“You can’t have a proper traditional pub without a proper dartboard.”
“Yes! Exactly! I saw dartboards in all the pubs I was researching. I can’t believe I missed it.”
“This is your first in-person lesson in pubs. Don’t be hard on yourself.”
She lifts an eyebrow. “I’ll leave that part to you. Being hard on me.”
A wicked grin crosses my lips. “Who’s relentless now?”
She bumps shoulders with me. “Too bad there’s no dartboard. Darts would have been fun.”
I tuck a strand of hair over her ear. “I’d have enjoyed watching you play.”
“I’d have enjoyed beating you.” She tips her forehead to the bar. “Also, thanks for sharing back there.”
I mime ripping my chest open. “It pained me, woman.”
“I could tell, but I appreciate you telling me. I like knowing what motivates you, especially since I know you’re not big on”—she gasps—“emotions.”
“You’re not exactly an open book either.”
She tilts her head to the side. “I’m not?”
“You’re pretty much a full-speed-ahead kind of woman. You don’t linger on . . . feelings.”
A crease forms in her brow. “I’m not sure that’s true. But maybe it seems that way because you know my story already. I don’t hold back. I’ve told you about Sarah. You know I’m close to my family and my brother. You know I still miss my dad, even though he’s been gone eighteen years. And you know I’m a workaholic. You know me. Maybe that’s why it’s easy for us to be friends?”
Her question is entirely earnest, but my answer isn’t, even though I try to make it seem that way. “Right. It’s incredibly easy.”
But the truth is, it’s not at all simple being her friend.
It’s becoming one of the hardest things I’ve done.
Soon it’s time to leave, and as Truly gathers her purse, Marcus gives us a goodbye salute. “Cheers. Come back sometime. I want to share a new type of malt we’re bringing in. I’d love to tell you about it. It tastes like grapeseed oil and sunflowers.”
“That sounds fantastic.” Truly hums then taps the bar. “Also, I had an idea for you. It’s all about beer.”
My fists clench. Please, God, can she stop talking to him?
“I’d love to hear it.”
“I think you should write a blog about beer. You have a lot of insight. You ought to share it with the world. That is, if you don’t blog about it already.”
He strokes his chin. “Actually, I do. But it’s been kind of a hard slog. I want to share my love of beer with the world, but I’d much rather talk about it than write about it.”
“Start a beer podcast, then.”
He snaps his fingers, his eyes lighting up. “That’s a damn good idea. I’ve been looking into ways to expand.”
“Always hustling,” she says, then gestures to me. “That’s what he says.”
“That’s good advice, mate.”
“Thanks. Happy to give it,” I say grudgingly.
I check the time, clearing my throat as if to remind her she has someplace to be.
“One more second,” she says to me, and fantastic, now I’m the annoying dick who’s trying to herd her out of here.
“If you want to talk about it, I’m Truly Goodman. I run Gin Joint in Chelsea.”
He gasps. “I love that place. I was there the other weekend. Heard that guy sing and had a Hush Money. Best gin cocktail I’ve had in ages.”
Truly’s smile hits new levels on the Richter scale of delight, and I want to shove a sock in this guy’s mouth. “That’s my brother. He’s a lounge singer and a veterinarian. Or, I should say, he’s a vet and a lounge singer. And Hush Money is mine.”
“It was delicious. Like heaven in a glass.”
I scrub a hand across the back of my neck, wishing this exchange would stop.
“Thank you. I appreciate that. And the beer was great.”
“No, thank you. Your idea is fantastic. You’re amazing. I could kiss you.”
Every territorial instinct in me snaps to attention, calling up the caveman that lurks within. Draping an arm around Truly, I tug her close. I can’t not. “Sorry, mate. I’ve got dibs on that.”
His eyes pop out like they’re attached to springs. He raises his hands like stop signs, and his voice brims with contrition. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean anything by that.”
