Brie was in high spirits, all things considered. She’d thrown herself into her work, which for her meant a flurry of emails, last-minute vendor calls, and frantic sketches on the legal pad she clutched like a lifeline. By the time we parked out front, she was still halfway through a conversation with her own reflection in the visor mirror, reciting what sounded like her entire gallery opening speech under her breath.
“D’you want to finish that before we go in?” I asked, watching her lip the words “innovative” and “accessible” like they’d been loaded into a shotgun.
She snapped the mirror up, clicked her pen closed. “No, I want to drown it in bourbon and fried food like the goddess intended.”
I grinned. “Pearl’s probably got your usual table ready.”
She side-eyed me. “You always act like we’re on a date, cowboy.”
“That’s because we are,” I said. “Anytime I’m out with you is a special occasion.”
We walked in arm-in-arm, which always felt less like a statement and more like mutual reinforcement against the Dairyville gauntlet. Pearl’s was already humming—two guys from the bank at the bar, a family of five on their way to a wedding reception in the side room, and in the back, a knot of Iron Valor cuts holding down the corner booth. The place smelled like heaven: frying oil, sweet onions, cigarette smoke that still clung to the curtains from the days when that was allowed.
Pearl herself intercepted us before we hit the hostess stand, looping a towel over her shoulder and hugging us both at once. She was built tall and broad and had the kind of presence that could stop a bar fight with a look.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite trouble magnet and the best thing to ever happen to him,” she boomed, squeezing Brie so hard I heard a vertebra pop.
Brie laughed. “Hi, Mama Pearl. Any chance you’ve got something with extra carbs and zero guilt?”
“Honey, the only thing I don’t have is guilt. Sit yourselves down. I’ll bring you the sampler and a couple of specials. Finn, you want a double?”
“Always,” I said. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Brie plopped into the booth and immediately started laying out her notepad, phone, and a stack of Post-Its like she might have to take depositions mid-meal. I watched her for a minute, just absorbing the kineticenergy that seemed to buzz off her skin, her hands never still. Even after everything she’d survived, she could still turn a room electric.
I hated to bring it up, but the thoughts of last night had me twisted into knots. That dream was like a storm rolling through the room. The way she’d kicked, thrashed, and screamed words that made little sense was unsettling. She’d bitten my bicep so hard she’d left a bruise the size of an egg. And the fact that she’d remembered none of the dream at all seemed so strange.
I took a swig of water, then tried to keep my tone casual. “So. Did you have flashes of the dream you had last night today?”
She paused from looking at her phone her brow furrowed. “I didn’t. It’s so weird. I remember feeling terrified, but nothing else. Guess it was no big deal, or I’d have remembered it.”
I leaned forward, elbows on the table. “You were screaming, Brie.”
That stopped her. She set the phone down, hands pressed flat on either side of the legal pad. “I don’t remember, okay? I woke up. I was in bed; you were there; it was fine. I have shit to do. I can’t afford to get sidetracked by a bad dream.”
The words came out sharp, but I didn’t let it bother me. “I’m not saying you can’t handle it, Maverick. I just don’t like waking up to you in a cold sweat, is all.”
She exhaled, pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry. I just… every time I think about it, it slips away. Like, the more I try to remember, the less there is. It’s just this feeling. Like something terrible happened in that dream that my mind doesn’t want me to remember. So I figure I’m better off not trying so hard to remember it, ya know?”
I reached across and squeezed her wrist. “That makes sense sweetheart. I don’t want you to think about it if it could cause you more pain. That’s the last thing I want for you. I want to carry all the things you can’t carry; that’s all.”
She smiled, the first real smile since we’d sat down. “I know. That’s why I haven’t lost my mind yet.”
Pearl appeared with drinks and two plates the size of hubcaps. The sampler was a pile of hushpuppies, fried pickles, and something that might once have been a jalapeno, battered and deep-fried to oblivion.
“You’re a saint,” Brie said, popping a hushpuppy in her mouth.
“I’m an enabler, darling,” Pearl said, then fixed her gaze on me. “You keeping this one out of trouble?”
I shrugged. “She’s a tornado unto herself ma’am. I just try to build a fence around it.”
Pearl snorted. “Just don’t let her talk you into one of her ‘health kicks.’ I’ve heard she tried to sub out the mashed potatoes for kale; I had to stage an intervention.”
“Never again,” Brie vowed, solemn as a priest.
Pearl leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. “I see you two’ve been on the rumor circuit. Harper says your gallery’s all but ready for the big time.”
Brie flushed, then tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “I don’t know about that. But it’s nice to finally be doing something that matters.”
