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“Hey,” she replied. She swallowed and faced him. He looked so damn good, it made her heart ache. Thick wavy hair curled around his neck, and there was more than a five o’clock shadow darkening his jaw. His navy-blue eyes were electric, seemingly luminous in the low lights. And that mouth of his was curved into a half smile. It hurt just to look at him.
“I was in the parking lot for an hour.” His voice was low. “Wasn’t sure if I should come in.”
Millie exhaled and decided to deflect. “You want a drink?”
“You still serving?”
“Technically, we’re closed, but I suppose I could be persuaded.” Holy. Mary. Mother. Of. God. When had she turned in the flirty fairy of Big Bend?
His answer was that dimple on the right as his smile deepened. “I could handle whiskey over ice.” He moved off toward the jukebox. As he shoveled in some coins, Millie got busy behind the bar.
She grabbed two glasses and filled them with ice, then reached for her special bottle of Forty Creek, a Canadian whiskey her father had always loved. She poured a generous amount in each and then pushed one of the glasses toward Cal, who’d sat himself down on the stool directly in front of her.
He reached for the glass, his long fingers easily closing around it, and brought it to his mouth. Millie didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until he tipped the glass back. She let it out in a rush and knocked back half of hers in one gulp. She gripped the edge of the bar as the liquid burned its way down, those subtle notes of caramel, vanilla, and butterscotch making her senses sing. No longer was she tired or muddled. In fact, every cell in her body was on fire. As she took another sip, she knew she could drink this whiskey all night, but it wouldn’t come close to quenching the kind of thirst she felt.
An old Hank Williams song filled the silence of the big room, the legend’s voice both plaintive and cajoling. For the longest time, the two of them politely sipped from their glasses, listening to Hank talk about a woman who did him wrong, then Cash lament about Folsom Prison.
Eventually, Cal pushed his now-empty tumbler toward her. Millie refilled it without speaking. Her heart was beating so damn loud, she was sure Cal heard it. Skin hot, her white tank top clung to her. She had no idea what it was they were doing, but she knew it was something. No longer were they skimming the edge of what had been. This felt new.
And that’s what scared her.
He sat back, his expression unreadable. When he spoke, it was almost anticlimactic.
“I’m sorry about Thursday. About the attention I brought to you. I know it’s not your thing and I should have known better, but in the moment, I wasn’t thinking about any of that.” He paused and downed the rest of his whiskey. “In that moment, all I was thinking about was you and how good it feels to be near you. To listen to you. Watch you come alive. It was like we’d walked back in time, and I guess I let it carry me away.” A ghost of a smile touched his lips, and he shrugged. “You were always special, Mills. The kind of special that doesn’t come along often. And to see that again? Well, I’m not sorry about that.” He shook his head. “Not sorry at all.”
Millie lowered her eyes and focused on the glass in her hands. The air was thick, and she had difficulty breathing. Or maybe it was the melody of memory in her head, the idea of the two of them that made her tongue thick.
“Are we good?” he asked.
She nodded but didn’t trust herself to speak. How was it, after all this time, she still felt like that sixteen-year-old schoolgirl standing in front of a boy who, with one look, could make her forget a world existed outside the two of them?
“Can you say something?” he prodded, leaning forward, a slight frown touching his forehead.
There was so much she could say. Tell him to leave. Or he could stay and she would go home. She could tell him that there hadn’t been anyone who’d come close to claiming the part of her that still belonged to him. She could let him know that she’d finally forgiven him for leaving all those years ago. Because really, how could she hate the man she loved for chasing his dreams? Wasn’t that what love really meant? Letting someone go?
She blinked at the thought. At how true it was.
In the end, all those things stayed safe inside her soul. Locked away until it was time. But for now, there were other things on her mind. Hot things. Dark things. Needful things.
“I miss you,” she breathed, still staring at her glass, aware that every cell in her body felt electrified. She was aware of movement. Of Cal sliding off the stool and making his way around the bar until he stood inches from her.
Still, she kept her eyes down, afraid he’d see into her very soul. She felt his hand on her chin, and all resistance melted away. Slowly, she raised her head—she had nowhere to hide anymore.
“Do you remember when we were seventeen and we took that raft onto the river, thinking we’d drift for a couple of hours and drink some of the beers I’d stolen from Dad?”
She smiled at the memory. Leaned into that big warm hand at her cheek. “It was the perfect afternoon. There’s no place like Montana in July.”
“We drifted until we spotted the Founder’s Cabin.”
Entangled limbs. Naked skin. Hot, young, first love. It had been her first time.
He bent closer, and she froze. In that moment, she saw everything. His heart. His mind. His conflict. Hislove. All of it. She knew this wasn’t casual, an old lover reuniting with a flame to see if the fire was still hot. This was real. He felt it. And so did she.
With a soft groan, she took a step back, unsure. Millie knew what she wanted to do. Her body ached for his touch. God, it had been so long. But if she gave in…if she started up with Cal Bridgestone, it wouldn’t end well. He would leave again. In spite of his love.
Would she survive it a second time?
She thought about that. About how she’d been living only half a life. She went through the motions of day to day, did and said all the right things. She was there for her friends, for what little family she had, but at night when she was home alone, she was empty. She had nothing for herself.
