Almost as if he can sense my presence, Griffin’s laughter cuts off abruptly as his gaze fixes on me. I smile at him with a small wave, and he takes a step toward me before tan, lithe arms loop through the crook of his arm, pulling his attention away from me. My heart drops from my throat to the pit of my stomach, smile fading into a grimace as I quickly avert my gaze. The last thing I want to see is Griffin looking lovingly at Madison, knowing he’s never going to look at me like that again.
“I always thought the two of you would end up together,” Patsy says. I startle, having forgotten that she was there. “I think everyone did. Whatever happened with y’all?”
“Nothing dramatic. Distance, timing, growing up,” I say with a shrug.
“That’s a shame.” Her tone indicates clearly that she doesn’t believe me.
“Well, it was really good to see you Patsy, but I’ve got to find Abby,” I say quickly, desperate to get out of this conversation.
I weave through the crowd, pretending not to hear my name called over and over by people I haven’t been cornered by yet. I heave a sigh of relief when I spot Abby, who’s in animated conversation with my dad.
“Mr. Turner, you know good and well that Aaron is dead set on opening a café. There’s no way in hell he’d willingly work in an office, even with you.”
“Foiled again,” he says, snapping his fingers. “You can’t blame a man for trying. Hey there, Ellie Bellie!”
“Hi Dad,” I say with a kiss to his cheek. “Abby, can we go? The smoke is giving me a headache.”
Abby’s eyes narrow suspiciously, then lock on something over my shoulder. Following her line of sight, I see the boys ten feet away from us, Griffin’s arm slung over Madison’s shoulder, but looking sullen. Her face is tight, arms crossed over her chest. They’re both silently watching Jack and David argue, and when Griffin’s eyes flicker over to mine briefly, I spin around to face Abby again.
Her expression softens, and she moves to my side, arm looping through mine. “Of course we can, my love. I’ll tell Aaron you’re still trying to poach him, Mr. Turner!”
Shouting a goodbye to my dad, Abby drags me by the arm toward the parking lot. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “I know that can’t be easy.”
“It’s okay, my sweet ginger angel,” I say, laying my head on her shoulder as we cross the lot and find her car. “It’s inevitable.”
“For what it’s worth, he looked fucking miserable,” she says gleefully. “They might be in the running forunhappiest couple in Larkspur, and that’s saying something when Principal Burnett and Wife Number Three are right there.”
I laugh, squeezing her arm tighter before letting go and climbing into the passenger seat. “I’m sure they’re perfectly happy, Abs.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she says sarcastically. “You know what we need?” The wicked grin on her face tells me whatever it is, we absolutely donotneed it.
“We need some Denim, and perhaps even some Diamonds.”
Twenty minutes later, cocktails in hand, we slide into the last open booth at the biggest country bar in the county. Denim & Diamonds opened our sophomore year of high school, and we counted down the agonizingly long days until we turned eighteen and were allowed to come two-stepping, black X’s on the back of our hands barely fading before we’d come right back and get fresh marks.
“When’s the last time you went two-stepping, east coast girl?” she shouts over the cover band in the corner.
“Your wedding,” I yell back, watching the couples spinning deftly around the dancefloor.
“You need a refresher then!”
Without warning, she grabs the arm of the cowboy in conversation with his friends next to our booth. “My friend here is a little rusty, think you can help her out?”
“Oh I’d be honored,” he says, tipping his hat with a grin. I glare at Abby as I take his outstretched hand and let him lead me to the dance floor.
“It’s been a long time,” I shout. “I don’t know if I’ll remember the steps.”
“Don’t you worry about that darlin’, just follow my lead!”
I fight to keep the look of disgust off my face–hearing anyone but Griffin call medarlin’ feels wrong, and from someone else’s mouth, it’s honestly a little condescending. The feeling quickly fades as the moves come back as easily as riding a bike and I lose myself in the joy of twirling, feet moving in sync with the beat of the music.
The song ends before I’m ready to stop, so when he asks me to dance with him again, I let him take the lead. Flashes of dancing in fields of wildflowers and empty parking lots hit me like an unexpected hail storm, but I squeeze my eyes tight, shutting them out of my brain as I let this unfamiliar cowboy spin me around. By the time the second song ends, I’m desperate to get back to the booth, and to my drink.
I need something a lot stronger if Griffin is going to haunt my every waking moment here.
I slam a tequila shot at the bar before ordering two more and heading back over to Abby. She lets out a triumphant whoop when I set the glasses down in front of her, and I barely give her time to cheers me before throwing the second shot back.
I’ve lost count of the number of drinks I’ve had when Abby mutters, “Oh shit.” Twisting in the booth to see who just walked through the door, I yell a little too loudly, “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”
