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“Really.” I nod. “Boiled, so it gets soft and releases the flavors. I added maple syrup. We call it the Tree Hugger’s Special.”
She giggles, lips still around the straw. “If I’m not careful, you’re gonna brainwash me into tree worshiping, like you.”
“I can think of worse things to worship.”
“Yeah… like profit margins,” she sighs.
“Hey—Superstar.” I wag my leg so the side of my knee bumps hers. “Don’t get down. You’re doing your best like everyone is.”
“Yeah… but I’m in therat race.When did I get in the rat race? Do you know I haven’t taken a full day off in over a year?”
“You’re doing work you love.”
“Yeah, I love it. But somewhere along the way, I forgot how to relax and have fun. I guess… I guess you’re reminding me. I should thank you.”
“Hey, I suggested you sing a little. That’s all.”
“It’s more than that. It’s… It’s being here. It’s the view from the log cabin, and all these leaves, and this quirky little bar with that big, furry head with the Christmas lights on the antlers. And—maybe I can’t explain it. That’s okay. Just—thanks, for putting up with me. I know I can be a lot, sometimes.”
She twists on her stool again, and our legs collide. She leans in and squeezes my knee.
I can feel the warmth of her hand through the fabric of my pants. I rest mine over the back of her hand, letting my fingers fill the valley’s between hers. And I know, in that moment, with her hand on my leg and my fingers settled over hers, that I won’t let Gemma leave Pines Peak without talking to her about what’s going on between us.
I think it’s worth investigating.
Getting clear about a few things.
Like why, after all these years, I can still sit with her and talk like we’re old friends. Why I feelthis goodaround her. Why, now that we’re touching like this, I don’t want her to pull her hand away.
It’d be good to get clear on all that.
If we don’t, she might leave, and I won’t see her again—or experiencethisagain—for another decade. I don't think I could handle that.
Chapter16
Gemma
It is one o’clock in the morning.
When did it get to be one o’clock?
I’ve been sitting here laughing and flirting with Parker for hours, yet it feels like only minutes have passed by.
Frankie’s still on the mic. My brain’s adjusted to the sound of his voice. It’s background noise now, like a fan on high when you’re trying to sleep.
Not that I feel like sleeping.
I feel wide awake, and alive, and happy.
My beer buzz is long gone, but I’m still buzzing. The taste of sweet soda’s still on my tongue.
Delilah headed out a while ago, so Parker’s been splitting his time between work and chatting with me. Whenever he hops up to serve a customer, I get a minute to stop and think about what’s happening.
But even when I think about it, I can’t really figure it out.
I know Parker’s trouble.
I know he’s a serial dater, serial heartbreaker. I know he charms women, and then moves on and leaves them balling their eyes out.
