“Oh, nothing. A little bird told me that Olive has a new friend in town, and frankly, I was shocked to hear who Little Miss Sunshine has made an impression on.” Mischief paints her face, illuminating just how much of a scoundrel she really is. Ari looks at me, clearly wondering what I’ve been withholding.
“Oh, please. I haven’t made an impression on anyone. Other than working at the store and my normal morning run, I’ve barely left the cottage,” I repudiate her claim.
“Not what I’ve heard. Rumor has it, a certain sexy tattoo artist has staked his claim on the new little lady in town.” She’s goading me, and I don’t appreciate it one single bit.
“You’ve met Sam?” Ari asks, a hint of glee in her eyes.
“Uh, fine. Yes, I’ve run into him a few times. Once at work when he was picking up an order, once at the town business meeting that Beau conned me into, and once on my morning run when I literally ran into him. Other than that, he’s mainly taken to glaring at me from across the street.” Covering my face with my hands, I wait for the onslaught of questions. Instead, their cackles rapidly turn into outright hysterics. I wait for them to say something more, but my patience is waning. “What is so funny?”
“Sam is the one guy that every girl in this town is in love with, not counting us, obviously. It’s hilarious that all it takes is one Southern belle strutting into town, and he’s gone all caveman,” Meg says between sucks of air as she continues to fall apart.
“Okay, let’s not get carried away. The guy isn’t even nice to me. He acts like I’m an idiot . . . He even left me a fluorescent running vest so that I don’t make the mistake of accidentally bumping into him again. I’m positive your source has it wrong.”
I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince at this point, them or me. He’s nothing like the other guys I’ve dated, but then again, most of my dates have been with a bunch of sticks-in-the-mud who my parents insisted on setting me up with. They all either wanted me to ask my father to invest in their latest start up or enjoyed telling me all the ways I needed to transform myself to be a better fit for them. After years of trying to mold myself into the perfect package my mother expected me to be, the last thing I need is another person to remind me of my shortcomings.
“Sam is a catch, don’t get me wrong. But the funny part is, he thinks he actually stands a chance,” Meg says, once again wiggling her eyebrows at me.
“What is that supposed to mean?” I huff, downing the remainder of my drink.
“Oh, come on. We all know you’re . . . How should I say this? Closed off? When it comes to dating, I mean.” She shrugs as if she didn’t just pinpoint one of my greatest insecurities. I’d love to be open to it, to wear my heart on my sleeve. I’m just not sure the thing thumping in my chest can withstand any more rejection before forgetting how to beat all together. I take back what I said about loving Meg.
“That’s not true. He’s just not my type,” I say, defending myself before it’s really necessary.
Ari shakes her head and sucks a healthy amount of sangria through her straw. “Do you have a type?”
“I, uh, yeah. Of course, I do.” Not that I could tell anyone what it is. I try to keep my distance—I’ve spent most of my life working to meet expectations. In the past, the men I’ve dated haven’t been any different than my parents, always trying to fit me into a perfect little box. And while most of the time that’s my comfort zone, it’s also exhausting to be stuck there. It’s easier to avoid the whole dating thing in general, keep people at an arm’s length so they never have a chance to be disappointed with me.
“Mmmk. We’ll definitely be coming back to this.” Ari throws my words from earlier back in my face as I inadvertently allow another groan to slip past my lips. Damn that beautiful man-child and his sexy-as-heck tattoos.
“Are you planning to go to this Hollow Hearts thing tomorrow?” I ask, desperately trying to steer this conversation away from Sam and my dating life in general.
In unison the sisters respond with a resounding, “Of course!”
It’s the best event of the season besides Halloween itself,” Meg adds.
“Tell me more. You know I’m a sucker for a good opportunity to people watch.”
“I mean, the whole thing is kind of sad really. There was this witch Irina who escaped here from the trials . . .” Ari’s referring to the famous Salem witch trials, Beau informed me of that much. “She was supposedly courting one of the judges, and he was supposed to escape with her to avoid the trials. But legend has it that something went wrong, and they didn’t end up together. She died an old, lonely woman. No one really knows the whole story, but we celebrate her escape. It’s sort of like the antithesis of Valentine’s Day. Being single and lonely is the name of the game.”
“That sounds . . . depressing?” I question their enthusiasm for what seems like a pretty dark event.
“No, it’s a blast. There’s a lot of cute crafts and seasonal decor to peruse, spiked cider, usually a kissing booth or risqué bobbing for apples. It’ll be the perfect way to introduce you around, since you’re definitely not interested in Sam,” Meg chimes in while they both raise an eyebrow in my direction.
“Great! Maybe I’ll visit the kissing booth more than once,” I shoot back, not convincing anyone that I will be going within five feet of such a thing. I don’t do casual, but I don’t do committedeither. Three dates is my sweet spot. No one can get hurt in such a brief period of time—and my mother can’t get her hopes up.
They roll their eyes but thankfully go back to chatting about work and Meg’s return to college. She’s just home for the festival, which is better for me. I don’t need the nosy Nellie tracking my whereabouts or who I have and haven’t met yet.
After another drink, we’re all yawning and ready to pack it in for the evening—adulthood. Meg and Ari stand from our booth, giving me gentle hugs and waves goodbye. I’m lingering a bit. I still need to get to Howie and either give him a large tip, or demand that he allows me to pay him for my bill. The guilt of drinking for free is eating at me.
Standing, I peer out across the dark tavern, searching for the adorable redhead. My eyes land on a set of unmistakably blue ones staring me down, yet again. He’s sitting next to an attractive man that’s chattering away while Sam isn’t paying the slightest bit of attention. Instead, he’s locked in on me, looking better than I’ve ever seen him in a backwards hat.Did he have to wear the hat, I mean, really?Choosing not to engage more than necessary, I nod at him in acknowledgment but head toward the opposite end of the hand-hewn bar. Howie saunters over, an apologetic look etched across his brow.
“Howie. I’m Olive. I need to pay you for my drinks.” Direct and firm, not giving him a chance to deny I’ve been indulging for free.
“I-I c-can’t let you do that, Miss Olive,” he stutters, his nerves evident in how furiously he’s wiping the already clean bar top.
“I won’t tell Ari. I promise. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“Oh. I didn’t. Ari drinks on her dad’s tab, although now that you mention it, I probably shouldn’t have told you that because she thinks I give her free drinks. And well, if she believes that, maybe . . . You know what? Nope. Never mind.” He’s talking in circles, and I can’t help but smile at his innocence. I want topinch his cheeks and put him in my pocket. He’s so cute in a nervous and maybe a little nerdy kind of way.
