“I’ll put on a low heel. Maybe some booties.” I’m not going to abandon all my standards. Eve throws me an approving nod.
I come back downstairs to a cutthroat game of rock, paper, scissors among Beau, Tucker, and Annabelle. I wonder if the bar plan is forgotten and this is what we’re doing now, but Eve tells me they’re deciding who’s driving tonight.
Tucker loses and grunts his disappointment. But his eyes follow his wife’s dancing form around the room and he has a small smile on his face, not that mad at his impending sobriety.
I need more single friends. This level of sacrifice, consideration, and affection is making me itch under the collar. Or under my regular plaid button-down, because apparently in the South it’s always extra-casual Friday.
We pile into another truck because I think it’s illegal to have a sedan here. Annabelle takes control of the radio, putting on a country station and singing along with the songs. I don’t know any of them, but the first one is a man singing about checking me for ticks.
Wait, is that a danger I have to worry about? What do I do if I find a tick? Where’s the closest hospital? Upon hearing more of the song, though, apparently this singer’s just trying to flirt.
That was terrifying.
“Keep in mind this isn’t The Plaza,” Beau warns me.
“I’m not a snob.” I can hang, damn it.
“You’re the one who tried to get dressed up for MacGregor’s.” Making it sound like a cardinal sin.
“I just asked so I would be prepared.” And they all answered. No one held the backsass, but it’s fine, next time I’ll ask for it on the side. “It’s rude to over-and under-dress for an occasion. I’m being polite, Beauregard Dean.”
“Ah. I was wonderin’ how long it would take to make that a thing.”
“It is a great name. A loooong name.”
“It’s a family name.”
“So defensive, Beauregard Dean.” I shake my head in disappointment.
Beau opens his mouth, probably to defend his name’s honor some more, but Tucker parks the truck outside of a building with a neon sign telling me we’re at MacGregor’s. There are a few other buildings next to it, but they’re all closed at this time of night. Beau helps me down from the truck and walks me into the building behind his sister.
Okay. I can see why they were giving me crap now for the cocktail dress comment.
The first thing I notice is the décor: a haphazard mix of roosters, tigers, and bulldogs (I think that’s a sports thing, or I have questions), wood, neon signs creating an atmospheric glow over everything, and chairs held together by duct tape and a prayer, I think.
I gingerly sit down on one of the bar stools at the bar, waiting for the bartender to come over.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asks when she gets to us.
“I’ll have a whiskey ginger.”
Everyone else orders as well and Beau throws down a twenty and turns around.
“Wait.” I grab Beau’s sleeve. “You have to finish paying.” Is the farm having some financial trouble?
“Oh, Baby Girl.” He shakes his head, pityingly. “I did pay.”
I look at the money, not understanding that. “Okay. But what about the tip?” He didn’t strike me as a bad tipper. I open my purse to find some cash to put down.
Beau puts his hand on my arm to stop me. “The tip is there.”
I look from the money to Beau’s face, and then back to the money. That can’t be right. I look above the bar and see a board with prices on it and do a double take when I read them.
“What is this wondrous magic? I will have five more drinks, please,” I yell after the bartender.
“How about we drink these first, Baby Girl?” Beau steers me to the table his sister already took over.
“The drinks are so reasonably priced; we have to drink more. This will never happen to me again.”
