“Sorry,” she says, shaking her head. Her expression clears and she gives me a smile that transforms her whole face and shows me a glimpse of the resemblance between her and Liam. “I was just surprised to see Rex with a stranger. I’m Thea.” She offers me her hand, and I stand to shake it. “You’re Josslyn Hazelwood.”
My smile wavers, but I don’t let it slip. “I am. You can call me Joss. It’s nice to meet you.”
“The pleasure is mine. I’m abigfan. I’ve seen all your movies.”
“Thank you.” I glance down at Rex to find him watching me with wide eyes.
“That’swhy you look familiar,” he says slowly, eyes searching my face with open interest. “Mom’s always watching those romance movies.”
Thea laughs lightly. She ruffles her son’s dark hair, leaving her hand on his head and rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. “It’s true.” Her eyes dart away and then return to sweep over my face. I’m accustomed to feeling on display, and I feel that way now, even though they mean well and are simply curious.
“We need to get going, but I work at The Watering Hole, a bar at the edge of town,” Thea says. “You should come by tonight and I’ll buy you a drink.”
“You’re working tonight?” Rex cuts in before I can respond. “You already worked all day today.”
“I know, buddy, I’m sorry. They asked me to do another shift and I couldn’t say no. I called Mae on my way over and she said she’d make those fajitas you love for dinner and then you can sleep there.”
Now I’m the one watching curiously; I duck my head to make it less obvious, but my eyes go back and forth between Thea and Rex. Thea’s smile looks forced, and her shoulders are hunched slightly. I don’t need the bags under her eyes to tell me she’s exhausted; her body language says it all. I’m also fairly certain I catch a whiff of alcohol coming off her. She mentioned working in a bar, so it’s possible she had a spill earlier today, but I have a feeling she might have had a drink or two herself.
That thought makes my stomach tighten with dread. Did she drive here? Is she going to drive Rex to Mae’s? “Can I offer you a ride to the Murphys’ place?”
“Oh, thanks, but Mae’s still at the café, so I’m going to drop Rex there and then walk back to work.” Whatever she sees in my face makes her expression shift. “I don’t currently have a license.” Her tone is light despite the hint of challenge in her words, almost like defiance.
“Well, walking is good for you anyway, right?” I say with a shrug, hoping to convey I’m not judging her.
Her lips curve the tiniest bit. “That’s right. So, tonight? I’m heading back to The Watering Hole in about an hour and I’ll be there ’til midnight. It shouldn’t be too busy since it’s a weeknight, so you can come in for a drink and we can chat while I work.”
“Oh, um, I…” Deflecting and gently turning people down are among my specialties. It’s a talent I’ve had to hone over the years to prevent people from walking all over me or assuming they can somehow lay claim to me due to my status as a public figure. I guess a few days of sitting around mindlessly has dulled my skills because I can’t think of a single excuse not to go, even though hanging out in a bar is the last thing I want to do. The temptation to go home, get back into my pajamas, and carry on with the book I’ve been reading is too great. Plus, despite my resolve to eat healthier from now on, the box of extra creamy mac and cheese I impulse bought at the market is calling my name.
“I won’t tell anyone who you are,” Thea says. “I’m good at keeping secrets.”
For a second, I think the comment is meant as a form of blackmail. She wants me to hang out with her and if I don’t agree, she’ll broadcast the fact a celebrity is hiding out in Honeywell Hollow. But as I study her face and take in her hopeful expression, I realize how mistrusting I’ve become. Besides the natural wariness that comes with being well known, Alan told so many lies while he was cheating, it made me doubt my formerly stellar bullshit meter and my ability to tell the difference between those who are genuine and those who aren’t.
Even knowing Thea is a fan of my movies, there’s something in her eyes that tells me she’s genuine. Genuine, and also lonely. I ignore the voice in my head that tells me I recognize that look because I often see it in the mirror. Although I didn’t come to Honeywell to make friends, what could it hurt to meet her for one drink? She’ll be working, which means if I find I’m not enjoying myself, I can make an excuse at any time and head back to my pajamas and book.
“Okay. I’ll see you later tonight.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
A quick map search on my phone shows The Watering Hole is within walking distance of my rental on Cherry Lane. Since the sidewalks were cleared while I was downtown this afternoon, I decide to walk. I’d be fine to drive after just one drink, but catching the scent of alcohol on Thea earlier stirred up something in me. Even though I’ve never personally been affected by drunk driving, I’ve heard too many horror stories and have seen too many people take unnecessary chances.
Plus I ate more than half the box of macaroni and cheese, so I feel like the walk is necessary at this point.
The evening is clear and crisp. I tuck my hands into my coat pockets and nestle the lower half of my face into my giant, fuzzy scarf. After passing the fourth house in a row with their Christmas lights already up,andspying several Christmas trees in front windows, I realize Mae and Liam weren’t kidding about Honeywell being nuts about Christmas.
It’s possible I should have chosen another town to escape to. I likely would have encountered the same thing anywhere I went, though, unless I was completely isolated in the middle of nowhere. By the time Christmas actually rolls around next month, I might be wishing I’d chosen a cabin in the woods.
The Watering Hole looks like a typical dive bar from the outside: essentially a big, nondescript box with faded paint and two windows on either side of the front door. It’s the type of place you’d likely drive by if you didn’t know it was here or notice the handful of cars in the parking lot. Inside, I’m greeted by the scent of beer and fried food, and the sound of chattering voices and music playing over a jukebox in one corner. With the dim lighting, my eyes go directly to the bright spots in the room: a Christmas tree with colorful lights near the jukebox, and the white lights strung around the perimeter of the room.
Thea is behind the bar on the far side of the room, pulling pints and laughing with a pair of older men sitting on stools. As I approach the bar, I notice she looks different than she did this afternoon; the dark circles under her eyes are hidden beneath a layer of concealer, and the minimal makeup she wore earlier has been replaced with a full face of perfectly-applied cosmetics. Her hair is pulled into a high ponytail, highlighting her long neck and the large silver hoops dangling from her ears. Her tight red top reveals a ton of cleavage along with a strip of bare midriff. I’m so busy admiring her cleavage—yes, admiring, since I was blessed with little more than B cups—it takes me a minute to realize she’s wearing one of those novelty necklaces that’s made of tiny multi-colored light bulbs.
I head for the opposite end of the long counter since all the stools there are free. Thea scans the bar after serving the two men, and her face lights up when she spots me.
“You made it,” she says as she comes my way.
“I did. Thanks for inviting me.” I wave a hand at her necklace, then over my shoulder to encompass the room. “I’m guessing the Christmas decorations in here were your doing?”
Instead of answering, she flips a minuscule switch on her necklace, making the bulbs flicker to life. “Super cheesy, I know,” she says, turning it off and leaning her elbows on the bar.
