“I know just the place.”
Ten minutes later, I turn my truck into the dirt parking lot of Matty’s, the best—only—bar in town. As usual, the parking lot is packed, and I end up driving into the grass behind the bar and parking beside a row of cars that have done the same thing.
“Seems like the place to be,” Jack says.
I glance back at the vintage letter sign with the lit up arrow facing the bar. Black black letters spell outKaraoke Night. “Jonas, you’re in for a treat. It’s karaoke night.”
We weave our way through the maze of cars, and I tug my fleece vest back over my shoulders. It’s that time of year when I’m always putting on and stripping off layers as the sun brings its warmth before slipping behind the mountains like a closing curtain, allowing the chill to return.
Jack steps ahead of me when we reach the door and pulls it open, letting me go in first. I flash him a smile and athank youas I pass, and he matches it with one of his own, dimples sinking in his cheeks. He’s windswept, and there’s some kind of dust in his hair from the work we did today. He looks messy in a casual sort of way that does something funny in my chest. I force my eyes away and take in the chaos of the bar.
It’s loud with voices and someone mildly talented belting an Adele song on stage, the crowd singing along. Behind me, Jack says something, but I don’t catch it, and when I turn around, he’s right there, body pressed close to mine.
“What did you say?”
I’m tall, so he doesn’t have to bend far to lean close to my ear. His breath is warm on my neck, and I have to suppress the shiver that threatens to move down my spine. “I asked if you want to find a table or order first.”
I glance around, and surprisingly find one empty table. Hooking a thumb over my shoulder, I say, “I’ll get that table. Will you order me a burger, fries, and a beer?”
He nods. “Anything specific?”
I shrug. “Whatever.”
“Burger, extra olives, fries, and a beer. Got it.”
A grin pulls up my lips as I take a step back in the direction of the open table. “Ask for the olives in a bowl instead of peanuts.”
I hear his “Absolutely” when I turn around and begin to weave my way through the crowd. There are people I know littered all throughout the bar, but no one I care enough to stop and chat with.
The same cannot be said, however, about two middle-aged busybodies who find me approximately thirty seconds after I take my seat. They come out of nowhere, as they always manage to do, in a cloud of Bath and Body Works perfume mixed with the cigarettes Myra swears she gave up twenty years ago and the ginger candies Melissa eats like her life depends on it.
“Stevie!” Myra yells, and I spin in my seat to find her and Melissa coming toward me. They’re wearing matching pink velour sweat sets that are covered in rhinestone hearts. Before I can ask what they’re doing, they settle into the open seats across from me.
“Hey, sugar,” Melissa says, grabbing my hand and giving it a kiss on the knuckles before placing it back on the table with a pat. “How are you? Wren told us you had an accident at the Airstream and had a concussion, but she wouldn’t tell us where you were staying so we could bring you dinner.”
I could kiss my best friend. I love these two women, but they would never let it go if they knew I was living with a hot, single man. At least I think he’s single.
Speaking of, my eyes snap back up to Jack, making sure he’s not heading to the table, but he’s still at the bar, and my shoulders relax, attention focusing back on Myra and Melissa.
“I’m feeling much better,” I promise. “I went up to my property today to start working on repairs.”
“Do you need help? I’m sure we could wrangle some young men into helping you,” Myra says. “I married Grey off, so I’ve expanded my search for single men.”
I just bet she has. Grey is Myra’s nephew, and he married Finley last year, which thrilled both of these women more thanif Jamie Fraser came to life and gave each of them a lap dance. They wore matching dresses to the wedding, and Myra gave a toast that made even me tear up.
“I’m okay,” I say with a laugh. “But I’ll let you know if I do.”
“Good, good,” Myra says, grabbing my free hand. They’re now both held between the wrinkled hands of these two lovely, meddling ladies. “Now what are you doing here alone?”
Before I can make up an excuse, Jack arrives at the table, a bowl of olives in one hand and two shot glasses in the other. “They had Malört. Never been opened, who would’ve thought?”
He notices Myra and Melissa at the same time as they notice him, although their reactions are vastly different. The ladies, mischievously pleased. Jack, confused but polite.
He gives them a warm smile, the same one that put me at ease in the hospital. “Hi, ladies. Can I tempt you with Malört?”
Myra hoots. “Not a chance in hell, young man. And who might you be?”
“And how do you know our Stevie?” Melissa asks.
