“You got it, doll.” I line up the clean glasses and grab the bottles I need. I’ve done this so many times I barely need to spare a thought, which makes it easy to pick up cues from customers in front of me, or in this case, the long sigh coming from the glasswasher area.
“Penny for your thoughts?” I ask, laughing at my own joke.
She rolls her eyes. “That joke was old when we were twelve.”
“Nah, it’ll never get old. Unlike this town,” I say, shaking the French martinis and making a show of it. Not that anyone’s noticing. “I mean, is this really a Thursday night? I thought Thursday was the new Friday. I’m pretty sure the game night at the old people’s home on Pike Street has more action.”
“There’s a town meeting tonight about the craft fair,” she says without need for further explanation. The monthly craft fair has been Stillwater’s pride and joy since way before we were born.
“Do people still take it that seriously?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.”
I fill up the martini glasses and add the garnish before moving on to the next drink.
“Anyway, I don’t give two fucks about the fair. I want to know why the long sigh.”
She laughs. “Don’t let anyone hear you say that? You’ll be run out of this town sooner than you can spell crochet.”
“Meh, been there, done that. I don’t scare that easily anymore.” I give her a quick glance and notice her looking at a table by the staircase leading to the upper floor. There are four guys that look about our age. One of them looks familiar, but his back is turned to us, making it hard to place him.
“Which one?” I ask.
“Which one, what?”
“Oh, come on, Pen. I knew you had a crush on Lionel Garcia in fifth grade before you told me about it. I haven’t seen you for eight years, but I can still tell when you're hot for someone.”
She bumps my arm, and it’s lucky I’m not pouring a drink because it would have gone everywhere.
“I’m surprised you don’t recognize him,” she says.
“Who?”
“Asher Martin.”
I stop in my tracks for a moment, and once again, my practiced moves give little away from what is going on in my head. Which is a good thing because just hearing that name brings back all the old memories I’ve been trying to keep at bay.
“What do you mean? You’re with Asher?” I ask, trying to sound casual and unaffected.
I look back to the table, and the guy’s turned around in his seat. Now I see it. The Martin dirty-blond hair. The Martin green eyes. The Martin heart-stopping gaze.
Asher doesn’t look like the preppy Goody two-shoes I remember, but he’s still a Martin.
She sighs. “Kind of.”
I put down the lemon I’m crushing for the Amaretto sour and turn to face her. “Penny.”
She puts her hands up as if she knows what I’m about to say.
The Martin boys are nothing but trouble.
You’re going to get your heart broken.
They never lose, which means you will.
All those things are true, but she knows them. And she’s an adult, so she can make her own decisions. I just wish the object of her affection wasn’t the older brother of the first major mistake of my life.
“Anyway,” she says, making a gesture for me to turn around and get back to the drinks. “When am I going to meet your gorgeous girl?”
