“Observant as always,” she quips, but there’s no real bite to it. She turns to the bartender with a polite smile. “Can I get a gin and tonic, please?”
The bartender’s eyes flicker between us, clearly calculating the dynamics at play. “Sure thing,” she says, her friendly tone slightly cooler than it was with me. She moves away to make the drink, giving us a moment of relative privacy at the crowded bar.
“You look ...” I trail off, searching for a word that won’t sound like a line. Amazing? Beautiful? Incredible? They all feel inadequate. “Different,” I finally manage, immediately wanting to kick myself. “I mean, good different. Great different.”
Smooth, Williamston. Real smooth.
“Thanks.” She runs a hand down the front of her dress in a gesture that seems half self-conscious, half proud. “Genna convinced me to try something new.”
“It’s working for you,” I say, unable to keep my eyes from tracing the curve of her waist, the line of her shoulders. “Seriously, Chey, you look ... wow.”
A faint blush rises to her cheeks, but her expression remains guarded. “Careful, or your admirer might get jealous.” She nods toward the bartender, who’s making her drink with considerably less enthusiasm than she did mine.
“She’s not—I wasn’t—” I fumble, frustrated with myself for getting distracted. “I was just ordering a drink.”
“Mmhmm.” Cheyenne’s lips curve into a small, knowing smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Don’t worry about it. You’re a free agent, remember? Just friends and all that.”
The words hit like a body check, knocking the air out of me. There it is—the comment from Christmas, thrown back at me like a challenge.
“About that,” I start, lowering my voice. “What I said at breakfast, I didn’t—”
“Here’s your gin and tonic,” the bartender interrupts, sliding Cheyenne’s drink across the bar with practiced efficiency. “That’ll be twelve dollars.”
I automatically reach for my wallet again, but Cheyenne beats me to it, placing a twenty on the bar. “I’ve got it,” she says, not looking at me. “Keep the change.”
Before I can respond, Chey turns away, drink in hand, slipping back into the crowd with a grace that makes the sequins on her dress shimmer like falling stars.
I watch her go, frozen in place, my untouched whiskey forgotten on the bar behind me. The dog charm in my pocket suddenly feels heavier, a weighty reminder of all I could lose if I don’t find the courage to say what needs to be said.
“You’re in trouble, man.” The bartender’s voice breaks through my thoughts, and I turn to find her watching me with a knowing expression.
“What?”
She nods in the direction Cheyenne disappeared. “That look on your face. I’ve seen it before. You’ve got it bad.”
I don’t bother denying it. “Yeah, I do.”
“Well, for what it’s worth,” she says, wiping down the bar, “she kept looking at you too. When she thought you wouldn’t notice.”
The words send a flicker of hope through my chest. “Really?”
The bartender shrugs. “Women know these things. Now, are you going to drink that whiskey, or should I pour it back in the bottle?”
I pick up the glass, downing the amber liquid in one swift motion. The burn as it goes down is clarifying, sharpening my resolve.
“Thanks,” I say, setting the empty glass on the bar.
I scan the crowd, but Cheyenne has completely disappeared among the sea of partygoers. The rooftop is filling up now as midnight approaches, people claiming spots along the railing for the best view of the fireworks that will light up the city skyline when the clock strikes twelve.
Somewhere in this crowd is the woman I’m falling for. And I have less than an hour to find her, to make her understand that what I feel for her is real. That I didn’t mean what I said. That “just friends” is the furthest thing from what I want us to be.
I push away from the bar, determination replacing the uncertainty that’s plagued me for days.
Tonight, I find Cheyenne. Tonight, I tell her everything.
Tonight, I stop running from the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
