Page 2 of The Perfect Heart

“So Mom said you finally bought that bar. I didn’t quite believe it until this moment.”

Her gaze moved around the space, taking in all the ways I had made it mine—the posters on the walls of the indie bands we had listened to in high school, the tables and chairs I’d restored myself, the dartboard that had at one time hung in my room, the one Halle had used to beat me soundly nearly every game we played.

When her attention came back to me, her smile glowed with warm affection.

“I knew you would do it,” she said. “I knew you would open this bar.”

I laughed. “You did?”

Halle shook her head, huffing a laugh. “Of course. You always knew what you wanted to do. It was your dream and all you talked about in high school. When Mom told me you had bought the old Brewer’s Kettle, I drank a toast to you, by the way.”

My laugh became a grin, and I gestured over my shoulder with a jerk of my thumb. “I know it’s late, but you want to toast together now?”

There was another heartbeat of hesitation I didn’t understand before Halle nodded, the warmth in her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “Sure. I’d love that.”

Her heels clicked on the old wood of the floor as she followed me to the bar, sliding onto one of the stools as I reached for one of my best whiskies.

“So what are you doing here?” I nearly asked what she was doing in those clothes but managed to hold my tongue at the last second, focusing instead on pouring the amber liquid into a shot glass.

“Oh, just visiting” was the answer. I looked up just in time to see Halle’s gaze drop to the scratched wood of the bar, her finger running up and down a particularly deep gouge before her eyes met mine again. It was an oddly vague answer, especially because she had no one to visit. Her mother had moved out of state five years before.

Instead of pushing for more of an answer, I slid the shot glass across the bar and poured one for myself, which I held up. Halle clinked her glass against mine, and we both tipped them back.

The whiskey’s fire still burning down my throat, I took the moment to look at Halle, better lit by the bar lights, and was surprised at the changes the years had created.

I recognized the woman from high school, the girl who had been my best friend, with whom I had spent almost every waking moment. But I could also see the physical maturity, the way any remaining childhood roundness had faded from her face to leave sharper angles, even an odd gauntness that hadn’t been there before. Halle’s gaze echoed the bubbliness I had known in high school, always ready for a laugh, replaced with a more mature solemnity.

“You staying close by?” I asked, pouring more whiskey into her glass. She thanked me with another small smile.

“Ish,” she answered, throwing back her second shot. “I came here first.”

I nearly choked on the shot I had just taken and wiped at my mouth with the back of my hand to cover my surprise. “You came here first?”

Halle shrugged. “I thought maybe I could make it before you closed, just to say hi.”

One more shot went down smoothly because I had no idea what to make of this situation, and Halle’s non-answers weren’t helping.

“I’ll take one more, too.” Halle pushed her glass toward me and knocked it back a little too fast.

I couldn’t help it—she had raised the glass with her left hand, and my eyes went to her wedding set, the band, and the diamond. But there was nothing there, only a lighter band of skin.

For a moment, I almost asked, but instead the goosebumps on her arms caught my eye.

“You look cold.”

“I forgot my coat back where I’m staying.”

That didn’t look like she had forgotten anything. Her outfit, a skimpy jacket, a dress, and heels, was entirely wrong for the weather here, which someone who had grown up in Leavenworth would know. No one “just forgot” their coat before going out here in winter.

Was it that easy to forget when you left for warmer climates?

I didn’t mention her freshly scraped knees, either, or that she seemed to have forgotten her story that she had stopped here first, giving her no place to just “leave her coat.”

Something wasn’t adding up, but I didn’t know the woman before me well enough to ask. At one time, I would have, but not today. Not now.

“Okay, hold up. Don’t move.” I held my finger up, the universal signal to wait, and dashed into the back, where I kept the lost and found box. I pulled out a coat that looked like it might fit Halle, one that had been there so long I was sure no one would come back to look for it, and two mismatched gloves. I snagged a knitted beanie on the way back and held all the clothes out to her.

Her eyebrows rose slightly as she looked at the pile of clothing, then me.