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We hug, and she pushes a strand of highlighted hair behind her ear. “When did you get into town?”
I glance at the time on my phone. “About thirty minutes ago. What about you?”
“We’ve been here since the weekend.”
I select a box of cereal and place it in my basket. “How long are you staying this year?”
“A couple of weeks. You?” she asks.
“A little longer than that,” I answer.
“Lucky duck.” She smirks.
We walk two more aisles together, gathering items while making small talk, before we head to the checkout.
“What are you doing tonight?” Chelsea asks as the woman behind the register scans her things. “You wouldn’t want to grab dinner, would you?” She furrows her brows. “I bet you’re spending the evening with your parents.”
Most times in the past when Chelsea has asked me to go out for a night on the town with her, I’ve politely declined. I typically spend all my time with my parents when on these vacations because I don’t see them a lot even though we live in the same city. But they aren’t a factor right now. And spending the night alone in the cabin, running through my circumstances endlessly, sounds like a poor alternative.
“My parents couldn’t make it this time,” I say, explaining about my dad’s emergency surgery. “So, yes, I’d love to.”
Her smile widens after I reassure her that my dad is doing well. “Awesome! Let’s go to Cowboys,” she suggests, mentioning a popular bar and grill in town.
“That sounds perfect,” I agree. I could use a drink … or ten.
Chelsea waits until I’ve paid for my groceries and then gives me a ride back to the cabin so I don’t have to lug everything home. I spend the next couple of hours settling in and getting ready for the night, and we meet outside of my place around seven.
I pull my sweater around my body to ward off the chill in the air as we start walking. This is one of the things I love most about coming to Sullivan’s Way. We can walk everywhere. The square is only a couple of blocks away.
“You’re saving me,” Chelsea says dramatically, leaning her shoulder into mine when we turn the corner. “I desperately need a drink! And a night away from my parents!”
I laugh. “Are they driving you crazy?”
“Yes!” she exclaims. “My mom still treats me like I’m twelve.”
“My mom does too,” I comment, knowing exactly what she means.
The parent-child relationship never seems to fade, not even with age.
We catch up on our lives as we walk. Chelsea is a dental hygienist. She isn’t married, but she just started seeing someone back home. It doesn’t sound serious though, especially when I see her checking out a few guys on the way to the pub.
We step from the concrete curb onto the wooden decking that borders all the businesses.
The square is four blocks that join to house various shops and restaurants. There are at least three coffeehouses and two icecream places scattered around. More eateries than I can name. And the Cowboys bar, where we’re headed, takes up the middle third of one block.
It has an old saloon feel to it on the outside with wooden siding. The double doors are propped open when we arrive, letting in fresh air. The balls from pool tables clack as people play in the back. There’s a large mahogany bar in the middle of the space and a dozen or so high-top tables spread out in front of it. Several flat screens line the walls with different sporting events and a rodeo on them.
Chelsea and I step up to a hostess stand.
A short blonde woman in a jean skirt, a low-cut and tight-fitting top, and cowboy boots greets us with a smile. “Two?” she asks.
I nod.
“Follow me,” she says, leading the way to a table in the middle. She places a menu down in front of each barstool. “Jessica will be your server tonight.”
“Thank you,” I say as she leaves.
“What are we drinking?” Chelsea asks, scanning the menu.
