She’s wearing this black little dress, the hem daring to land mid-thigh. Her legs look miles long in those red cowboy boots. I don’t know what sick part of me wants to kiss the ground she walked in on because of them, but I do. She’s always had a way of turning casual rebellion into something that knocks the breath out of me.
Emiliana looks gorgeous.
Dangerous.
Her hair is curled with loose waves framing her face, lips are painted that deep, defiant shade of red I remember so clearly.Victory Red. She told me once it was the color women wore during World War II to feel strong, powerful and unbreakable.
She is war and wonder all at once. She could step on my throat and I would be the one to apologize for being in her way.
But there’s something off in the way she smiles. It doesn’t seem genuine in the same way I know it to be. Maybe her friends forced her to come along and she is putting on an act to not disappoint them. That has to be the most logical option because I don’t think she would willingly come to my bar, especially after the night of the festival.
Liv and Sophia are behind her, chatting and laughing, totally oblivious to their surroundings. I, on the other hand, feel like I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
They head straight for the far end of the bar and slide onto the tall stools like they’ve done it a hundred times before. Emma lingers for a second, as if debating whether or not to turn around and bolt, before finally climbing on the last seat in defeat.
She positions herself on the outer edge, one leg crossed over the other, fidgeting with a ring on her finger. It’s a simple gold band with four stones in the middle. It belonged to her mom, I think.
I know I should leave. I said I was going to leave at 8 o’clock, it’s now 8:06.
But despite what my brain knows is the right thing to do, my feet have a different plan as they start moving before I can stop them. There are two other bartenders that could serve them instead, but that’s not enough reason to keep me from walking in her direction.
Emma’s gaze lifts slowly, watching me approach with a guarded expression.
“Of course you are working tonight.” She snaps, the words come out cool and careful.
I lean an arm on the bar and arch a brow. “You sound surprised. Do you not have my work schedule memorized?”
Her eyes narrow, but there’s a flicker of something else under the surface. Something fragile. “Cute.”
“Some would say charming.” I reply.
Liv rolls her eyes. “Somewould be wrong.”
I ignore her and look at Sophia. “What can I get you ladies?”
“I’ll take a mojito,” Sophia says with a quick smile.
“Whiskey sour,” Liv chimes in, elbowing Emma lightly.
She hesitates. Her fingers toy with the ring again, twisting and turning like somehow it’ll help keep her together. Finally, she lifts her chin, brushing off whatever she was thinking and feigning nonchalance instead. “Vodka cranberry.”
I give a single nod and turn away.
Back at the shelf of liquor, I set to work on the drinks, not letting myself look at her. My ears betray me as I clearly hear their voices above all the other noises. Sophia’s giggle. Liv’s snarky comments. Emma’s quiet replies and forced laughs that seem subdued and rehearsed.
There is something going on in that beautiful brain of hers. I don’t know what it is, but something inside me wants to be the one to fix it.
Frankie pops up beside me suddenly, grabbing a bottle of bourbon off the shelf. “She looks like hell,” he mutters under his breath.
I stiffen. “What do you mean? She looks fine.”
“She’s clearly faking it. You know that, right?”
“Maybe.”
“She shouldn’t be here.” The words come out of his mouth like a secret, like something I wasn’t supposed to hear.
I glance over at Emma before I can stop myself. Her knee bounces beneath the bar, over and over again. She is stillfidgeting and restless. I turn back as Frankie walks off, shaking his head.
