“Oh, I love this song. You want to dance?”
“Yes.”
I assume he’s asked Charlene and lift my glass when she adds, “She’d love to.”
Wait. What?
Matt reaches for my hand, and I’m suddenly catapulted from my seat. We don’t have too far to go to find the small makeshift dance floor in the corner. The Wild Shrimp is nothing more than a dive bar, but they have great food, and the price is right. They cater to locals, so you don’t find price gouging as with the restaurants in tourist row.
He pulls me into him as he sways back and forth to the beat of the catchy tune. Looking up, I watch as he beams, mouthing the words to “Numb” along with Khalid and Marshmello. It’s infectious, and I return his smile as he bounces back and forth from foot to foot as he sings about wanting to get numb and forget where he’s from. His crooning has me grinning so hard my cheeks ache until he wraps his arms around my waist, pulls me close, and mouths that looking in my eyes is like looking at the sun. He must think I’m a complete loon as I stare transfixed.
Jeez. Am I dreaming right now?
I’ll allow myself this one night to get swept up by him. But after we leave this bar, it’s time to get my head back on straight. Nothing good can come from letting him back in my thoughts.
Or my pants.
Chapter 17
Matt
Bam!
“Holy Shit. That was close!” I exclaim as I drive through the torrential rain toward Mom’s house. I realize the farther I go, the loud noise is more likely, a blown transformer versus the ground-shaking thunder I’ve grown accustomed to.
Using the Bluetooth technology through my dash, I instruct my phone to call Harry.
“Hello?”
“Hey, man. I was just verifying you were relieving the sitter to stay with Mom tonight.”
“Yeah, I’m here now. Why? You got plans in the middle of this storm?”
“No. I’ve got a bad feeling about this thing.”
“What do you mean? You’ve been gone too long. We get these all the time.”
“I know. But I didn’t tell you the other night. I drove Ellie home a few days ago after her truck broke down. Hell, Harry, she and her grandpa live in a double-wide in the middle of nowhere. It makes Eminem’s place in8 Milelook like The Ritz. I honestly don’t know how it’s still standing after the storms that’ve blown through here in the last few years. The roof looks like it’s patched together with duct tape, and the front porch could fly off if I sneezed too hard.”
“Shit.”
“What’s worse, her Pops is on oxygen twenty-four seven. And you need power for that. I can guarantee if they have a generator, it doesn’t work.”
“No, you’re right. Now I have a bad feeling.”
I scratch the back of my head, stumped as to what I’ll do if I can’t convince them to come with me. I can’t take them back to Mom’s house. It’ll only rattle her more than she already is, having people in her home she doesn’t recognize.
“You still there?”
“Yeah. I’m just trying to figure out what to do once I get there. I can’t bring them to Mom’s.”
“You’re right. You could use my place, but I’ve rented it out for the week. Wait. I think I have an idea. You check on them, and I’ll message you in a bit.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
As his call disconnects, I attempt to see through the sheets of rain coming down to get my bearings on where I am. It’s challenging without any street lamps. They don’t live far from Salty Jo’s, so I direct my GPS to head in that direction and decide to continue driving until I see a mailbox I recognize.
Twenty minutes later, I’m still driving, unsure where her farm is.
