Pearl nodded, then added. “Well darlin’, getting yourself mated to the most eligible man this side of the Red River was a pretty big get if you ask me.” She slapped Brie on her shoulder and sauntered off to the next table to terrorize another patron.
“Well, she’s got me there,” Brie said, and I laughed.
“I’m the one who won the prize in that deal,” I said. “You improved my standing by about a hundred percent.” I squeezed her hand.
We ate for a while in silence, just listening to the hum of the bar, the low twang of a country ballad on the jukebox, the rattle of ice in the cheap plastic glasses. I felt the tension start to drain out of me, replaced by the warmth of being somewhere I belonged.
After a minute, Brie wiped her fingers on a napkin and said, “Hey, Finn?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you think I should try medication? For the sleep thing?”
I weighed my answer. “If you want. But I think you just need to let your mind go a little. Maybe less caffeine after three p.m.”
She laughed, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I can try.”
She looked around the bar, then leaned in. “My mom used to make this thing—hot toddy, but with, like, every herb in the cabinet. You ever hear of that?”
“Sure,” I said. “Pearl probably has a family recipe. Want me to ask?”
Brie nodded. “I think I’d rather drink witch’s brew than pop pills.”
I flagged Pearl down as she walked by with a tray of chicken-fried steaks. “Ma’am, you got a hot toddy recipe? Something strong enough to put down a wolf?”
Pearl grinned, wiped her hands on her apron. “Honey, I got a recipe that’ll put a full-grown Alpha in a coma. Gimme five minutes, I’ll have you a to-go jar.”
Brie lit up, more at the idea of a homemade remedy than any actual belief in its efficacy. I think it was the gesture, the continuity—someone from here helping her feel like she belonged.
While we waited, she rattled off more plans for the opening. Who was coming, who wasn’t, which reporter from Amarillo would try to make her gallery look like a “meth den with a taste for abstract.” I watched her, listened, let myself be hypnotized by the way her hands moved, the cadence of her voice.
Pearl returned with a Mason jar filled with golden liquid. She unscrewed the lid, added a lemon wedge, then tightened it back up. “Thirty seconds in the microwave before bed. Sip it slow. Don’t call me if you end up howling at the moon.”
Brie took the jar with reverence, cradling it in her hands. “Thank you, Pearl. You’re an angel.”
“Just don’t tell the local priest,” Pearl said. “He might make you confess to being a liar.”
As we got up to leave, I paid the tab and threw a ten in the tip jar. Brie grabbed my hand, the warmth of her palm a promise.
“You know I love you, right?” She said, voice low.
I looked her dead in the eye. “I know. But I like hearing it, anyway.”
We walked out into the night, the jar of hot toddy gleaming like a lantern in her grip. I helped her into the truck, then slid behind the wheel, feeling for the first time all week like maybe, just maybe, things were going to be alright.
But then I glanced at Brie, and saw the way she clutched that jar, white-knuckled, like it was the last thing keeping her together.
And I wondered how long we could keep pretending that love was enough to save us from whatever was waiting in the dark.
Back home, I did everything in my power to keep Brie from unraveling. The minute we crossed the threshold, I insisted she go straight to the bedroom and get out of her day clothes. I hung up her jacket, collected the mason jar toddy, and told her I’d holler when the bath was ready. I wanted to fuck her so bad it made my teeth hurt, but I’d made her a promise: tonight was about rest, not ravaging.
I ran the tub long and hot, pouring in half a bottle of the artisanal bath soak I’d picked up from the farmers’ market last Saturday—smelled like cedar and bluebonnet honey, the kind of scent that clung to skin for hours after. I flicked the switch on the little Bluetooth speaker we kept by the sink. Out poured the sound of distant thunderstorms, heavy on the rain, just enough bass in the thunder to trick your heartbeat into slowing down.I set out a towel for her, extra thick and plush, and lit one of the candles from her stash—a white, jar thing that smelled like exotic flowers.
She appeared in the doorway, hair twisted up, face scrubbed bare. There was something so naked about her in that moment, not just the way she was wearing my old t-shirt and nothing else, but the way she looked at me like I was the only thing holding her together. She took in the scene, the effort, and said, “You are absolutely precious, Finn Walsh.”
“I’m a man of many talents,” I said, and kissed her on the forehead. “Now get in before I toss you in.”
She grinned, dropped the shirt, and slid into the bath. She hissed at the heat for a second, then leaned back, eyes going heavy-lidded. “Feels like a crime to be this spoiled.”
