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Trish swayed a little on her barstool. “Nope. I already went the traditional route once. It didn’t work out well.”
I gaped at her, and she burst out laughing.
“Oh-kay.”
Trish never let what happened to her get her down. I admired the way she handled herself, but she rarely spoke so flippantly about it.
She pointed at me. “The look on your face . . . I finally surprised you.”
“You surprise me a lot.” I hugged her. “I’m happy for you.”
She sniffled in my ear. “Big things are going to happen for you.”
I shrugged as one of the men I recognized at the bar with Holt last night approached.
“I’m Clark. Well, I’m Judd, but everybody calls me Clark, so . . .”
“Baker. And this is Trish.”
“Pleasure.” He lifted his beer toward us. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, but we didn’t get a chance to meet up last night. We’ve missed that asshole and sort of hogged him.” He flicked his chin toward Holt.
“Do you work at the park too?” Trish asked.
“Yeah. Holt and I started around the same time. He’s back just in time for me to take my vacation,” he said with a grin.
“What do you mean?” I asked before I could stop myself.
“He’s back on Monday. I’m going to the hot tub.”
“He’s staying?” The words fumbled from my mouth.
Clark’s brow dipped into a V. “Yeah. That boy isn’t city material anymore. He belongs out here.” He slung an arm around Holt as he walked past. “Don’t you?”
“Don’t I what?”
“Belong out here. We knocked the city right out of you.”
Holt glanced at me and swallowed hard before playfully punching Clark in the stomach. “You’ve never knocked anything out of me.” He motioned toward the crowd. “Come on. Let’s go get my brother a shot before he tries to duck out with his beautiful bride-to-be.”
“Hungover or not, he’s getting married tomorrow,” Trish warned.
“I’m not going to be hungover,” Andrew said, sliding an arm around her waist.
“Just the man we’re looking for.” Holt signaled for the bartender.
“Excuse me.” I wedged past and bolted for the bathroom.
I cursed under my breath when I found Marlow in front of the mirror, reapplying . . . my lip gloss?
“I like this stuff.” She shrugged and ringed her lips with her pinky. “What’s with you? You look like someone hurt your feelings.”
“Let’s not pretend, okay? You don’t like me. I don’t like you. And after this weekend, we’ll hardly ever see each other.”
She turned and propped a hip on the counter. “Things didn’t work out with you and my brother?”
“He’s none of your business.”
She sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “I’ve said and done a lot of shit I shouldn’t have, but contrary to what you might think, I want him to be happy.” Her mouth rolled as if what she had to say was painful. “You make him happy.”
