“Be patient. The clients will come.” She releases a smooth spiral across my eye, and I push it behind my ear. “Anyway, your mom likes having you here, especially since your dad died.”
“I’ll be twenty-three next year, and still living with my mother.”
“At least you’re gorgeous. Let’s go!”
She shakes her long, naturally wavy blonde hair—which I do not hate her for having—and we head for the door. “Just don’t completely lose it and go out with Ralph Stern.”
“If you’re truly my best friend, you will never let that happen.”
“I am your best friend.”
“Thank God.”
Patrons spill out the door of The Red Cat as we walk up. It’s the only bar in our tiny town-square, and the interior hasn’t been updated since Frank Sinatra was alive. Lava lamps dot around the inside, and blood-red shag carpet covers the floors, running all the way up the bar. The scent of cigarettes permeates the room, even though smoking in bars has been banned for years, and an ancient jukebox playing real records is blasting “That’s Amoré.”
“Are you kidding me?” Drew recoils. “The Red Cat is where old men hide out when they don’t want to go home.”
“It’s the hot new place!” I grab her hand and drag her through the door. “Strong drinks served cheap.”
We make our way slowly through the crowd when a loud male voice makes me cringe. “Ruby Roo!”
I spin around fast, pissed as hell at Dagwood Magee. He’s been calling me that Scooby Doo nickname since we were in high school.
“Stop yelling that! You’re messing with my hustle.” He only laughs and gives me a hug, leaving sweat on my face. I growl, wiping it off. “Gross.”
Drew is weirdly pleased to see him. “At least we know a big guy here… just in case.”
I order us two tequila sunrises while we wait at the bar, and even though it’s pretty packed, I’m not seeing anyone I know besides Dag. “How is it possible I don’t know anybody here?”
“That’s a good thing, right?”
Our drinks are in front of us, and I lift mine, taking a long sip. “So you’re not even looking for a man now?”
“You know how I feel.”
Drew has been pining after Grayson Cole since we were in high school. She waited for him all through college while he was overseas with the military, and then when he came back, he didn’t stay.
I can’t help being protective of my bestie. “He ghosted you, Drew.”
“He didn’t.” Her eyes are fixed on the drink she’s not drinking. “He’s doing what he has to do. Getting help.”
“You know I love you, and I think you’re a great therapist.” She nods, stabbing her drink with the skinny straw. “I just worry sometimes all your understanding and empathy ends up making you a doormat.”
“I’m not a doormat. I love Gray. I’ll love him forever.”
We’re quiet a few minutes. My chest hurts at her confession, and I wrap an arm around her shoulders, giving her a squeeze. “He’s a lucky guy. I wish I felt that way about someone.”
As I say it, I realize it’s true.
She puts her head on my shoulder. “What will you do if you’re not a therapist?”
“No idea.” I shake off the sudden melancholy mood and take another, longer sip of my sweet drink. “Search for my insanely rich Asian husband?”
“Not in Oakville,” she straightens, looking around the room.
She can say that again. It’s a fantasy football sausage fest in here. The guys are all big and boisterous, and when the juke box starts blasting “Fly Me to the Moon,” they all start singing loudly.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” I mutter, when my eyes land on a guy sitting alone at the other end of the bar.
