“How so?”
“You look like a walking ray of sunshine in this dingy bar. I was drawn to you the moment I walked in here.” I look down at my bold outfit choice. “In a good way,” he adds with a laugh.
I shrug. “I figured if I spilled some cheese sauce on it, you wouldn’t be able to tell.”
“Dammit. I wish I had thought to wear a yellow shirt, too,” he says in a serious tone, as if he really was wishing he had.
The bartender stops in front of us, sliding our drinks across the bar. “Bourbon for you,” he says to Tucker. “And a tequila sunrise for you.”
“Ah, good man,” I say, taking the drink between my hands and sipping it. My eyes practically roll behind my head at how good it is. “Tequila is like the duct tape of the soul.”
The bartender laughs. “Can I get you two something to eat?”
I point a finger between the two of us. “Oh, we’re not together.”
“We are,” Tucker says too quickly.
“No…we’re not.”
He shrugs, but that damn smile doesn’t leave his face. “I’m going to have the barbecue cheeseburger, and then we’ll take abacon cheeseburger, too. Best of both worlds,” he says, winking in my direction. “And two orders of cheese fries.” He snaps his head to face me. “You’re not allergic to barbecue sauce or bacon, are you?”
I laugh and shake my head.
“Whew. That would have been a deal breaker.”
I wish I could wrap my head around what is happening right now.
The bartender leaves to plug our order into the register, and I do nothing to stop him or defend that I’m not actuallywiththis stranger.
Tucker is the most unexpected thing to happen, but it’s also come at a time when I need it the most. Like the universe knew I needed this distraction to take my mind off the stress.
“So, Scottie, what brings you to San Francisco?”
“I have a job interview.” That’s not a lie, but I won’t give him more than that. If I start diving deeper into it, it stops being light. And I really need light right now. “You?”
“Leisure. My best friend works for the San Francisco Staghorns, and I tagged along to keep him company.”
“That’s really nice of you.”
“What can I say, I’m a nice guy.”
I roll my eyes playfully, fighting off the laugh. It’s a foreign feeling for me to be smiling this much when I’m not creating perfectly curated social media content. I spend so much of my time editing the rougher edges of who I am and polishing myself into a version that will please everyone. Especially my parents.
This feels good with Tucker.
This feels free with him.
And it’s only been a short period of time.
“And if I had to guess, you’re a nice guy from a little small town in the middle of nowhere, and you ride horses into the sunset?”
“Close, but no. How did you guess small town?”
“You have lumberjack arms.”
“You noticed my arms?” He grins. “If you must know, these are working man’s arms. If you did what I do every day, you might chip that manicure,” he teases.
“And what is it you do?”
