Page 6 of Taken Away

Aubrey turned slowly. “Is there an issue?”

The man didn’t look up. He swirled the ice in his bourbon, the glass clicking against the counter. “Just wondering if the blackberries have a preference on how they’re executed, or if any old blunt object will do.”

Aubrey stiffened. She was too tired for this, which only made her sharper. "Some people actually care about the details."

“And some people use details so they don’t have to think about reality,” he muttered, finally throwing a bloodshot look her way.

A flare of annoyance tightened Aubrey’s neck.

“What?”

“High-maintenance,” he said, sliding his glass toward the bartender for a refill.

“Nosey,” she snapped back. “Is it a requirement in this town to narrate everyone’s order, or are you the self-appointed critic of the Blue Ridge?”

“Just a man trying to drown a bad day without a chemistry lecture,” he grumbled.

The bartender set the deep purple drink in front of her. Aubrey took a long, defensive sip. It was cold enough to ache. She was halfway through her drink when a tall, bald man with an easy grin stepped behind the bar. He looked like a retired linebacker who could throw a refrigerator into the back of a pickup and still ask if anybody needed help moving the couch.

“Bennett! Good to see you, man,” the man said, wiping down the counter.

Bennett—the jerk—actually managed a half smile. It was brief, but it transformed his face, softening the rough edges of his scowl. A traitorous jolt tightened her chest. He was handsome in a rugged, broken sort of way that came from living, not trying.

The newcomer turned his attention to Aubrey, flashing a warm and friendly smile. “I’m Kelly. My wife, Emily, and I own the place. Welcome to Sylva.” He glanced back at Bennett. “Ben, you going to introduce me to your friend?”

His gaze lifted to hers, lingering a beat longer, sweeping over her champagne-blonde hair and tailored suit before settling briefly on her cool green eyes.

“She’s not my friend,” he said, voice cold and flat.

The words landed like a slap. Aubrey felt a flush rise into her cheeks, the tequila making her feel reckless and raw.

“Clearly,” Aubrey said, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. “Friends usually have manners. This one seems to have left his in the woods.”

Kelly’s eyebrows climbed toward his bald head as he looked between them.

“Well then,” he said. “You staying here at Blackwater?”

Aubrey nodded.

“For a few days.”

“Welcome to the lodge.”

“Thanks.”

“Good luck with him,” Kelly said, jerking his thumb toward Bennett.

“I’m starting to think I’ll need it.”

Aubrey glanced toward Bennett. He didn’t look at either of them. Instead, he stared into his bourbon as if it had personally offended him. A muscle flexed in his cheek. Then he downed the rest of the drink in one heavy swallow and slid the empty glass across the bar.

Drift Patio

Aubrey Langford

By the time Aubrey carried a fresh margarita onto the patio, the lodge had grown louder behind her. The mountain air was cool and damp, thick with the scent of rain and woodsmoke. Aubrey leaned against the railing, the margaritas finally catching up to her. The peaks of the Blue Ridge were nothing but jagged black shadows against the sky.

“You’re going to fall over if you keep leaning like that.”