She’d known that Ivan was never there on a Saturday and yet had let Uma waltz over there anyway, all full of hope and excitement.
Uma took a moment to seethe on the front porch before shaking it off.
“Jerk,” she whispered and tromped down the steps to her car.
* * *
Blackwood’s one and only bar was noisy and dark on a Saturday night. Uma could have driven all the way into Charlottesville with its bigger, classier places, but she liked the idea of getting to know her new town.
My new town, she thought before tamping down the possessive edge to that phrase. Blackwood was just a pit stop. She kept forgetting that important fact.
Despite what the name implied, there was nothing particularly cozy about the Nook. Had it not been for the low lighting and the warm bodies filling it, it would have had all the atmosphere of a walk-in freezer. Uma didn’t have tons of experience with places like this—a country dive.
Everything, from the neon High Life sign buzzing in the window to the oddly assorted mix of people crowding the single room—even the general air of frenetic debauchery—was all new and wonderful. The unfamiliar rush of sidling up to a bar on her own, without Joey’s heavy hand pressed to her lower back, made her light-headed.
She looked forward to sitting and having a drink. Like an adult. Like aperson, for God’s sake. She pushed through that stupid fear of seeing Joey everywhere and forced herself to be strong, independence a steel rod in her spine.
The bartender acknowledged her immediately, another sign that things were going her way. He seemed efficient, so she didn’t take the attention personally, although a tiny part of her was flattered that he’d noticed her at all.
“What’ll it be, dahlin’?” he asked, British accent completely out of place in the wilds of central Virginia. Was this a put-on?
“Whatever’s easy.”
“You’re in a bar in the arsehole of the world on a Saturday night, love. Nothing’s easy. But I’m in the mood for a challenge.”
“Surprise me,” she said, in part to find out what kind of beverage a British bartender would sling and partly because she had no idea what to order.
As he headed off to mix her drink, a shoulder bumped hers, and her breath caught in her throat when she saw it wasn’t Joey—not even close, but still, the stress made her jumpy.
A few minutes later, the bartender set a tall glass in front of her. “Pimm’s Cup,” he said with a flourish. It looked like a fruit salad, so spiked with garnish and decorations, there was no easy way to approach it.
“Fancy,” she said as her heartbeat slowed to a normal rhythm.
“It’s good to have someone to fob all me fancy umbrellas off on. So don’t go anywhere, all right, love? This one’s on me.” He winked.
Uma forced a smile, wishing she could take a quick snapshot of the cocktail and another of the bartender, who was handsome in a blond hustler kind of way. Maybe a third shot of the couple, grinding inappropriately on the dance floor. All sweat and tongues.
Next week. Next week, she’d spend her last fifty bucks on a cheap point and shoot. Hell, she’d get a disposable camera if she had to. She needed something to filter all the newness that made up this updated version of her.My new me.
The bartender came back and pointed at her glass. “What’d you reckon?”
“It’s delicious.”
“What’s your name, love?”
“Uma.”
“Rory.” He held out a hand, and she hesitated only a few seconds before giving him a firm shake. She liked him. Confident, kind, no bullshit. “You meeting someone?”
“No, I’m not. I’m on my own.” She took a breath, ignoring the itch in the middle of her back that insisted Joey was somewhere close behind her. “New in town.”
“That so? You’ve come to the right place then.”
“What about you? Lived in Blackwood long?”
“Few years now.”
That was a surprise. You’d need a knife to cut through that accent.
