I left her gaping like a catfish as I pushed away from the bar, and her hooks, making my way to my favorite person who hated me with a vengeance. I left her on a bad note earlier, lashing out when I’d been angry at myself and my mother.
Should I go over and apologize?
Yes.
Will I?
Absolutely not.
Chapter Five – Aspen
I felt like an anomaly, sitting in here. Not only was I severely underdressed compared to the other women in the bar, but I’d only been here once before to socialize.
My sister, Alex, used to manage the bar, so there were many nights when I would come to keep her company when it was slow, or I’d hide here when I wanted to get away from my parents. But for a night out with friends? This made twice.
Because this was not my natural habitat, and I felt like I stuck out like a sore thumb. I felt the eyes of both men and women as I walked into the space. Instantly, I felt like tugging down the hem of my shorts. I was a gazelle waltzing through a pride of lions. It was terrifying.
Thankfully, Jenna found a table right away, far in the corner, where I could observe but not be seen. Though, I still felt the wondering gazes and stares from the people close by.
Jenna ordered herself a Dirty Shirley. I knew nothing about cocktails, but I ordered a local beer on tap. She sneered but didn’t say a word about my selection.
“I’m glad you finally joined me,” she said the minute the server stepped away.
“You didn’t leave me much choice.” I promised her a few times over the summer I would make it out, but I failed every attempt. Not only did my anxiety skyrocket at the thought of being out in public, but I did not know how to act around people. Engaging in conversation with others was not my forte. I’d take hanging out with cattle or goats instead any day.
But today, when she messaged me to go out with her, like she did every weekend, I actually accepted. The interaction with Owen this afternoon left me frazzled. A stark reminder of why I stayed away from social settings, aside from the market when it was my turn to sell.
“Yes, but it didn’t take much convincing. Tryston is over by the pool tables.”
My eyes immediately darted in that direction over her shoulder. He was there, towering over his friends. He was still dressed in a suit, which I didn’t understand, but Jenna tried explaining to me before that lawyers didn’t take days off. I thought maybe he was just trying to appeal to the women in town.
For whatever reason, he was gorgeous to me, when not many men registered that way in my mind. He was taller than his two friends, but no more than six feet at best.
He moved to town a year ago, and I bumped into him at Chuck’s Grocery. We reached for the Boston Crème Pie at the same time, and I’d been infatuated ever since. His New England accent pulled me in. I was so used to a Southern drawl that his seemed exotic.
I knew through the grapevine—aka Jenna—that he worked at the law office in town and was single. It was perfect for someone like me, who grew up with most of the eligible men in town. Most were either married already, or they were on the prowl for Susie Homemaker.
I was the complete opposite of that. I had my own farm to manage—or at least I would soon.
Sipping my beer, I let Jenna chatter on while I watched Tryston with rapt attention. He tossed his head back in laughter at something his friend said, and my own grin emerged.
Lost in my own thoughts, I almost missed her asking, “Is that Owen Ramsey at the bar?”
I glanced up to look at the crowd formed around the man seated at the bar. Owen was wearing his same shirt from earlier. But even without those clothes, I’d recognize him anywhere. Years of witnessing his retreating back as I glared at him and his clique cemented his body shape in my mind.
“Appears to be,” I said nonchalantly as I took a drink. “Kasey already claimed him, it seems,” I added.
Kasey Sinclair was a recently divorced bank teller. Despite how she appeared, with her hand wrapped possessively around Owen’s arm, she was extremely nice. Last year, she went through a nasty divorce with the sous chef at world-renowned chef Roland McEntire’s restaurant in town.
Like me, she was joining the dating pool again. Unlike me, she actually knew how to converse with men.
Chiming in after taking a deep sip of her drink, she said, “I don’t think he’s interested.”
My brows pinched together as I asked, “What makes you say that?”
“Because in the mirror, he’s staring at you. Only I can’t decide if he’s plotting your demise, like always, or if he’s appreciating you.”
Giggling, I set my beer down and replied, “Definitely plotting my demise. It’s our MO, after all.”
“Things change.” She shrugged, one strap of her sundress slipping down her shoulder, and she pushed it up as she stood. “I need to use the restroom. Order me another?”
“Sure.”
Failing in my attempt to not watch Tryston play pool with his friends, I locked eyes with him once, then I immediately glanced away. Just in time for Owen to slip into my line of sight.
My eyes rolled automatically. It was a reaction I conditioned myself to have in his presence many, many years ago.
“Hi, cricket,” he said despondently. It was a tone I’d never heard from him before, and it made me curious. We didn’t part on good terms earlier, but I assumed by now that he would be back to his cocky old self.
Despite that change, I sneered at him. “Don’t call me that.”
“What else should I call you?” he asked as he took the vacant seat.
“I don’t know, Owen. Maybe my actual name?”
He pursed his lips, and I assumed he was considering my request. “Nah. I think I’ll keep calling you cricket.”
“Whatever,” I mumbled as I took a sip of my beer and turned my gaze back up to the bar. Kasey leaned her lithe frame against the bar top, narrowing her eyes in my direction. I was fairly certain if I walked outside right now, she’d follow me and have me shanked. Nervous from that thought, I begrudgingly turned my attention back to Owen, whose eyes were glued to me.
