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“You do not need to do that.” She tries to slide her wrist out of my grip, but when I run my thumb over the inside, she settles and stays where she is.
“I left home at sixteen and never went back.”
Brinley frowns. “Why?”
I release her wrist and shrug. “My stepdad was an asshole and my mom just wanted to make him happy.”
“Where are you from?”
“California originally. My mom still lives there.”
When she sits down, I take her wineglass and set it on the counter, then I go to the fridge and grab two bottles of beer, opening them and placing one in front of her.
She smiles wide. “Thank you.”
“Always feel free to tell me what you want. You could’ve said something at the store.”
Her shoulder lifts. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
“Maybe we should make a deal?” I cut my chicken and take a bite while she forks her salad first.
“What kind of deal?”
I swallow before responding. “Either we tell each other every horrible thing that’s happened in our lives before today, or we sweep it all under the rug and live from today on moving forward.”
“You’re kidding, right?” She looks at me as though I’m crazy.
“Do you really want to hear about my pathetic upbringing where Santa barely visited? Do you really want to tell me about how your ex did this or that and treated you in a way that makes it look like you’ve had your heart scooped out when you talk about him? Rehashing all that stuff just makes me feel shitty. How about you?”
She places down her fork and knife. “It does.”
“And who wants to feel shitty?”
“Not me.” She shakes her head.
“So, deal then?” I put my hand out over the table.
She stares at it for a moment before shaking it. “Deal.” She wiggles in her chair. “I like this. So, no personal questions about the past?”
“Nope.”
She smiles at her chicken. “Can we make a deal that you cook every day too?”
“Depends,” I say. “Are you going to keep labeling your food?”
Her cheeks brighten with color.
“It’s a good thing you did. I might have forgotten I didn’t buy the yogurt.”
She laughs and I do too, glad she can take a joke. I’d never be able to live with someone who couldn’t.
I feel a little bad that I’ve coerced her into agreeing that we won’t tell each other anything about our pasts, but I’m still keeping it under wraps that I’m only here for eight weeks even though I signed a year lease. If she finds out I work for the Coast Guard, it’s a dead giveaway that I have to blow town at some point because no one gets leave for a year.
The next day, I’m behind the bar at Lucky’s while Nate takes inventory of the liquor bottles. It’s pretty dead, but he said it picks up after five when the lumber mill lets out, then dies a little around dinnertime to about eight.
So I’m buried in my phone, texting a guy in Kodiak to see how things are going. I miss it there. It’s where I found my home after leaving my mom. One of the few places I felt qualified to go.
The door of the bar opens and a stream of daylight casts inside the bar. I glance up and shove my phone in the pocket of my pants. I remember this guy and I’m pretty sure he’s here for one specific reason—me.
