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“Draft or bottle?” I ask.
“I didn’t know you did those on draft,” she says.
“They’ve gotten so popular that we do now. I think we have the pineapple, mango, and honey pear on tap tonight.”
“Awesome. Then, we’ll do a pitcher of the pineapple?” She turns to Jena for confirmation.
“Sounds good to me,” Jena agrees.
“Coming right up.”
I walk to the cider taps that are on the far-left side of the bar. I fill a clear plastic pitcher with The Charlotte, which is the name of the spicy pineapple hard cider, and grab two chilled glasses from the cooler before delivering them to the girls.
“What time do you get off tonight?” Erin asks as I set a pile of extra napkins beside the pitcher.
“I was supposed to leave at ten tonight, but Kristin had to leave early, so I might be here till closing.”
“Well, if you do get out early, come join us,” she requests.
“You guys don’t need me crashing your planning party,” I say.
“Oh, please. You’re more than welcome to join us. This planning thing is just an excuse for us to have a girls’ night out or two. Neither one of them wants a huge affair. I swear, if it wasn’t for the parents, both of them would elope. Crazy bitches. They’re marrying two of the most eligible bachelors this side of the Mississippi. If I were marrying a rich country singer, I’d be wearing a freaking one-of-a-kind designer gown and riding down Main Street in Cinderella’s carriage on the way to the altar,” Jena says.
“That’s because you’re smart and bougie as hell. Ansley is not,” Erin points out.
“I’d have to agree with her. If I were the marrying kind, I’d probably run off to Vegas and get hitched. A wedding sounds like a nightmare to me,” I tell them.
“What do you mean, if you were the marrying kind?” Erin asks.
I throw my hands up and start walking back to refill one of the bar patron’s glasses. “I don’t even like to date. I don’t ever want to get married.”
And I don’t. Not ever. There is nothing about the institution of marriage that appeals to me. Relationships in general make me uneasy. I’ve never had a boyfriend last longer than a few months, and I don’t really have any close friendships to speak of. Erin and her girlfriends have been attempting to draw me into their ranks for the last couple of months, and they’re a fun group, but I’m a loner. I’m comfortable with my own company. Always have been.
“You’re weird, Bufton. I like weird,” Erin calls after me.
I laugh at her familiar use of my last name. She’s a character. I can’t help but like her.
“Never claimed otherwise,” I shout back.
Maxine Bufton. Daughter of the late Van and Amy Jo Bufton. That’s me. A jaded girl from the mean streets of Baltimore. How the fuck I ended up in this place is laughable. I stick out like a sore thumb with my long dark mahogany hair, tattoos, and motorcycle, but after my mother’s death, I inherited a small plot of land on the Coyote Creek and a tiny, run-down fishing shack.
Mom had often spoken about when she was a little girl and her grandparents would bring her and her siblings to Balsam Ridge for the summer. She loved it here, and it was the only place that brought her peace and joy. I wanted so badly to be able to bring her here and build us a little house on that land. I’d been working and saving money to do just that when she got sick.
Cancer took her so quickly that I wasn’t able to make that dream a reality. So, I picked up her ashes and loaded her and my few belongings into a rented truck on a whim and drove straight here. I don’t know what I was expecting. Oz maybe. But what I found was nothing like what I’d thought I’d find. No yellow brick roads or emerald towers, just a quaint valley, surrounded by beautiful mountains and sweet fresh air.
I’m not sure how long I’ll stay. Maybe I’ll sell the land and take off by spring. Or maybe I’ll stick around for a while. Nothing is tethering me to one spot any longer. My anchor let go, and I can drift off to wherever the wind blows me now.
“Here you go, Maxi.” Reed hands me my apron after cashing me out for the night and an envelope holding my share of the night’s tips.
I look inside and am surprised to see the amount of cash. He grins at my reaction.
“It was a good crowd, and Mrs. Tuttle was extra generous,” he answers my unasked question.
“Awesome. Do you need me to come in tomorrow? I’m scheduled off, but with Kristin’s son falling ill, if you’re shorthanded, I can fill in,” I offer.
“Thanks, but I think we have it covered. You get some rest, and I’ll see you on Friday.”
I tuck my apron in my cubby, grab my keys, fold the envelope, and shove it into my back pocket. Then, I wave good-bye to Shane, who is mopping the floor as I head to the door. Erin calls my name as I pass the entrance that leads out to the deck, and I change course.
