He looks like he’s still tempted to question my pet of choice but then lets it go. “To hammer down some last details for the restaurant with you and James, then I’ll be out of here.” A smile snakes across his mouth. “But I can be persuaded to stay a day longer if you change your mind and let me take you out?” His smile is the very picture of playboy promises. The kind of smile I used to hunt—back when I was content with hopping from experience to experience.
“Nope. But it’s not personal, I just don’t date co-workers.”Not anymore.
Not since Caden, a classmate who ripped my self-esteem to shreds back in New York. I met him pretty early on in my culinary school days. He was charming and hot and available. Our free time was scarce but it lined up a lot, so we started hooking up shortly after meeting and it carried on for a solid year. We’d have sex, then order takeout and occasionally watch a movie or something. The epitome of casual. And that wasn’t a problem . . . until it was.
Apparently I’mnot someone he could take home to his parents.Someone he had no problems sleeping with, but actually spending time together in public? I guess that was a step too far.
He liked my body, but he didn’t like me.
And that cut deep.
That entire last year of school I had to see him in class and pretend his words hadn’t created a festering wound.
After what feels like an eternity in the car, we finally cross into Rome city limits. Tears prick my eyes as we drive through the town square, passing Mabel’s inn and the Market and the Pie Shop. All the places I once couldn’t wait to escape, now I consider leaping out of the moving car just so I can kiss their sidewalks.I’m home.
Technically, coming home means I failed, but no one here has to know it.
“Are you coming in?” I ask Tommy after we pull up in front of Hank’s bar (the town’s Friday-night hot spot) and realize Tommy hasn’t turned off the car yet or made any moves to get out.
“Nah. You know how much this town likes me.”Zero percent.“I’ll take your bags with me back to the house. Want me to take your . . . turtle?”
“Sammy has attachment issues. I’ll keep him with me.”
“Right. Have fun.” After I shut the door, he rolls down the passenger-side window and leans toward it. “Hey, Maddie.”
I turn back.
“You know where to find me if you get lonely while I’m in town,” he says with a wink, reciting my pickup line back at me.
I can’t help it, I laugh. “Get out of here, asshole!”
His absurd little BMW kicks up a cloud of gravel as he tears out of the parking lot. I tuck Sammy under my arm and follow the faint buzz of the flickering neon sign hanging above the door.
Inside, Hank’s is the same as it’s always been—charmingly dingy. There’s sticky, old cracked leather over the barstools. Christmas lights strung across the ceiling. Jukebox against the wall with outdated songs that no one ever seems tired of, and the lingering memory of cigarette smoke from days past ingrained in every inch of the place. I hunted and hunted for dive bars in New York that could replicate this vibe but always came up short. Because none of them had the people or the memories that make Hank’s bar so special.
My eyes sweep across the room, noting that none of my siblings are here yet, then freeze on the man sitting at the bar.James Huxley.He’s everything opposite of Tommy. He’s rough farm hands and old T-shirts. Wranglers and dark brown hair. He’s the bachelor everyone wants but no one can have. He’s also thirty-four to my thirty, and that used to seem like a big deal—but not anymore.
There’s a lot of things about James that used to seem wrong to me, but now . . .
Oh wow—nope. Can’t finish that thought.
He’s sitting by himself at the bar, watching a muted TV with his tan forearms resting against the counter. His favorite old Carhartt hat hides his eyes, and as I stand here watching him the strangest desire sweeps through me. I want to go wrap my arms around him.
I want to hug James.
Likely this is just a side effect of missing home so much though.
After forcing this weird urge into submission, I set my shoulders and meet him at the bar. As I stand behind him, the lingering smell of bygone cigarettes grows stronger and the Christmas lights strung overhead twinkle.
Silly that these are the things that make me feel warmer.
Before he sees me, I reach around his shoulder and snag his beer bottle. James is not someone who startles easily. He’s solid. Steady. And that’s why he only casually looks over his shoulder at me while I raise his beer to my mouth and take two big pulls before setting it back down.
“Hello, Jamesie. Miss me?” I say, ready to take part in our usual game of antagonization.
James’s brown eyes connect with mine for the first time in months, and for some damn reason my stomach swoops, jump-starting my dormant heart.
The corner of his mouth curls. “You have no idea,” he says, and I must not have detected any notes of sarcasm because of how loud the music is in here. And that smile he’s giving me? It has to be a trick of the neon lights.
