Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 101398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
“Josie. Please pull over.” I turn in my seat to face her. “I need to talk to Bennett. Apologize. Thank him. Something.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
My head snaps toward her. “What? Why not?” She doesn’t pull over, and instead, her grip tightens on the steering wheel almost imperceptibly. Almost. “Josie, I got that man arrested today. I really need to go in there and talk to him. It’s the right thing to do.”
She sighs, but she also makes a U-turn in the middle of the empty road and heads back toward The Country Club.
She parks and cuts the engine, hopping out before I’ve even had a chance to undo my seat belt. “Come on,” she complains through the open window on her door. “Let’s make this quick.”
I don’t know why she’s being so weird about it, but I get out of the car and follow her lead into the bar as swiftly as I can. My legs and feet are tired, my arm is sore, and my torso feels like it weighs nearly a million pounds. I’m not convinced I wouldn’t be better off if I were buried alive in actual mud.
Live music bursts from the band playing bluegrass-style music on a small stage, and at least fifty people fill the space, drinking beer and chatting and dancing.
Overall, the place has a good vibe. Colonial brick walls, hardwood floors, and a massive mahogany bar that has a shining display of liquor bottles behind it. It’s eclectic yet rustic and somehow hovers on the line of feeling like the exact kind of charming bar that would be in a small town, but also has an edge of big-city sophistication.
Whoever designed this place knew what they were doing. And if I hadn’t let Thomas and my mother talk me into quitting school just a year short of my interior design degree, I could be doing it too.
Josie stands beside me, her arms firmly crossed over her chest, and I do my best to locate the man I came here for at a speed she’ll find acceptable.
Luckily, he’s not hard to find, thanks to a larger-than-life presence you can’t miss. Slouched slightly, he sits with his elbows resting on the bar, his forearms cradling a glass of half-empty amber liquid in front of him. I can see the bartender’s mouth moving, his conversation directed at his brother-in-protein, Bennett. Forget going to church, these two must worship at the altar of fifty-pound dumbbells.
If I wasn’t feeling the deadline that is my sister’s patience, I might take a moment to admire the view.
“I found him,” I tell Josie, grabbing at her elbow to pull her with me. “He’s at the bar.”
She resists. “I’ll wait here for you.”
“You don’t want to—”
“Just go, Norah. I’ll wait here.”
Too tired to fight her, I leave her be and head to the big wall of mahogany. I came here with the intention of speaking to Bennett Bishop, so speaking to Bennett Bishop is what I’m going to do.
As for what I’m going to say, I’ll have to figure that out when I get there.
After a short shove through an imbibing crowd, I make it to my destination. From this close, it’s apparent that while the bartender might have the same build as Bennett, he’s shorter. Even while seated, Ben’s head ends above his. The other man’s hair is also darker, and instead of blue, his eyes are this interesting shade of golden brown that reminds me of honeycombs. He’s handsome—devastatingly so.
When I come to a stop right beside where Bennett sits, the good-looking bartender is the first to notice me. His eyes look once, then twice, then search my face as if he recognizes me, even though I’ve never seen him in my life.
Something catches in his face—like a jolt of understanding just flew in and landed there—and he flicks out the towel in his hand to smack Bennett on the arm. “I think someone’s here to see you.”
Bennett meets my eyes, and immediately, my heart starts to race and my palms turn clammy. You’d think I had to tell him his dog was dead or that I’d wrecked his truck or something, with how intense I feel—and all I’m trying to do is apologize.
“Uh…hi,” I greet, but he doesn’t do anything but reach out for the glass in front of him and take a long swallow.
“Clay, this is Josie’s sister, Norah Ellis,” Bennett acknowledges on a half mumble, almost like it’s too much effort for him to speak in discernible sentences. Like I’m some kind of pariah.
“Kinda figured that, Ben,” Clay—evidently—replies with a sly smile. He reaches a hand over the bar after wiping it on his towel, and I offer mine in response. “Nice to meet you, Norah. Heard you had a day. Glad to see you’re okay.”