I inwardly scoff at his comment, while simultaneously and hypocritically, noticing the way his worn jeans sit low on his hips, the way his tattooed biceps bulge beneath the short sleeves of his gray t-shirt, and the name of the tavern stretches nicely over his wide chest.
A million questions continue to swirl in my mind about Craig.
As I wait, I realize I’m eavesdropping on a conversation coming from the table behind me. The family didn’t notice my entrance or care. They’re talking about Mr. Gilbert, the younger boy lamenting the loss of a great football coach and his missed opportunity to play under Mr. Gilbert’s tutelage. The father agrees, quoting statistics of the local high school’s rise to state prominence under Mr. Gilbert’s control.
A glass appears before me as I lift my chin and meet the bartender’s gaze.
“My name’s Theo,” he says as he pours the whisky.
“Hi, Theo. I’m Jill.”
Putting the bottle on the bar, he reaches for the edge and leans back. The muscles in his arms flex. “What brings you to Blue Gil? Are you here because of Coach Gilbert?”
Lifting the rim to my lips I inhale the strong scent. Tipping the glass, I allow the liquid to breach my lips,tingle my tongue, and flow, warming my throat. I swallow the entirety of the contents in one gulp. I blink as immediately, the double shot races through my circulation.
With the empty glass back on the bar, I shake my head. “From the sound of things, I missed the funeral.” Yes, I know that wasn’t what he asked, but it’s all I care to share.
Theo’s eyes narrow. “You’re too early for the season.”
The season—summer. Boating, hiking, and concertgoing.
“I have family.”
It’s his turn to smile. “Oh? So you’re here to visit your folks?”
“Theo,” a man calls from a doorway near the bar.
Theo lifts a finger. “Hold that thought.” He looks at the Maker’s Mark bottle and my empty glass. “Another?”
I feel the alcohol coursing through my system, the familiar way it ricochets like a pinball through my veins and buzzes in my ears. This sensation is more familiar than this town. “One more. And a glass of water with my burger.”
“Gotcha covered.”
While the ladies at the end of the bar seem to notice me, I make no sign that I recognize them. The sad truth is I couldn’t put names with the faces. Six years isn’t a lifetime, and it is.
Instead of thinking about who they are, I focus on my meal and sipping my second double. The family behind me leaves after the mother declares she’s tired, and thefather admits he has plenty of beer at home. Their discussion of Coach Gilbert leaves with them.
After dipping my last fry into the remaining ketchup smeared on my plate and savoring the salty goodness, I retrieve two twenty-dollar bills from my purse and wait for the bill. A quick look at my watch tells me that I have ten minutes before the Dollar Store closes.
I wave at Theo who is talking to the two women, now with their dates. The way the brunette one looks my direction tells me that she at least suspects she recognizes me.
Damn, I should have looked at my yearbook before returning. At least then I’d have names.
“What’s the damage?” I ask as Theo’s blue eyes appear across the bar.
“On the house. We here at the Walleye Tavern take pity on weary travelers, especially those who came all the way from California.
“Wait?” My pulse kicks up a notch.
He grins. “Your ID.”
I nod. “That’s right.”
“Last name Thorne. You said you have family here. Could you be related to Jerry and Shannon?”
I swallow as my mouth goes dry and my eyes skirt to the empty glass. “You could say that.” I lay my hand on the bar. “Thing is, I haven’t told them I’m in town. So, I’d appreciate?—”
“Your secret is safe with me. But I wouldn’t wait long. Our village is pretty small. Rumors travel fast.”
