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“You're not doing anything with Skylar?”
Tucker grinned as he shook his head. “She's working late tonight. She and Ludie are going over the monthly accounting. She stresses out about that. They're all set up with takeout.”
“I'm your second choice then,” I replied wryly.
Tucker reached me, cuffing me lightly on the shoulder. “No, you're my friend, and I like hanging out.”
“You can be honest. I know it's just because she's busy,” I teased.
He rolled his eyes. “Don't I show up when we all meet at the brewery?”
“You do.”
“Let’s go to Sally’s. I'll be your wingman, and I'll bow out with perfect timing,” he offered, waggling his brows.
“I don't need a wingman, dude.”
“Don't you, though?” he teased.
“No,” I countered, shrugging off the subtle irritation I felt.
Of late, I’d gotten annoyed at how I was often teased as if I was some kind of player. I wasn’t. I just wasn’t interested in anything serious.
“Let me close up here.”
I quickly leaned into the front of the plane, snagging my backpack where it sat on the floor just behind the seat.
Tucker crossed the garage, calling, “You need anything from the office, or can I turn the light out?”
“Lights out,” I called in return.
A moment later, we closed the garage bay door and walked out the side entrance together.
Tucker paused, his gaze arcing from the plane hangars to the marshy field and the mountains beyond. “Damn. I've been here for over five years now, and I still haven’t gotten used to these long days.”
I shrugged. “It's all I've ever known. When I was a teenager, I stayed up so late, always just doing my own thing.”
“It helps to have the blackout shades. When I first moved here, I didn’t see the point. I’m smarter now,” he commented.
“When I was a kid, we couldn't afford those, so we put tinfoil on the windows.”
Tucker chuckled. We followed each other over to Sally’s because Tucker claimed he would leave sooner than I did. I would prove him wrong. I was in a new phase of responsibility and didn't feel the need to stay out late and party. I told myself this had nothing to do with Harley. Not a thing.
A short while later, we were seated at a booth. Sally’s was an old barn renovated into a restaurant and bar. The kitchen was in the center with the restaurant on one side with booths and tables, and the other side had smaller tables and a stage for music. The old hayloft had been renovated into loft seating. The place had a relaxed, casual feel with wide-plank hardwood flooring worn after years of feet crossing over them. It was a favorite local hangout with organized card nights, karaoke nights, open mic, and the like. It also had good pub fare, nothing fancy, and always consistent.
Tucker lifted his pint of beer, clinking his glass against mine. “To one beer tonight.”
I chuckled. “Yeah, we're both driving. So how are things with Skylar?”
He finished his swallow of beer, his lips twitching with a smile. “Good, really good.”
“Good,” I returned. “You deserve it.”
“Yeah? I never understood why people say things like that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, don't you think everybody deserves something good in life? I don't think I'm any more special than anybody else,” he offered.
