“Okaaaay.” I drag out the word because I can.
“Look, thank you and all for saving me from meeting my maker, or smashing my head on the bar—not a good look—but I’m tired and hungry and I need to order some food.” Sherights herself, pulling her shoulders back with some kind of indignation, presumably embarrassment, but she has nothing to be ashamed of. This is fate. Then she steps closer to the bar, gripping the edge of it with her hands.
I chuckle at themeeting my makercomment.
Feisty.
I like that more by the passing second. It’s amazing what you can learn about yourself in a space of a few seconds in a new small town I can’t actually remember the name of. It also doesn’t hurt that the woman who just ran into me is cute, too.
I internally slap myself because I’m here in Wyoming to lie low and keep my nose out of trouble, not save any damsels in distress. And The Perky Porch is the last place I was expecting to do that. I’m still internally laughing my ass off at the names of things around here:Butterfingers Bakery? The Dusty Spur Diner? Lonely Star Outfitters?I don’t know who came up with the names, but I secretly like it.
“I’m Brett,” I say absently as she waits next to me to place her order at the counter. I guess that’s where she was heading before her near fall.
From my side glance, it appears she’s trying to forget I’m here, her fingers tap on the edge of the bar as she stares straight ahead at nothing but bottles of booze lined up on the back wall.
She finally replies with: “That’s nice.” As she begins wafting herself with the menu, strands of her chestnut hair blow around with the motion.
“I thought it was customary in a small town for everyone to be friendly?” I mutter out of the side of my mouth, intentionally directing it to her.
She spares me a glance. “You’re obviously new around here.”
I laugh. “Is it that obvious?”
“Kinda.”
I smirk, but quickly sober. “Won’t you tell me your name, darlin’?”
I don’t know why her sigh amuses me, but it does. It’s like she’s having some kind of internal battle with herself. I don’t really think it has anything to do with me, not that I’m the world’s biggest Casanova, but women usually respond to me in a more positive manner. I think it’s the accent, or the hat. Her hostility makes me even more curious.
“It’s Bailey,” she finally says, though she may as well have added, ‘now go away.’
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Bailey.” I nod and awkwardly hold out my hand toward her. This is what southern men do, but she looks down at it, her eyebrows knitting together for a millisecond before she reciprocates a quick, very tight handshake. Not the watery, flailing kind you find so much in people these days. This woman means business.
It’s impressive, to say the least.
The way my big palm curls around her small hand, and the warmth that encases our touch, sends sparks through my body. Sparks that shouldn’t be there because I just met this woman. I know it’s stupid, because she could be here with someone… I don’t know that she isn’t. And I’m supposed to be keeping a low profile…
“Do you mind if I order my food now?” she says, as she looks from me to the server, and I gesture that she should proceed. Not that she needs to ask me.
She rattles off a long order, obviously she’s here with other people, and pulls out her wallet from her back pocket. It’s then I fish my card from the top front of my flannel and lean over towards the credit card machine. “Allow me,” I say, and before she can pay, I tap the card against the screen.
Her head whips around and those angsty, dark eyes meet mine. “Why did you do that?”
“Well, it seems appropriate after what you’ve been through tonight,” I say, looking up at the server, giving her a chin lift. “There’s a spilled drink with a pesky lemon wedge causing some disruption over here, sweetheart.” I motion over to the scene behind me.
“I’ll get it cleaned right up.” The server, named Jill, smiles and tears off the meal receipt, passing it to Bailey.
“Sweet,” Bailey says, then turns to me. “Brett? You really didn’t need to do that, but thanks.”
I nod. “Any time.”
“And for saving my life.”
Wait, is that a hint of a smile?
I shake my head. “My momma is always tellin’ me to pay it forward, and I like to do that whenever I can.”
“Well, that’s awfully generous to pay for me and my friends’ meals.” As quick as she thanks me, her eyes narrow again. “Wait, you’re not trying to pick me up, are you?”
