Nodding, I soften my tone and drench it with sweetness. I feel bad for possibly putting a damper on this guy’s night. “Thank you. I’ll reach out to her.” I hold out my hand. “Thank you, Mr.…”
He places his burly hand in mine, the size consuming mine. “Harrison Crock.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Crock. I’ll be back.”
He smirks.
I start to ramble. “I won’t be back to bother you about a job—unless you change your mind—but I’ll return to eat your pizza. And your salads, because those are really good too.” I chuckle.
“Sounds good. I’ll see you again…”
“Taryn,” I smile, and he drops my hand.
On to plan C.
Sauntering out the front door of Crocks, I’m hit with a wave of fresh air. The floral smell from the barrels decorating the sidewalk and the woodsy scent from the trees make me stop in my tracks. It’s calming. Soothing.
I walk between two parked cars and glance both ways before crossing to my truck across the street. I peer up from the pavement, my eyes locking on something sitting on my hood. Something that sure as hell shouldn’t be there.
Gaping at the apple, goosebumps spread over my body. Someone is watching me. It’s the only reasonable explanation. I study my surroundings. Buildings and businesses line this side of the street, but I don’t spot anyone or anything that stands out besides this damn apple. Plus, all the establishments besides Crocks appear closed since it’s eight o’clock at night.
It’s only day three of living in this stupid town, and I have no idea who is messing with me and why. Maybe because I’m thenew girl, and according to Harrison, new people don’t move here often.
I’m an easy target.
I’m glad I can entertain their boredom.
Balling my hands into fists at my sides, I dig my fingernails into my palms. Spinning back around, my feet move, marching straight back into Crocks. I am not touching that apple.
If I’m going insane, drinking won’t hurt.
Harrison lounges on the other side of the bar, and when he spots me, I flatten my lips in a line and exhale a breath he can hear. “I’m going to need a drink.”
He grins. “I thought you might need one. First one’s on the house.”
FIVE | TARYN
The funny thing about alcohol? It’s like one of those teeter-totters my third graders would play on. Piled on one side are all the things you don’t want to think about—the things you want to forget. Then, on the opposite sits the garbage can of junk you threw away a long time ago.
When Idrink, the things I want to ignore and everything I believed I had let go of from the past come to the forefront of my mind.
Alcohol numbs certain parts of you but makes you painfully aware of others simultaneously.
Like the fact that I honestly don’t have a family, and my parents couldn’t care less.
Like the reality that I’m entirely alone.
Like the bitter truth that I’m stuck with a year lease in a town that’s already driving me to the brink of madness.
But hey, I’ve got a cute dog at home and a bartender in front of me who keeps handing me free drinks because I think he pities me.
And when you’re like me and want to feel absolutely nothing because the only person to blame for your unfortunate luck isyourself, the only solution is to keep drinking until a point where everything shuts off, and the world becomes dark.
For a few hours, anyway, until you wake up with a massive hangover and feel worse than you did before.
I’m not at that point. But my fingertips are numb, a telltale sign that I’m buzzed.
After Harrison Crock got me a drink, I downed it in less than ten minutes. He told me about the club downstairs, and I was intrigued. Apparently, it’s also a part of Crocks, but it’s the hangout spot when the sun goes down, and the locals or tourists want a club-like atmosphere. I’m glad he pointed me toward the stairs because I need the distraction.
