“Beth? Who’s Beth?”
“She just moved into town about a month ago.” She disappeared toward the counter, leaving me alone with my drink and my tangle of thoughts.
I tried not to watch Drew. I really did. But he was hard to ignore, laughing with the regulars, that easy charm radiating off him like heat from the fire. He poured drinks with quick, practiced motions, forearms flexing, tattoos shifting as he moved.
And then I saw her.
A blonde ski bunny, tiny waist, white sweater, the kind of woman who always smells like expensive lotion and confidence, not paste and construction paper. She was leaning over the counter, giggling at something he said, touching her hair in that way women do when they’re interested.
Drew smiled politely, said something back, and handed her a drink.
Something ugly twisted in my chest.
Oh.
Oh,that’swhy the truce.
I picked up my glass and downed what was left. The schnapps was still cold, but not half as cold as the realization spreading through me.
So this was it. He’d moved on.
And I’d wanted that, hadn’t I?
I’d practically demanded it.
Lydia returned a moment later, eyes flicking between me and the bar. “Everything okay?”
“Perfect,” I said, forcing a bright smile. “I think the cold shoulder sounds fabulous, actually.”
She blinked. “What?”
“Just agreeing with him,” I said, grabbing my coat from the back of the booth. “He said he’d leave me alone the rest of the weekend. Seems like we’re finally on the same page.”
Before she could say anything, I turned toward the door, ignoring the way Drew’s laughter carried across the bar.
Outside, the wind bit at my cheeks, sharp and clean.
Inside, I could still feel the echo of his fingers in my hair.
And no matter how much I told myself it didn’t matter, my heart refused to listen.
Chapter Six
Drew
I hadn’t slept a damn wink. Not a stitch.
Which would’ve been fine if I were the kind of guy who thrived on caffeine and chaos. But I wasn’t twenty-one anymore, and the older I got, the more I realized sleepless nights hit harder when the reason for them wasn’t fun.
It washer.
Melanie.
Every time I closed my eyes, there she was. The way she’d looked at me across the bar last night, with eyes flashing, jaw tight, shoulders pulled in like she was trying to fold herself into armor.
I’d seen that look before, the one that saidyou’re under my skin and I hate it.
And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love that look on her.
