I hesitate.
She waits, patient, her gorgeous smile steady.
Curiosity gets the better of me, or maybe it's the way looking at her feels like stepping out of a three-year freeze into unexpected sunlight.
I sit.
The bartender appears like magic, whiskey neat for me, another colorful cocktail for her. I don’t remember ordering.
Katy raises her glass. “To surprises!”
I tap mine against it, the clink sharp in the space between us.
“To getting through it,” I mutter.
She laughs again, and damn if the sound doesn’t settle something restless I didn’t know was pacing inside me.
One drink, I remind myself. Just one—quick and painless.
But as she leans in, asking so many questions about me and my life, I already know I’m full of shit. This isn’t going to be quick. And it sure as hell isn’t going to be painless.
Chapter two
Katy
Katy
I’m halfway through dyeing my favorite pair of jeans when Jess texts me the SOS.
Jess:Emergency girls’ night. The Rusty Pine. 7 pm. Cocktails. Gossip. No excuses. Wear the red sweater. The one that makes your boobs look illegal.
I laugh out loud in my tiny rental cabin’s kitchen, the sound bouncing off the knotty pine walls. My hands are already purple from the dye, but the idea of getting out sounds like fun.
Me:You’re buying the first round. I’m still recovering from last week’s deadline hell.
Jess:Deal. Be there or I’m coming to drag you out by your curls.
I glance at the clock. Five thirty. Plenty of time to shower off the dye, tame the hair, and pretend I’m not a hermit who’s been living on takeout and freelance panic for the last six months.
Six months since I fled Denver.
Six months since the ex, the layoffs, the “you’re too much” comment that still stings when I’m tired. I came to the mountains for quiet. For space. For a fresh start where no one knows my name or expects me to be perpetually sunny and accommodating.
Turns out quiet is great until it’s too quiet.
I scrub my hands until the purple fades to lavender, shower fast under the weak water pressure, and fix my curls until they’re big and bouncy. The red sweater is soft and clingy in all the right places. Black jeans, ankle boots with a little heel, silver hoop earrings. A swipe of pink gloss. Glancing in the mirror, I’m happy with what I see.
I grab my coat, a puffy down thing that makes me look like a marshmallow, and head out.
The drive into town is short but beautiful in that stark February way. Snow dusts the pines like powdered sugar. The sky is already fading to orange and purple, stars pricking through early. My little SUV’s heater blasts, and I sing along to an old pop playlist loud enough to drown the voice in my head that says I should’ve stayed home with Netflix and a bottle of wine.
The Rusty Pine glows like a beacon when I pull up. String lights twinkle against the log exterior, smoke curls from the chimney, and the parking lot is dotted with trucks and a couple of snowmobiles. Classic mountain Tuesday night.
I spot Jess’s bright blue Jeep right away. She’s already inside, I can see her blonde head bobbing near the bar through the window.
I push through the door, and warmth wraps around me like a hug. Woodsmoke, fried pickles, the low thrum of conversation, and a hockey game on the TV. Jess waves me over like she’s landing a plane.
“Katy Moore, get your gorgeous self over here!”
