Nash
What the hell is Lucy thinking?
Crutches. Concussion. A bar full of drunk tourists and slick tile floors.
I’d like to chalk it up to youth, but twenty-six isn’tthatyoung.
It’s young enough, a quiet voice offers.
And the outfit—fitted shorts, soft top clinging to her like a second skin. She looked like summer and stubbornness, sitting at that high-top like she didn’t feel a single eye on her.
Except mine.
I glance back, not meaning to. She’s still watching me.
Her gaze slips away a second too late, her mouth tugging into the barest smile. The kind that hits deeperthan it should. The kind thatlingers.I rake a hand through my hair and turn back to the bar.
Tonight was supposed to be easy. A way to get my mind off Lucy Calder. A chance to prove that I do go out and have fun. That I’m not frozen like Bennett said.
Instead, she’s here. Laughing with her friends. Her bad foot propped carefully on a stool. Doing everythingrighteven when she’s doing everything wrong.
And somehow, I’m the one off-balance.
Our eyes meet again.
Once.
Twice.
Her smile is free and easy. When it lands on me it feels like sunrise breaking over the bay.
“She’s cute. You should talk to her.” The bartender, a tiny woman with lots of hair and a tattoo snaking down one arm, scoops ice into a glass, then grabs a bottle.
“What?” I tear my gaze off Lucy to glare at the woman across from me.
“I’m just sayin.’ I watch people try to connect in here all the time. So many crash and burn, but when they look at each other like that?” She indicates Lucy with a jerk of the bottle then fills the glass. “Nothin’ but good can come of it.”
“I’m not in the market.”
The bartender pulls a face. “Suit yourself.”
“Believe me, it’s better this way.”
“If you say so.”
And this is what I get for trying to change up myroutine. Next time I’ll just go to the Brass Lantern like I normally do.
I toss a couple twenties on the bar and nod to the bartender. The air outside is cooler than I expected. I breathe it in like medicine and head for the truck. Door slams harder than necessary. Hand on the wheel. Knuckles white.
If today taught me anything, it’s that I need to be careful around Lucy, the patient I never thought I’d see again, the twenty-something who really isn’t my gig.
Mom’s house smells like roast and rosemary. Warm. Familiar.
Same floral curtains she’s had since I was twelve. Same rustic wooden plaque with that bible verse that takes on more meaning with each year—“Come to me, all you who are weary and heavy burdened… for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.”Same creaky floorboard in the hallway that everyone knows to step over, except Beau, the golden retriever Mom adopted after Dad passed. He dashes in from the back room, tail wagging, nosing me like I’ve been gone a year. I scratch his ears, then glance back at that plaque. That verse. It makes something hollow ache behind my ribs. Instead of paying it much attention, I look to Bennett, who’s elbows-deep in a bowl of chips like he hasn’t eaten since Tuesday.
“I saw your girl last night.”
“Lucy?” he asks, mouth half-full.
