I look at the glass he’s palming, and with as much confidence as I can gather, I abandon the topic of palms and futures, and ask, “Do you like it?”
I watch him try to bite back a smile that feels loaded with more than just a simple yes or no. And instead of words, he shifts even closer, moving the glass up to his mouth, presses it against his lips, and tilts it for another sip. The small hum that rumbles from his throat makes my stomach swoop and instantly wets my panties.
I lick my lips.What would it feel like to kiss a stranger?I’ve never done that before, gotten lost in lust with someone I only just met.
He shifts his weight forward and leans into the bar, closer to me, his cheek nearly brushing mine as he quietly says, “You were right.”
I tilt my head to look at him, questioning what he might be referring to.
“It’s in the details,” he says, his words like a caress before he stands and steps back. With one last searing look at me, he pulls his phone from his back pocket as the vibration buzzes in his hand and quickly raises it to his ear.
Then, he’s grabbing his coat from the chair and moving toward the door. I’m stuck in a daze, wondering if he’ll stop and turn, maybe even tell me he’ll be back. He’s leaving so soon, seemingly out of nowhere. I know that makes me seem eager, borderline pathetic for a woman in her mid-thirties, buttruthfully, who the fuck cares? It's been far too long since I’ve felt anything other than anxious or angry.
When he’s through the doors and headlights flit across the frosted front windows, I finally snap back to reality and step down the bar to fill another pint for Viv. I glance at the spot where Julian had just been, and that’s when I see it. Dark brown leather. The bracelet cuff that I’d taken off of him. He never put it back on.
I grab it off the bar as I move past and out the front double doors. Plumes of white opaque air puff out in front of me, with no sign of anyone except the few trucks parked and Viv’s horse standing, tethered to a post at the far end of the lot.
Looking down, I run my fingers along the soft, worn leather. It’s one of those moments that feels like something is different now. It’s a shaken-up and invigorating feeling of seeing myself as something other than the outlier, the victim, or the survivor. I drape the leather along my left wrist and take in a deep breath, exhaling as I snap it closed. Whatever that just was, attraction, connection, or just some conversation and flirtation with a perfect stranger, there’s been a shift within me, and damn, it feels good.
Chapter Three
Naomi
7 months ago
“You’re cut off, handsome,”I shout over the fired-up cowboys who keep yelling in disagreement. It only took a few months for the podcast that’s streaming through the speakers to pull in a new crowd of very opinionated locals. True crime paired with whiskey flights isn’t novel, but rather genius, according to Boss, and it’s been keeping the bar packed every Thursday without fail.
“Oh, come on, Naomi,” the burly rancher huffs out as I clear the empty tasting glasses.
I wink as I slide the water in front of him. “Where we going, cowboy?”
He takes a gulp, and then adds, “You can’t tell the distinct difference between Jim Beam and Johnny Walker. The stuff Stevie just went on about doesn’t taste any different, and nowhere near as good.”
I smile every time I hear my sister’s name. “I’m going to have to disagree with you, but I love that you were willing to try it.”
His older brother next to him throws down the cash to cover tonight’s tab. “Cutting you off was my call,” he says, nudging his brother. “That was some damn fine whiskey. Not as good as yours, but I still enjoyed it.” He winks at me and then taps the bar. “I think the kidnapper is someone they know.” This is always the most fun—hearing what they all think about the flights I pour once the podcast is over.
“Naomi,” Boss calls out. “Got any more bottles of Japanese whiskey under there?”
As I crouch down and reach for the last bottle beneath the bar, Viv forces out a loud, cackling laugh. With a clap of her hands, she says, “I’m out twenty bucks! Never thought we’d see you around here again.”
But it’s a deep, smooth voice that responds with, “I like being underestimated,” that has my breath catching.
Julian.
I smile to myself before standing to face him.
He came back.
Hazel eyes roam up my body until they lock with mine. His hair is still long and half pulled back, scruff meticulously trimmed, and his stature seemingly larger and more imposing than my late-night imagination dreamt up.
“Hi,” he says slowly, and with a smirk. “If you’re still pouring, then I’ll take one of those flights. Maybe cash in on the palm reading you owe me.”
Pursing my lips, I tilt my head. “Hm. It’s pretty busy on podcast nights. Not sure you’ll be able to top the highest tip...” I say teasingly.
“Yeah, ante up, pretty boy,” Viv says through a laugh from the other end of the bar.
I give her a wide-eyed, knock-it-off look, and then turn back to Julian as he settles on his bar stool. “The palm reading is only good for the highest tipper of the day—not one from sixty-four days ago.”
