“I’m good at overthinking.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“You know you don’t have to figure it all out today, right?”
“I know, but my brain doesn’t work that way.”
“Well, then maybe we need to get your brain to shut up for a while.” He grins. “Tomorrow night, be prepared.”
“Wait, prepared for what?”
“Well, if I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”
“Wyatt.”
“Trust me. You’ll like it, or you’ll hate it, but either way, you’ll stop overthinking for a few hours.”
Friday night arrives, and The Rusty Spur is packed. I’m starting to understand the rhythm now. Fridays are always busy, but the last Friday of the month is really crowded.
“Payday,” Dolly explains.
I’m behind the bar helping pour drinks when Presley bounces over, her eyes glimmering with excitement she can barely contain.
“What?” I ask suspiciously.
“Nothing. Just excited about tonight.”
“Why? What’s tonight?”
“You’ll see.” She looks at Wyatt across the bar, and they both grin.
I don’t like this at all.
“Oh, you’ll like it,” Presley says, “or you’ll hate it, but it’ll be memorable.”
Around eight o’clock, I understand what they mean.
A truck pulls up outside, and through the window, I watch two big guys start unloading something large and mechanical-looking.
“What is that?” I ask as they maneuver it toward the door.
Dolly appears beside me, grinning too. “Well, that, sugar, is Tommy’s mechanical bull.”
“And before you ask, yes,” Wyatt says, appearing on my other side, “I arranged this.”
“Why would you arrange for a mechanical bull?”
“Well, because,” Wyatt says, “you need to have more fun.”
“I have plenty of fun. Without a bull involved.”
“When’s the last time you did something completely ridiculous?”
I open my mouth to answer and realize that I can’t.
When was the last time?
In Atlanta, everything I did was calculated, controlled, and appropriate. Even my fun was carefully curated. Tasteful gallery openings, charity events, and brunches at the right restaurants.
