Page 20 of Lucky Haven

“Go dance,” I mumble. “Before I turn into a pumpkin.”

“We can leave now if you want.”

“Soon.” I wave my hand. “Go. Dance.”

“You want to come with me?”

“I don’t know how to line dance when I’m sober and I am not sober anymore.” I suck in a deep breath. “I’ll watch.”

She laughs and slides out of the booth, kicking her heels as she seamlessly joins the crowd.

When she does a quarter turn and her back is to me, someone drops into her seat. A stranger, a man who I don’t know. He looks rough and drunk.

Before he even opens his mouth, a shadow falls over the table.

“Out,” Cash barks.

“I’m just⁠—”

“Not tonight you aren’t,” he growls. Then he leans against the booth and lifts my chin. His brown eyes are clear, sober, and piercing. “You doing okay, Haven?”

“Fine,” I whisper, my heart beating faster. Better now, I want to say, but that’s… No, I can’t say that.

“Shouldn’t have let Mercy get you that second round,” he mutters.

“Have you been here the whole time?” I feel myself pout, the corners of my mouth tugging down in disappointment. “Why didn’t you sit with us?”

“Can’t do that, beautiful. I’m no good for you.”

“You’re my friend,” I say stubbornly.

He grins. “Yeah, I am. You have a plan to get home?”

“Mercy said we’ll call a taxi.” Although she also said there will be a wait, because Dragonfly Creek has one taxi cab. Sometimes two or three, if Steve The Cab Guy can convince anyone else to drive for him, but on a Thursday night, that’s not super likely.

Cash reads my mind. “There’ll be a line a mile long for that. I’ll be your taxi tonight.”

His thumb brushes along my jaw, making me shiver, then he straightens up and steps back, removing himself from my space as swiftly as he appeared.

I watch Mercy effortlessly step her way through two more songs, then she swings her hips back to the table and flops in across from me. “Next thing we’re doing is signing you up for line dancing lessons,” she says happily. “That’s so much fun.”

“Okay,” I hear myself saying.

Who am I?

Drinking. Dancing.

“Do you want to get going? I have an early morning,” Mercy says. “We can beat the crowd for Steve’s services.”

“Actually, Cash is here,” I mumble. “He said he’ll drive us.”

Right on cue, he appears again and herds us out to a big truck.

“No motorcycle tonight?” I ask, although that’s a silly question because if he had ridden his bike, he couldn’t give us both a ride home.

In the shadow of the passenger door, his eyebrows lift and his mouth hitches up at the side. “Disappointed?”

“I don’t know.” I try to climb up, but my foot slips.