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“You’ll just have to wait and see.”
Dread washes over me at the thought. I’d love to be at home, cuddled up with Kaela, watching a silly romantic comedy right now.
Another round of beers hits the table, and the waitress points to two guys seated at the bar, who I recognize from the firehouse.
Brandee turns in her seat, smiles, and waves at them.
“They’re cute,” she bellows.
“They used to work with Mike,” I tell her.
She gives me a look of sympathy. The look that I get from every single person when Mike’s name is brought up. The one I wish I could wipe off the face of the earth.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
And there’s the apology that always follows.
I give her my best fake smile.
“It’s okay,” I say for the millionth time.
She lets out a breath. “Actually, I take that back. I’m not sorry. They used to work with Mike. Okay. Everyone in town either worked with him or knew someone who worked with him or just knew him, period. So? Mike’s not here anymore, and there is nothing wrong with you getting gussied up and enjoying a night out. No one expects you to grieve forever, you know? Not them. Not me. No one. And you shouldn’t expect it of yourself either. So, we’re going to enjoy these drinks from the handsome men at the bar and have a fucking awesome evening.”
She takes a drink from her glass, and I lift mine to my lips and join her because she’s right.
Weston
After I drop my stuff off at the new house, I pick Morris up from Mom and Pop’s place, and we make our way to Barbecue and Brews.
It’s a tradition.
We’ve been spending this night here for years now. Sometimes, we are accompanied by one or more of our other brothers, and I’ve sometimes had a date on my arm, but we always end up here for karaoke and beer. Garrett is good friends with the owner and his wife, and it’s the only place in the valley that doesn’t inflate the price of everything on their menu for the occasion.
When we step through the doors, a symphony of greetings meets us.
Morris makes his way to the bar, and I follow as my eyes do a sweep of the crowd to find the downtrodden ladies who are drowning their sorrows in two-dollar drafts and looking for someone to stroke their fragile egos.
It might sound scoundrel-esque, but the way I look at it, we’re doing them a service. Flirting and buying a few cheap drinks to make them feel less delicate and lonely.
Morris finds me with beers in hand, and just as we’re about to take a seat at a table full of lively, tipsy young ladies, I catch a glimpse of two women seated near the front of the stage, cheering on another gal who is drunkenly butchering the lyrics of “Sweet Home Alabama.”
Both are wrapped in barely there dresses with legs that go on for days.
Nice.
I tap Morris on the shoulder and lift my chin in their direction.
His eyes follow mine, and his eyebrows lift.
“I’ll see you in a minute,” I utter before holding a finger up to let our current table of friends know I’ll be right back, and I make my way over to the beauties.
“Hi, ladies. Are we out for a little Galentine’s Day celebration?” I ask as I approach.
A pair of brilliant sapphire-blue eyes looks up at me from beneath long, dark lashes, and the woman grins.
“Anna?”
“Hi, boss man,” she says as she wraps her lips around the neck of an amber bottle.
