“Plus,” I add, smirking, “you led with buying me a drink. Hard to be offended when there’s free alcohol involved.”
She laughs, then shakes her head. “Maddie would’ve yelled at me to get out of the apartment. She’d be like, ‘you’re in Denver, enjoy it, go get a drink with my brother,’ and then she’d probably send you a threatening text to be nice to me.”
“She would,” I confirm. “Probably with a bunch of Christmas emojis.”
“She really would.” Hailey smiles down at her mug. “I miss her.”
“I get it,” I say, resting my forearm on the bar so I’m closer. “When I moved out here at nineteen, I didn’t know a soul. Just a guy who said he had work. You go from having your family right there to… nothing. And like you said, the quiet hits different then.”
Her eyes go wide. “God. I can’t imagine doing that at nineteen.”
“I wouldn’t recommend it at that age.” I shrug, thinking back to who I was back then. “I needed to at the time. Needed to figure it out.”
“And now look at you.” She bumps my shoulder. “You figured it out.”
“I dunno about that,” I grunt. “But I got the job, met some people on the sites who became friends, found a crappy rental in Thornton, and worked my ass off.”
“Okay.” She turns to face me. “Besides work, what else did you learn about yourself moving out here?”
I let her question marinate for a second. “I learned to snowboard. I learned I like summers here better than Chicago ones. I learned that home can be anywhere you make it.”
“You like it here,” she says, like she’s confirming it for herself.
“Yeah.” I look past her to the window, the snow swirling in the orange streetlight. “Between the wide-open spaces and the mountains, what’s not to love? Work’s good. People mind their business. You can drive twenty minutes and be in a completely different world.” I feel her watching me, so I look back. “It’s a lot different than Illinois, but it grows on you.”
She bites her lip, eyes soft. “That’s what I’m hoping.”
“It will.” I don’t even have to think about it. “You’re easy to like, kind… beautiful.” I finish the last of my beer. “You won’t have trouble finding your people.”
Color blooms in her cheeks again and fuck if I don’t want to lean in and test how warm they are but I don’t. I fiddle nervously with the label on my empty beer bottle while the moment stretches between us.
Her gaze drops to my mouth. My jaw tightens. This is where things tilt if I let them. Emotional intimacy is worse than physical sometimes—harder to walk back. And she’s looking at me like I’m some kind of lifeline, like I’m not the guy who already decided he wasn’t going to get tangled up with anybody, least of all his sister’s best friend.
I clear my throat, breaking the tension. “So,” I say, glancing over her shoulder toward the back of the bar, “you play darts?”
The mood shifts and her eyes are back on mine, confusion flickering on her face. “Darts?”
“Yeah. The bar game.” I jerk my chin to where a couple of boards hang on the wall, lit by a green-shaded lamp, red andgreen flights sticking out of one. “You know, those sharp things you throw at the wall?”
She laughs, loud and delighted. “I didn’t realize people still played darts. In college it was just beer pong and flip cup.”
“Darts is for grown-ups. Come on.”
“Am I about to beat you in a game of darts?” she teases, hopping off her stool and following me to the back of the bar.
“Somebody’s gotta show you how Denver spends a winter night. Come on, Simpson,” I say, guiding her through the small crowd with a hand at the small of her back. “Let’s see if you’re any good.”
The back corner is a little darker, lit by that green lamp over the dartboard and whatever Christmas lights the owner threw back here. There’s a high-top that’s seen better days and a digital jukebox on the wall cycling through holiday stuff. A couple at the pool table glances over but loses interest when they realize we’re not joining.
Hailey’s already picking up darts. “These are cute,” she says, holding one up. “They match.”
“They’re not cute,” I tell her, fighting a smile. “They’re darts.” I stand behind her, take two darts, leaving one on the ledge. “You ever actually played?”
“Like… once. At a dive bar with Maddie, but we were drunk and I don’t remember who won.”
I nod to the line of tape on the floor. “Stand there.”
She plants her boots on it, rolling her shoulders like she’s about to go up to bat. Her ass is right there in those jeans, snug and perfect, and I’m an idiot for putting myself directly behind her.
