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I crank the volume dial to the max.
The host twitters over something witty Gemma said.
Gemma Lafferty remains serious. “I truly believe that this world would be a better place if we could get our relationships in order. We all have a Mr. or Mrs. Right out there. Why not really go after love, without holding back?”Well, dang.
That wasn’t the practical advice I was hoping for and I’m out of time.
Why couldn’t she say something about how to fix up a great couple that’s hit a bump in the road?
That’s what I need right now—advice on how to get Trent and Maggie back together.
Theymustget back together. They’re meant for each other, and their wedding’s only two weeks away. Since I set them up in the first place, I feel sort of responsible for seeing them through to the finish line.
Trent lucked out, big time when I scored him that first dinner date with my yoga instructor. I knew she was right for him. It was something about the fact that she loves stand-up comedy, fly fishing, and camping, just like Trent. They hit it off, and they’ve been together for five whole years. Five years that I’ve happily taken credit for.
And now… this?
According to Trent, Maggie packed up a suitcase and took off for her mother’s house two days ago and hasn’t picked up her phone since.
I step out into the cold, May-in-the-mountains air, trot across the street, and pull open The Moon’s door.
The place is busy and it takes me a minute to spot Trent, over by the bar.
I see him, but he doesn’t see me.
So, when I position myself behind him and speak, his shoulders hitch up to his ears. “I can’t believe it. You let her go to her mother’s?”
“What the—!” The beer in his hands sloshes. “Olivia! Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
My brother’s buddy, Cole, is on the next barstool over. There’s an empty seat on his other side, but besides that, the bar’s packed. There must be a big basketball game on or something because most of the guys lining the tall table are in team colors that I recognize: sunny yellow, and midnight blue.
Cole’s shoulders rock as he gives a quick, silent laugh at my brother’s expense.
Nothing like a beer spill to get a lug-head laughing.
Trent flicks his hand and drops of beer spray outward.
Cole wipes his hand over his dark beard and shakes his head. He’s wearing a faded camo-printed ball cap pulled so low over his brow, I can barely see his dark eyes. His bulky, fur-lined canvas barn coat is smudged with grease and dirt like he worked in it all day.
For all I know, he did. He’s one of those rare unicorn, blue-collar types still left in this box canyon. He grew up out in the sticks on a ranch and still acts like he’s surrounded by cows, even though he’s lived here in town for years now. I can actually smell a mix of mud and engine oil wafting off of him. Lovely.
His voice is a low rumble. “Hey, Olivia.”
And that’s it.
No mention of Italy, where I’ve been for two weeks. No ‘nice to see you’ or ‘how was your flight?’.
Cole never says much to me, besides teasing me now and then.
And honestly, that’s fine. I don’t know anything about ranch work, fixing trucks, flying helicopters, or outdoorsy things. And as far as I can tell, given the hours and hours I’ve spent with him over the years, he doesn’t talk about much else.
“Hey yourself,” I say to him. “Can you move over one spot? I need to talk to this fool.”
Cole slides over, opening up the seat between him and Trent.
I settle in, feeling annoyed at the hubbub around me. On the bank of televisions above the liquor bottles, the basketball game is on display. A couple of dudes down the way are shouting about the referee’s unfair call.
“Why couldn’t you have met me at Gran’s like I asked?” I ask Trent, as I wave the bartender away. I don’t need a drink. I need a dark, quiet room and my soft pillow under my sleepy head.
