choose from. They had everything from butter pecan and mint chocolate chip to regular vanilla.
“How exactly does fried ice cream work?” I finally asked, unable to decide. I heard of it before but never tried it for myself. I was fuzzy on how you could fry ice cream.
“The ice cream is rolled inside of a dough which is then deep fried.”
“Ohh.” I nodded and pointed at the butter pecan option. “This one.”
“Done,” Gabe said as he showed the bartender which one I selected. “Add cookie dough for me.”
I spun around to face the rest of the bar and laughed when Tamia’s “Sandwich and a Soda” started playing. “Interesting musical selection in this place. Is it always R&B?”
Gabe jutted his head toward the booths of the bar. “There’s a jukebox in the back,” he said. “Patrons can choose what they want. Some nights it’s more rock, others a lot of the sappy love sh—" He stopped and turned, looking down at me.
I smirked. “Sappy love shit?” I folded my arms over my chest.
He shrugged. “It’s not typically my type of music.”
“And yet, you want to be my muse,” I commented, reminding him of what he’d said before we left my house.
“I am your muse,” he responded with his chest protruding. “You simply haven’t accepted it yet, Cin.”
