“What? Oh.” I look down at my ankle. “N-no. All seems fine.”
What just happened? The sting of rejection slams into me. Making eye contact becomes nearly impossible.
“Okay, great. Good. That’s good.” Luke places his hands on his hips and inhales deeply through his nose, blowing it out through his mouth.
Well, this has become very awkward.
“I've gotta get going before someone catches me slacking. Namely Josh.” Luke hitches a thumb over his shoulder.
“Yeah, of course. No problem. Thanks for… thanks for the rose.” I lift it to my nose, trying to hide the shame at being so swiftly dismissed and the anger with myself for missing the touch of his hands on my skin.
This. This is why I’ve sworn off men.
Eighteen
THIS MORNING CALLS FOR MIMOSAS
Liv
“My parents always said animals aren’t meant to be cooped up. Cats especially. They’re hunters, and they need to roam,” Viv says, raising her shoulders then letting them fall. “Maybe Mae is right.”
I nod, entertaining the thought, but I’m not entirely sure I’m comfortable with the idea yet.
We pass The Tavern, where the woman who brought our drinks on Friday is watering the flowers.
“Morning, ladies!”
“Morning,” we call back in unison.Joanie, was it?
“You ladies staying over at the Huffman House?” she asks, making small talk as we approach her.
I hate small talk.
“Yup! How’d you know?” Viv asks. We stop in front of Joanie as she cuts off the spray of water from the hose.
“It’s the only B&B in town.” Joanie pops a hip and places her hand on it. “How long ya here for?”
“Until Sunday, sometime,” I say. There is something vaguely familiar about Joanie, though I can’t quite place what it is.
“Well—” Joanie looks up at the building, appraising it. Shortwhite-blonde hair exposes a small tattoo of a sun and moon that sits at the base of her neck. I’ve seen that tattoo before. I’d have sworn Claire had one on her wrist just like it. “We’ve got Sitcoms of the 90s and 2000s Trivia this Wednesday night. It’s mostly locals, but obviously anyone is welcome to play. Anyway, you ladies should come on by and try your hand at beating me and my team! We’re the reigning champs.”
Viv scoffs. “Joanie—it is Joanie, right?”
Joanie nods.
“You don’t know this about me, of course—how could you? I am a sitcomexpert. Liv, here, can vouch for me. I know everything there is to know. I was raised on sitcoms of the 90s and 2000s. So, uh”—Viv blows a hot breath on her nails and polishes them on her shoulder—“you’re going down. Count us in.”
The woman’s eyes find mine. There’s something about her that’s both friendly and incredibly intimidating. If I had to guess, little gets past Joanie. The best I can offer her is a nod of agreement because it’s true. Viv really is oddly knowledgeable about sitcoms. It’s borderline strange.
“You’re on,” Joanie says with a look of steely determination. “Names?” She looks between Viv and me.
“I’m Liv. This is Viv.”
“Liv and Viv, huh? That’s not confusing at all.” Joanie lifts one manicured eyebrow. “Alright then, Liv and Viv. Stop by my bar any time, but make sure you’re at least here on Wednesday. I’m looking forward to the competition.”
“Oh, youownthis bar?” I ask.
“Bet your ass I do, chickadee. The Tavern’s been in my family for generations.”
