The guy doesn’t crack a smile, but he has patrons hanging on his every word. If he earns more than me in tips tonight, I’m going to fire myself.
When there’s a lull, I take a breather in the corner of the bar, near the sink and the mini cooler. Calder continues talking with a table seating my old algebra teacher and her two grown kids.
Molly wipes the counter, making her way toward me. She turns her back to the crowd. “Think there’s anything he sucks at?”
No. I really don’t. The unwanted arousal his presence stirred earlier is long gone. I have sweat beading on my lower back, and my feet hurt. Meanwhile, he’s in shoes that scream “call me Daddy,” and not one hair is out of place. I’m tempted to sneak into the main bathroom to see if he uses product, or if he rises from slumber looking photoshoot-ready.
“People skills,” I say. “He lacks those.”
She snorts. “He has everyone wrapped around his finger, but I have to admit, he makes a girl wonder what exactly he can do with that finger.”
“Molly!” My dreams have ideas about how talented he is.
“Not me.” She snickers, rewets her dishrag, and wrings it out. “He’s not much younger than my dad. But you’re lying if you claim the thought didn’t cross your mind,” she sings as she rushes off to wipe the tables.
I’ll keep lying about it too.
The front door opens and a woman my age enters, dressed similarly to how Sawyer usually is, but with a long, pale braidcascading down her back. Beth Sterling. My gaze darts to Calder, but his back is turned to her. Will he recognize Beth? Does he hold a grudge against the Crossroads’ neighbor like his dad did?
She spots me and gives me a timid wave but stays by the door. Since she never comes to the brewery, she must want to talk to me. I have no hard feelings toward any Sterling, except for Gil and their mom for leaving them. Beth is a gem, and we’d probably be best friends if it weren’t for the animosity kept alive by her dad and Ransom. We’re more like secret lovers, swapping hidden texts and meeting in dark corners.
I avoid making eye contact with anyone to prevent being waylaid on my way to her. Enough people have observed us chatting over the years, so they know we’re amicable.
“Sorry,” Beth says. Freckles spread across her nose and her cheeks like the galaxy, and her crystal-blue eyes reflect the taproom lights.
“No, it’s fine. Is something wrong?”
She shakes her head, then her gaze catches on Calder and widens. “Oh crap. I didn’t know they were back yet.”
“Just Calder is.”
Recognition brightens her irises. “Right. I would’ve guessed it was him. He’s Finn’s age. Rivals in football.”
“They were on the same team.”
She shoots me a “you know better” look, and yeah, I do. The boys hated each other because their dads told them to. The Cross brothers left because their dad told them to. Obedient, and so damn stubborn.
“Anyway,” she continues, “I wanted to catch you before the funeral. I’m planning to take Dad on a trip that day—somewhere. Anywhere. So there’s no issues.”
“Thank you.” I don’t know what the Cross brothers will be like. Beth’s brothers all went to college when Calder, Bowen, andLandry left, but I heard their relationship with their dad was strained as well. It’s why Beth runs the ranch.
“Finn might go.”
I tense, but only because Finn Sterling is the deputy who broke the news of the accident to me. Finn is also one of Beth’s older brothers, and because of the Cross-Sterling animosity, his presence at the funeral may not be welcomed by all. “That’s fine, but Bowen and Landry might be home.”
“I wanted to warn you,” she says quietly. “And I wanted to extend my condolences since I won’t be there. I am so sorry. I know you have Sawyer to help with the ranch, but you can call me anytime, okay?”
“Thank you.” To add fuel to Scandal’s fire, I give her a hug.
She gives me one back, squeezing me so hard she cuts off my air. Then she’s gone.
Calder tracks me, his intense gaze an inferno between my shoulder blades as I retreat behind the bar. He nods at my former teacher, who was likely his teacher as well, and begins collecting empty glasses from the vacant tables. I wait for his deposit of dirty glasses so I can load the drawer dishwasher. He places the four mugs he’s holding by their handles on the counter. His big, strong hands are lined with veins. Four mugs in one of his mitts. I can only carry two in one hand.
“Was that Beth Sterling?” he asks.
“Yes. I like her.” I say it like a challenge.
“If she’s like her mama, she’ll stab you five times in the back before you notice she has a knife.”
