The moment I stepped inside, I relaxed slightly. The Pelican had that worn-in kind of charm like all good neighborhoodhaunts. Exposed brick, faded nautical maps, vintage guitars and mandolins nailed to the walls—smelling of salt air, spilled beer, and grilled meats. The mismatched tables and chairs looked like they’d each lived a dozen lives before ending up here.
Kind of like me.
Hunter Sloan was behind the bar when I walked in, already drying glasses. He looked like he belonged in an action movie—leather jacket, strong jaw, a little edge that women probably found irresistible. I didn’t know him well enough to know what had given him the hard glint in his eyes, but I had a feeling he’d gone through some stuff. I was curious about his past, but I also understood the guy code. Nothing too personal.
He looked up as I approached, giving me a friendly nod. “You look nice. Special occasion?”
“I have a date.”
“Okay, well, good for you?”
“Why did you say it as a question?” I asked, laughing.
“A nasty divorce can do that to a guy.”
“You have one of those?” I asked.
“Sure did. As nasty as they come.”
“I’m sorry. I wish I didn’t, but I get it,” I said. “Even so, I’d really like to meet someone. So I went on that app. Second Chance. Have you heard of it?”
He grimaced. “Sure. Not for me, though.”
“I don’t know what got into me but one night I decided to put my profile up and immediately got matched with someone. She seems great. On the app anyway.”
“Can’t hurt to try, I guess. Hey, I’ve got a wine for you to try.” He poured me a glass of Syrah from the Rocks District in Oregon. “Wine distributor brought it by the other day. I’d love your opinion.”
I swirled the glass slowly, watching the deep garnet cling to the sides before I took another sip. The Syrah was earthy,with that smoky, meaty edge I loved. Briny olives, black pepper, maybe a little plum.
“What do you think?” Hunter asked, rounding the counter with a tray of dirty glasses. “I’m not a fan myself. What do you taste? Because it’s like sucking on a rock to me.”
I took another sip and did my sommelier thing. “River rock soils and stressed vines give it a slow-roasted blackberry bush over campfire coals with a side of bacon.”
Hunter leaned against the bar. “It’s really hard not to roll my eyes when you say stuff like that.”
My phone buzzed. Lila. Was she canceling? Had I gotten nervous for no reason?
Lila
I’m running late. I’m SO sorry. I’ll be there in five minutes. Please don’t leave!
Vance
Not a problem. I’m having a glass of wine. Take your time.
Relief flooded through me. She wasn't canceling. Just late. I could handle late. Regardless, my palms continued sweating. My pulse hammering as fast as a pair of hummingbird wings. I shoved my hands in my pockets and tried to look casual. Confident. Like I did this all the time.
3
LILA
Ichanged outfits four times before Mia finally intervened.
“Mom, you look amazing in all of them,” she said from her perch on my bed, sounding exasperated as I held up yet another option. “Just pick one.”
The black dress felt too formal. The jeans and t-shirt too casual. The floral print too loud. Nothing seemed quite right. Whatever right was. God, this was awful. My hands were shaking, for heaven’s sake.
“What about this one?” I held up a navy wrap dress I’d bought two years ago and never worn.
