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Grant sighed. “Don’t worry about it. I’m glad she’s getting out there. She deserves happiness and not worrying about her job all the time.”
“Her job’s not going well?” Lance figured that was all behind her. Was something else going on that Chantelle didn’t tell him?
Grant sipped from his glass. “She claims no one takes her seriously.”
“She can write somewhere else,” Lance said. “There are other magazines out there. All she needs to do is send out resumes.”
“Sounds simple to me.” Pete agreed.
Grant’s forehead wrinkled. “She’s not doing that. I love my sister, but she’s stubborn. She’s never backed down from a challenge.”
Lance nodded, recalling his own conversation with her. Though his skin itched at seeing her with another man, he kept his distance and even allowed Pete to change the subject.
“So… bachelor party.” Pete rubbed his hands together. A snake tattoo curved around one of his tanned arms.
Craig added. “I got it all planned out as we say goodbye to another member of the group.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Grant asked, his mouth quirking up.
Craig gestured between Lance and Grant. “You two are off the market. Once you’re married, the fun’s over.”
Grant gulped his drink. “I disagree. It’s only the beginning for me.”
Pete asked. “What does that mean?”
Grant gave a slight smile. “It means, everything I thought it was, I was wrong. Spending every day with Elise is amazing. She loves me for me. I love her. It’s hard, but worth it.”
“Elise is an incredible woman.” Pete then swallowed a fried pickle. He nudged Craig’s shoulder. “This one’s just jealous.”
“Not jealous,” Craig replied. “It didn’t work out for me and Cassie, but it’s cool. I’m over her. I’m planning a life with Sylvia.”
“Doesn’t sound like you’re over it to me,” Lance said.
Craig continued. “I missed the woman for a while, but she went her own way, and I went mine. Case closed. I met Sylvia and I look forward to the future with her.”
Pete bobbed his head. “So what’s all that talk about the fun being over?”
Craig dismissed his comment with a shove to his friend’s shoulder. “It’s a big deal, okay? I want to make sure I’m ready.”
Lance looked over at Chantelle once more. Despite the dim lighting, she glowed. Facing the bar again, he noted his own reflection in the mirrored wall behind the bar. He clutched his half empty glass as the laughter of the crowd echoed in his ears.
“What do you think, Lance?” Pete asked.
“What?” Lance said, straightening in his chair.
“More fried pickles?” Grant asked, lifting an eyebrow. “You okay?”
Lance sipped the remaining liquid left in his glass. “Sure.” He wouldn’t turn around to look at Chantelle again. “Everything’s fine.”
***
The following evening Chantelle admired the color-coded paint tubes on the shelf and the adjustable easel in the center of the room. A nearby table had sketch paper with a jar for pencils, markers, and pencil crayons. The fan whirred while the faint sounds of ambient sounds played in the background. Paints and oils filled the air along with pencil shavings. Inching closer to the table, Chantelle felt the smooth spindle of a paintbrush.
“What do you think?” Javier asked.
“I like it.” She moved to where he stood in front of the easel. The canvas was blank. “You haven’t started yet?”
Javier held a brush out to her. “After you?”
