Page 24 of Only Be Mine

Not back to The Scot & Barrel - back to the feeling.

Because after that night, everything else in my life felt muted. Like someone had turned the volume down on the world and left me alone with the echo of John’s voice and the brush of his fingers on my wrist.

I told myself it was curiosity.

I told myself it was normal to wonder if the almost-kiss had been real or just bourbon and darts and the kind of lighting that made strangers look like destiny.

But the truth was simpler, and far less poetic.

I wanted to know if he’d still look at me like that when I wasn’t half a sip away from brave.

Friday came with a sharp wind and the kind of gray sky that made Colorado look like it had been sketched in charcoal. By the time I got off work, my nerves had worn a groove into my brain.

Amy called while I was changing.

“Where are you going?” she asked, voice too casual to be innocent.

“Out.”

“With who?”

“Me,” I lied.

“Cate.”

I closed my eyes. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting. I’m observing. Like a scientist.”

“Shut up.”

She laughed, satisfied. “Text me when you get there. Also, if you’re dead, haunt me. I want proof.”

“Love you too,” I muttered, and hung up before she could ask anything else.

I stood in front of the mirror longer than I meant to. Not in a vain way, more like I was trying to pick the version of myself that would walk through the door.

The one who didn’t care.

The one who could flirt and laugh and leave before things got heavy.

The one who kept things simple.

I went with black jeans, boots, and a fitted sweater that made me feel like I had armor stitched into the seams. I put on gloss. Smudged eyeliner. The usual.

Then I stared at my phone until my screen went dark.

John hadn’t texted.

Which was good.

Because I wasn’t ready for the rush of seeing his name.

I grabbed my keys and left anyway, before I could change my mind.

The Scot & Barrel was louder on a Friday night, packed with the kind of people who looked like they belonged somewhere. Couples. Friends. Men in flannels. Women in boots.

Everyone moving like the world was easy. Not my typical haunt.