Page 6 of Nothing to Tell

THREE

ANOTHER COMFORTING PAT on the arm, another faux smile.Shit, she could give damn lessons on gritting teeth and accepting familial sympathy.A “grr” seemed appropriate.

“You keep your chin up,” Aunt Mabel said.“He’ll find you soon.”

Hebeing the white knight, saber drawn, ready to save her from spinsterhood.Did knights have sabers?Probably not.Besides, if anyone asked, spinsterhood didn’t seem too shabby.Though being subjected to a lifetime of pity… Hmm, that went in the con column.

Stretching her smile until the octogenarian was gone, she breathed out and spun to lean over the bar.

“Jack Daniels on the rocks.”Her order tumbled out fast.“Wait—” What was she thinking?“Forget the rocks and make it a double.”

The bartender’s smile told its own story as he went to fill the order.His wasn’t of pity but for sure it reinforced her pathetic aura.Before her instinct to throw something at the bartender’s head took hold, a voice rose behind her.

“Harper.”

Her eyes closed in resignation.

Shit.

Shit.

Did she say shit?

Damon was a meteor on course to strike.No avoiding or escaping it.Fate had a sick sense of humor… she would have appreciated the alcohol first.Was that too much to ask?

A deep breath and another fake smile, she twirled one eighty degrees to face the speaker.

“Damon,” she said, quashing an impulse to hiss like a triggered feline.

Just shy of six foot, Damon resented the dusty blond hair and fine features that gave him a boyish look.The suit was perfect, though not professionally tailored.Hmm, how much of his money had Charissa spent?

“You look great,” Damon said.

Did he mean that?She should appreciate that he took the time to check her out, even if it was by rote.Whoa, wait, why?Why should she appreciate it?Because that was how women were conditioned from birth.

Check her out, don’t check her out, who the hell cared?She just wanted the agony of awkward embarrassment to end.

“Where’s Charissa?”

And still he was checking her out.Or… he was taking a last look at what he could’ve won and congratulating himself on the reprieve of pulling that lever one more time.Charissa was a better prize.Harper wasn’t naive enough to think otherwise.On her best day, she could never be described as graceful.Someone may think her height of five six and petite stature would lend itself to elegance.Yeah, no, her and sophistication never met.Ships in the night and all that.

On the other hand, Charissa was sleek and absolutely flawless.A perfect prize.A woman women envied because it was just so… effortless.

Shut up.Comparison is the thief of joy.Huh, if that was true, she’d been robbed hourly since birth.Joy?What was that.

Focus.“She’s talking to Adara,” he said with a time-passing head-bob many folks would recognize.

Geez, this was awkward.Small talk.Okay, uh, how did a person shoot the shit with their smarmy ex?

Be polite.Make your momma proud and all that.

She mustered a, “That’s nice.”

Bring back Aunt Mabel, please, pretty please.At least she was practiced at handling that class of torture.

“Your father offered to put us up at the house, until we get settled again.”

Her father had… Holy shit, he didn’t—that was why this slimy warthog was making the effort to talk to her.She should’ve known.Absorb the outrage.Shrug it off.Meant nothing.