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The guys’ victory against the truck loader must’ve been the best possible mood-lifter because it was Nate of all people who suggested we get out of the house for a little break. I, of course, jumped at the proposal.

I’d initially thought that maybe he was just going to suggest doing another equipment haul or something. Imagine my surprise when he announced that we’d be visiting a dive bar.

“No need to look so shocked, Ava,” he’d said to me, a wry note in his voice. “There’s actually more to this town than general stores and fog.”

“I wasn’t shocked the town has a dive bar,” I’d shot back, recovering quickly. “I was stunned that you even know what that is.”

Deacon and Ethan had snorted, disguising their spluttering with coughs when Nate glared at them. But there wasn’t much bite to his words when he spoke again. “Just get dressed.”

So here I was, looking at my still scant wardrobe and trying to figure out what to wear before the guys came to fetch me. The weather was still behaving itself, even in the late afternoon, so I didn’t have to worry about being cute while bundling up. I pulled out dark-wash skinny jeans, a fitted black ribbed top that showed my collarbones, and high-end leather boots that I could safely keep out of the mud. I washed my hair and let it hang down in waves, a look that I usually reserved for nights out on the town. It was the most literal rendering of me letting my hair down for the evening.

When I was ready, I made my way downstairs. The guys had evidently let themselves in as per my suggestion, and they had cleaned up pretty nicely, too. Ethan wore an unbuttoned red-and-black flannel shirt over a soft white tee, a different pair of equally well-fitting jeans, and his signature leather work boots. His bronze hair looked even more golden against his recent tan. But it was the smile that swept over his face when he saw me that really lit up his features. I felt butterflies in my stomach, my face going hot as though I were a teenager all over again.

But Ethan just had that effect on me.

“You look beautiful, Ava,” he said, sounding almost in awe. I laughed a little, tucking a strand of hair behind my ears.

“I’d like to think it’s better than being covered in mud,” I joked.

Deacon’s dark eyes honed in on me. “You always look good, Barden. No need to fish for compliments.”

“Hey, I wasn’t fishing for—” I started indignantly.

But then I saw the little smirk on his face and realized he was just riling me up. Of course, only Deacon could manage to be an asshole and annex a compliment to whatever his snarky brain came up with preceding it.

“Well, you don’t look too bad yourself. All of you,” I said, meaning every word.

Deacon was in his usual dark attire, this time wearing a plain black thermal shirt that hugged his massive chest and charcoal pants with a leather jacket. I was pretty sure he’d trimmed his dark hair and stubble, and it was oddly nice to see a cleaner version of him. Even though I didn’t mind the grungier version all that much, if I was being completely honest.

“Ready to go?” Nate asked. His voice sounded a little rougher than it usually did, but not with irritation or anger. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what had his words sounding all strangled, and as expected, his eyes gave nothing away. But they stayed on me a beat longer than I thought was necessary. I could feel my blush spread to my ears.

Our fearless leader was wearing a sharp, dark gray button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, dark tailored utility pants, and his practical watch. Still disciplined and buzzing with authority, even when he was off the clock and headed for a bar.

“Yep,” I said lightly, closing the distance between myself and the boys. “I assume we’re taking Deacon’s truck?”

“Yeah, but Nate’s driving,” he said, tossing his keys to the foreman. Then he gave me a full-on grin that caught my breath in my throat. “I’m planning on having a drink or three.”

*

The Timber Lounge was a low-slung, weathered building with a rusted corrugated tin roof and no sign of any timber. A neon-buzzing sign hung crookedly in the front window. The gravel parking lot was packed with mud-splattered trucks and old logging rigs, backed right up against the dark tree line. I took that as a sign that tonight was hopefully going to be a good time.

Either that or beggars couldn’t be choosers and I was a beggar either way, so that was that.

Ethan jumped out of the truck first and made his way around to my side, opening my door and helping me get out even though I was perfectly capable of doing so myself. Deacon rolled his eyes but said nothing as we made our way inside. The interior was thick with the smell of stale beer, pine sawdust, and old wood-smoke. The floorboards were scuffed by decades of work boots, and there was a row of taxidermy deer heads and historic logging crosscut saws decorating the wood-paneled walls. The lighting was low and amber-hued, emanating from old wagon-wheel chandeliers.

All in all, a far cry from the more cosmopolitan places I was used to visiting in my free time back in the city.

“I feel like I shouldn’t be allowed to step foot in here without an apprenticeship or something,” I muttered, my voice just loud enough over the ambient noise and background music for the guys to hear me. “Or at least a chest full of hair.”

Ethan and Deacon burst out laughing.

“Oh God, if you’re going to pick one, please let it be the former,” Deacon said with a wink.

“Don’t worry, this place looks worse than it is,” Ethan said reassuringly, his large hand resting on my shoulder and squeezing. “And they don’t have wine, but they have gin.”

“Gin?” I repeated, my mood immediately lighting up.

Ethan’s grin widened. “Yep. And not bad options either.”