“You know me better than that,” she said, perking her eyebrow up at me.
“I mean, I figured, but I was just making sure,” I insisted.
“This is what I’m wearing,” she said, shimmying out of her cut-offs and snagging a strapless jean dress from her bag. The dress had silver buttons from top to bottom, right up the middle, and as she slid the thick material over her body, it clung to her perfectly.
“Damn,” I said.
“Exactly the response I was looking for. Although, I’d been hoping it would come from Booker and not you.” She smirked, moving left and right as she ran her hands down both her sides. “All right, you ready to do this?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Can I get a vodka tonic and a whiskey on the rocks with a splash of grenadine, please?” Mags shouted across the makeshift bar. “Oh, and two tequila shots!”
“Magnolia!” I shouted.
“What? It’ll be good for you. Hell, it will be good for us both,” she said, her eyes motioning to something across the room.
I glanced over my shoulder to see Booker Baker, the six-foot cowboy who resembled every other six-foot cowboy. Levi jeans, dirty boots, and a white T-shirt that was somehow pristinely white despite running a very active and presumably hands-on farm.
I returned my glance to Maggie.
“Cheers to that.” I smiled.
“Cheers!”
The ice-cold liquor burned, bulldozing to the back of my throat.
My head instantly started buzzing and the live band who was set up on an improvised stage at the front of the barn only emphasized the buzz.
This wasn’t a typical barn party because nothing Booker Baker did was typical.
Set up cohesively around the room were three different bars, all appearing to be stocked with every type of alcohol you could dream up. The lighting inside was almost as magical as the stars illuminating the sky tonight. Hundreds of string lights dangled overhead, making it bright enough to see but dark enough to create the perfect ambiance.
The black tin barn itself could easily hold three hundred people, and while there weren’t that many people here tonight, there was still enough to label this as quite the shindig.
It wasn’t what you’d picture, I could promise you that.
Sure, it was rugged and rustic with a dirt floor and hay bales stacked to the ceiling on one side, but it was chic andelegant too. The smell of expensive leather twirled through your nose, presumably from the large collection of expensive-looking saddles that were plastered on most of the walls. The double doors stood at least thirty feet high and peered out to the Tennessee Mountains. It was a view plucked straight from a postcard.
“Does this even qualify as a barn?”
“Depends who you’re asking. For Booker’s family? Yes.” She smirked.
“I guess that’s true,” I huffed. “This kind of barn only feels right for a family that basically owns this town.”
“But I do love the decor, very Ralph Lauren–esque,” she said, as her eyes scanning the room in what I assumed was an effort to keep tabs on Booker.
“Of course you do,” I said, taking another gulp of my drink and allowing the burn of the whiskey to eliminate some of my nerves and the sweet grenadine to give me a burst of confidence. “Let’s dance!”
Maggie’s grin drove across her entire face. “Let’s!”
The wooden stage was small and lifted only a few feet off the ground, but the familiar country songs flowing from the singer’s mouth in front made it easy to blend into the blur of humans moving their bodies. Maggie and I shifted and scooted until we reached the center of the crowd. I was sure I knew most of the people around us, but for the time being, I decided to focus on Maggie and the music.
“She’s good,” I said, shouting toward Maggie.
“Yeah, she really is,” she replied while allowing her hips to sway side to side. “See, aren’t you glad I forced you out of the house tonight?”
“I’ll let you know at the end of the night.”
