Escape. It was always a word that daunted me, but I supposed that was because it’s more of a relative term than anything. For some, it meant feet pounding against pavement. Running. Gasping for breath. A pulse that rattled one’s ribcage from within as they prayed for release from a hellscape that was unknown to others. For many, it meant a far-off land where they could bury their toes in the sand as they listened to waves crashing against a shore in the distance.
For me, escape had brought me to Salem, Virginia.
There was no rhyme or reason to the choice of the town itself. Once my mind was willing to accept the idea that I desperately needed to relocate, I had eyeballed a radius from my hometown of Ogden, North Carolina and scoped out the potential locations with a pen, paper, and a very, very poorly drawn map. Salem, for whatever reason, called to me. Perhaps it was because it was so far across state lines that I could deem myself as unfindable…or, rather, invisible. Perhaps it was because I could break free from the coastal air that I was so accustomed to and breathing in the cold of the Appalachia’s sounded invigorating. Or, perhaps, it just sounded…right.
I didn’t know, really. All that was known was that we were here, and the constraints that used to consistently bind my chest like a vice had loosened to the point that I was able to take a deep breath and sigh as I took in the sight before me.
The space was nice enough. The floors were a light cherry wood, though they weren’t visible at the moment as they were obscured by the mass amount of boxes that we had yet to unpack. Countertops in the kitchen were a pristine white, spanning across a small island and cabinets edging the wall. I dragged my tired legs past the kitchen, bypassing the rectangular dining table that was holding too many boxes to count, and walked straight to the living area to rest our last box on the coffee table. Spent, I sank onto our grey couch which I considered to be remarkably plush for its age. My phone, which had at some point been haphazardly tossed onto the chair adjacent to me, dinged with a text message. Before I could even pick it up to respond, my best friend-turned-roommate, Zoey Sheffield, snatched it away from me.
I mumbled, “Fuck, you’re fast for how small you are.”
Zoey stretched all five feet of her height upward as she crossed her arms and tucked my phone by her waist in a defensive maneuver. Her emerald eyes narrowed at me as she tilted her short, blonde pixie cut to the side in a way that conveyed, ‘I’ll beg your pardon?’ I chuckled under my breath—she wasn’t always this predictable, but this was par for the course with Zoey. Back in high school when I tried nicknaming her Tink, I had quickly realized that she’s a bit sensitive about her height.
“And you have a dirty fucking mouth,” she retorted.
Oh, the irony.
“You know, Claire,” Zoey continued, “you don’t have to respond to every text. It’s just going to rile you up. And sitting on your ass eating an entire carton of ice cream again isn’t a great idea.”
She had a point. Even though Zoey was still holding my cell, I knew with about ninety-nine percent certainty that it was my ex-boyfriend, Colton Langdon—and the ice cream moment that Zoey referred to was not quite as cliché as it seemed. I wasn’t a girl in pain, mourning an unreciprocated love. I was the one who ended it, after all. Our relationship had been, if I had to sum it up in a word, tolerable. Or, perhaps, necessary. I cared for Colton as a person, of course—I’m not a monster by any means, but when I decided that we needed to part ways, the process of doing so was difficult. Difficult in the fact that Colton and I had a relationship of mutual convenience. We could have called it love if we wanted to, and we actually did for quite a while. But I don’t think I even knew what love was—and neither did Colton, but the point was that he was having trouble letting me go. And to say the least, he hadn’t taken too kindly to the fact that Zoey and I decided to up and move to Virginia.
Though the move in my mind was necessary, to describe it as hasty would be, well, apt. I remembered how vividly his icy blue eyes bored into mine when I told him.
“Virginia? Really, Claire? Virginia? What are you expecting to find there? How are you going to get by?”
I continued calmly packing my clothes into boxes.
“First of all,” I replied, “you know I’ve been saving money for a while. I can use that while I try to find work. Besides that, I don’t really know what I’ll find...a new life?”
His gaze softened.
“Babe—” he said the word with a gentle caress of my hand.
I yanked it away.
“Don’t Babe me!” I didn’t mean to yell. It just automatically came out that way. I assumed that this was how it felt to be truly at the end of one’s rope. It felt like fire ran through my veins, boiling my blood until my entire being was ready to spill over. I breathed in quickly once, and then out. “Just stop, okay? We were barely even a couple!”
“Bare—barely even a couple? For an entire year? Really?”
His face contorted in a way that made me wonder if he really did care about me, but I decided that it was best for my sanity to cut that thought short. That point was neither here nor there—I didn’t need to try to delve into whether or not my now ex-boyfriend harbored any love for me at all.
“You tried to use me, Colt.” I paused for a moment before rephrasing, “Actually—you did use me. Multiple times.”
I held up a frilly pink blouse in front of my face and shriveled up my nose at the sight of it, tossing it into a Goodwill pile that I had been steadily adding to. ‘New clothes, new start, new me’ played like a mantra in my mind. Was it a cliché? Yes, yes it was. Did I care? It made me feel better about picking up my shit show of a life, so no. In fact, I couldn’t find it in me to give a single fuck about clichés in this moment.
Colt murmured, “I liked that shirt.”
I snorted. “Like that matters.”
He quietly noted, “It made you look innocent.”
“Yeah,” I replied. “Bringing me full circle to the—” I held up my hands to use my fingers as quotation marks, “—using me for my innocent looks thing.”
“Which. I. Apologized. For,” he argued. “I’m fucking sorry, Claire, okay?!” I allowed myself to glance at him, feeling exhausted by his one-hundredth half-assed apology. He huffed out a short breath and looked back at me with an air of desperation. “We can do so much more,” he started. “This is—this is just the beginning—”
“That’s exactly the point,” I interjected, holding up a hand to stop him. “I don’t want…” I hesitated, gesturing between us vaguely in a circular motion. “I don’t want this.”
His face fell. His arms hung limply at his sides and I damn near almost backtracked, but I reminded myself of the type of man that he is and steadied my resolve. I squared my shoulders and faced him fully, steeling myself for my next words.
“You were a manipulative shit, Colt.”
His eyebrows raised, his buzzed head bobbed up and down, and I questioned if I stunned him into silence. His shocked face did little to deter me from my original mission, though—which was getting the hell out of dodge. If anything, it spurred me on further as I thought back to what he had dragged me through. I had been Colton’s doormat for a year, and any time I had the inkling to better myself—to start anew—to not follow him on every path, especially the damning ones—he would guilt me. It was all, ‘Oh baby, I love you,’ and playing with my easily deceived heart until I would come around and do whatever he asked. Honestly, it felt like everything we had been through was eating at my soul. All of it deprived me of my own individuality, not to mention the massive amounts of danger he put me in on a daily basis. If I didn’t leave now while I still had the motivation to do so, I would fall right back into it all. I let out a slow breath and picked up a dark pair of jeans, folding them gently and placing them into my suitcase.
“I need distance,” I told him plainly. “I need a new life.”
His light blue eyes searched my face, holding a trace of astonishment.
“And you think you can achieve that?”
His tone degraded me as if I was no better than staying in the life that we had. He didn’t mean that, though—I knew he didn’t. He just wanted me here. The thought made me close my eyes tightly, clenching a fist so hard that I felt my nails make deep indentations into my palm. As I let my hand relax, I turned my gaze back to Colton.
I shook my head and said, “This conversation’s over, Colt.”
“Claire—”
“Get the fuck out and let me pack!”
“Claire!” Zoey broke me out of my reverie, snapping her delicate fingers in front of my face. “Seriously. Stop thinking about it…about him.” She knew me too well. Handing back my phone, she stated, “It’s not worth it.”
I agreed with her, really, I did. It was just a little too difficult to stop obsessing sometimes. I exhaled, blowing a strawberry-blonde strand of hair away from my face.
“I know,” I replied. “Thanks.”
Zoey looked over at me with her all-too-knowing gaze.
“Come on,” she goaded me, grabbing my hand to pull me up and toward the door. In my exhausted haze, I followed her, placing one foot in front of the other blindly as she continued, “There’s a dive-looking bar a block away. Let’s go out!” She practically jumped up with excitement, her eyes glowing.
I groaned, throwing my head back and slouching my shoulders as I pulled my hand out of hers.
“Zoey,” I whined. “I’m tired. This place is a wreck. My mattress doesn’t even have sheets on it.” I mumbled to myself, “Oh no, did I even pack sheets?”
She sighed audibly. “If you didn’t, I have an extra set—and I know you’re tired. I am too, but we’re here!” She flashed a wide smile at me. If she was tired, she didn’t look it in the least. “Let’s go walk down the street, take a breath, and toast a gigantic fuck you to your past!” As she spoke the last few words, she flipped the bird with both of her hands and wiggled them in my direction.
I broke and let out a small giggle. “Fine,” I said sarcastically, “twist my arm, will ya.”
“Okay, come on, let’s go then,” she announced quickly, taking the few steps to the exit and placing one of her tiny hands on the doorknob.
I exclaimed, “Good God, woman, wait a minute!”
I scanned her from head to toe. I didn’t know how, but she looked remarkably put together for having been stuck in a car and then moving boxes with me all day. There may have been a hair or two out of place on her blonde head, but she somehow was pulling it off with ease. I also wasn’t sure exactly when, but at some point, she had changed out of her ratty moving attire and into black jeans and a tight red t-shirt.
“Let me at least try to look decent.” I held up my hand, spreading my fingers. “Give me five minutes, okay?”
She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms across her chest. “Fine. Five minutes. Only five.”
I all but sprinted to the bathroom, for I knew that her gentle threat was one that was very, very real. If I didn’t hurry, I’d be dragged out of here by my hair with mascara on only one eye. I took a brief moment to look in the mirror. Wide, blue eyes looked back at me. The smattering of freckles that were on my nose and cheeks were a feature that I’d grown to love. My light red hair that I also typically adored, however, looked like a bird’s nest sitting on my head.
“Oh, dear lord,” I muttered, pulling my hair down and running a brush through it hastily. I finished putting on a little makeup and threw on a tighter fitting shirt rather than the old hoodie I was wearing all day when I heard Zoey call for me from the hallway.
“Time’s up, bitch! Don’t make me come in there!”
I slipped on my converse and walked into the hallway. She eyed me up and down.
“You’ll do. Now let’s go! I’m dying of thirst over here!”
The air was crisp as we walked down the street. Trees lined both sides of the pathway, our feet crunching through their fallen orange and yellow leaves that littered the cobblestone sidewalk. Fall was definitely upon us. The chill in the air was just starting to make the goosebumps rise along my arms when we halted our steps to take in the entrance that we approached. A wooden sign hung above our heads that simply read, ‘Henry’s.’ The weathered letters were probably once a vibrant red but had faded over time to a lighter, sun-bleached pink.
I looked down at Zoey. “Is this it?”
She nodded emphatically. “Yup. Close and convenient, right?”
I hummed in agreement. The walk was short. Probably too short. The type of short that made me idly wonder if I was going to be at this establishment far too often. I was just beginning to think that we should have found an apartment that was further away from a local watering hole—for my liver’s sake, at the very least—when I was pushing the door open. Zoey followed me, and just as I heard a bell chime above us, I found myself standing stock-still.
There was little that was extraordinary about the bar. It was dimly lit and small—approximately ten chairs sat at the counter and five tables were against the wall with additional seating. An older man sat on a stool furthest from the door we walked through, silently enjoying what looked to be whiskey, and a handful of other patrons were scattered amongst the tables. The countertop of the bar ran perpendicular to the entrance that we walked through, the backsplash of the wall behind it ordained with shelving that held various liquors that were lit up with a light yellowish glow. Aside from the signs and posters illuminated with a neon light, the walls were covered with wood paneling. It wasn’t the appearance of the bar that caught my eye, though. It was the bartender.
He had light brown hair, cut short on the sides and left a little longer on top. My eyes traced over his slim nose to his stubble-covered face. The dark facial hair failed to obscure his jawline which was, to say the least, angular. It could have been etched with a pencil, ruler, and a protractor—though I was unsure if protractors were available to those who were responsible for drawing the Greek Gods. Either way, the man before us looked to be a portrait of one come to life.
Zoey ran smack into me, waking me to the reality of my standing and gawking at the gorgeous man behind the counter, and she grumbled, “What are you do—oh.”
I shook my head quickly. “Nothing—”
“Oh, he does not look like nothing,” she returned. “In fact, he looks like something—something you would enjoy very much.” I protested wordlessly, and she held up a hand to stop my incoherent stammering. She rhetorically asked, “Sit at the bar, yes?” and began to lead the way, slinking into a seat and beckoning me to follow her.
I sat next to her, easing into my stool and trying not to blush at the man who I was ogling. Steel grey eyes met mine and a smirk appeared on his lips as he greeted us.
“Well, hello red,” he drawled. “Blondie.”
I chortled a bit at his lame greeting and asked him playfully, “Are we characters in a western?”
Amused, his smile widened, and he quipped, “No, but I can pretend, right?”
I returned his toothy grin.
“Whatever gets you through the day, erm—” I hesitated, waiting for him to introduce himself.
“Luke.” He stuck his hand out for me to shake. “Ah, Turner. Luke Turner.”
“Claire Branson.” I grasped his hand, cocking my head to the side in mild surprise as I realized how smooth it was. He turned to Zoey, shaking her hand as well as she introduced herself, and I couldn’t stop myself from remarking, “You have really soft hands.”
He shrugged. “Self-care is important. What’ll it be, ladies?”
“Vodka soda,” I replied.
“No sugar, no calories, no flavor, no fun,” Zoey stated with a grimace before adding, “Appletini, please.”
“Says the girl who gets hangovers from hell, sure,” I told her.
Luke’s eyebrows raised as he let out a chuckle and went about to prepare our drinks. He stayed well within earshot, scooping ice into a martini shaker.
“You know what they say about soft hands,” Zoey joked, bringing up my prior comment as she looked at me with a side-eye that I knew far too well.
I twisted in my seat to look at her, held up an index finger in warning, and muttered, “If you say something about penises, I swear to God.”
I noticed Luke’s shoulders shake gently with a laugh at my retort, but he said nothing.
Zoey’s gaze shot skyward. “I would never.”
I chuckled. “Hoe.”
“I was just saying that they use a lot of lotion,” she replied. Her perfectly manicured brows bobbled up and down as Luke slid a martini glass filled with bright green liquid her way.
I glanced at him apologetically. “You can ignore her, really.”
He reached for a lowball glass under the counter and set it in front of me, preparing my drink as he spoke mockingly, “Oh, she’s not wrong, I use loads of lotion.” His grey eyes danced with humor as he added, “Has nothing to do with my penis, but thanks for trying to defend it for me.”
I felt my face flush a bit from his comment and cast my eyes downward as he pushed the glass toward me. He ambled his way to the other end of the bar to check on the man whose whiskey glass had since been drained and I shook my head, hoping that my hair shielded my reddening face as I peeked at him. Zoey elbowed me in the ribs and I redirected my attention to her, picking up my drink in the process and taking a large sip.
I smiled at her sweetly. “Yes?”
“Cute bartender’s flirting with you, you blushing fiend.”
I rolled my eyes heavily. “Oh please, no he’s not.”
“Sure, he’s not—”
“Tips, Zoey. He lives off of tips. Of course, he’s gonna flirt if he has the chance.”
“Mhm,” she voiced disbelievingly.
“Regardless,” I reminded her, “I need another boyfriend like I need a hole in my head.”
“Who said anything about a boyfriend?” She set her martini glass down gently on the wooden bar top. “Everyone needs a little wham, bam, thank you, ma’am.” She pointed an index finger at me, speaking far too loudly as she said, “After everything you’ve been through, you need to get laid—”
“Zoey!” I chastised her with a quiet hiss as I noticed Luke in my peripheral vision making his way back to us. I whispered to her, “For the love of God, chill.”
“You should take the stick out of your ass,” she muttered back, “lighten up a little.” Her eyes lit up. “Actually, take the stick out of your ass, replace it with his cock—”
“Christ, Zoey!”
I thanked my lucky stars that I didn’t have any of my drink in my mouth, for it would have been sprayed all over the counter.
“So,” Luke announced his presence as he approached our vicinity once again, “where are you guys from? I know I haven’t seen you in here before.”
“As a matter of fact,” Zoey replied in what I could only describe as her wing-woman voice. “Claire and I just moved into town today!” She beamed a bit too brightly at me. “Didn’t we, Claire?”
I slouched my shoulders as I looked back at her with a fake smile plastered on my face. I hummed through my teeth, “Mhm,” and brought my drink to my lips once more.
“Here in Salem?” Luke asked. Zoey and I both nodded, and he smiled, simpering, “Well lucky us, then.”
“What about you?” I asked. “Are you local?”
“Grew up closer to Roanoke—not far from here. I just never left, I guess.” He shrugged, adding, “It’s a good place to be though, I like it here. I’m sure you both will too.” Just as he was offering me a genuine grin, the ice clinked together loudly in my glass as I pulled it away from my face. “Ah,” he pointed at my now empty beverage, “another one?”
I nodded.
Luke picked up the vodka bottle from beneath the bar and held it up, tipping it at a 45-degree angle above his head, observing the lack of spirit within.
“Er,” he tapped the glass, holding up a finger, “be right back.”
I tilted my head to the side as I watched him walk away to grab a new bottle, finding myself increasingly interested in the design on the back pockets of his jeans as he moved. By the time he got to the other end of the room and disappeared into what I could only assume was the kitchen area, I had nearly forgotten that Zoey was sitting next to me.
“And you said you didn’t want to go out,” she said.
Well, I think that was what she said. All that reached my ears was a dull murmur as my mind was elsewhere. Perhaps slurping down my first vodka soda like it was the essence of life itself was a bad idea, but I was a tad bit distracted.
All that came out of my mouth in response was, “Hmm?”
Zoey reached her hand out and gently pushed upward on my chin until my teeth clacked together. “There we go.”
I swatted away her hand as she chuckled at me.
“I’m allowed to look,” I replied.
“Coincidentally,” she stated, slinging the remainder of her drink back, “if he likes ya, you’re allowed to touch too. It’s a free country, dear.”
“I don’t need that,” I reiterated yet again.
“Right,” she responded quickly, waving me away with a flick of her wrist. “Hole in your head, yeah, I know. But,” she stuck her finger towards my face, “he’s rather good looking.”
“Then you hit on him,” I countered.
“First of all—he’s too pretty-boy for me.”
“Oh, you actually have a type?” I joked, “I couldn’t tell.”
Zoey had always been...open to any and all men that threw themselves her way.
“Secondly,” Zoey laughed, “fuck you.” She held up three fingers in front of me. “Thirdly, and lastly, why must you punish your vagina so?”
I snorted. “My vagina,” I nearly whispered back to her, “is perfectly fine, thank you very much.”
Someone tapped me gently on my shoulder. I turned around to see a woman who was, to say the least, stereotypically beautiful. She was tan, blonde-haired and blue-eyed, had a body most women would kill themselves to get, and was looking at me with what I could only describe as sympathy.
“Hey there,” Zoey greeted her none too politely considering the odd look on her face. “How can we help you?”
“Ah—wasn’t trying to eavesdrop,” she noted, “but I figured I’d catch you before he came back—don’t bother.” She smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes, and she tipped her head towards the opening to the kitchen. I followed her gaze and as if on cue, Luke reappeared, brand new vodka bottle in tow. The blonde lowered her voice to a murmur and quickly told me, “I tried to jump on that train years ago. He’s gay.” Zoey’s smile faded off of her face as if she was a child and someone had stolen her candy, and the mystery woman remarked, “Don’t tell him I told you, though. He gets kind of sensitive when people know.”
With a flip of her golden hair, she turned away from us, leaving with a strut that screamed, ‘There—good deed done.’ Truthfully, I felt bad for her. If her idea of a good deed was outing a man—a man who she admitted did not want this information to be public—to complete strangers, then I would hate to see what the rest of her personality had to offer.
I shifted my attention back to Zoey, and though I wouldn’t want to admit it, I was wearing a slight frown. Everything I had said about not needing attention from men right now was certainly true, but dammit if the flattery of flirtation didn’t boost my ego a little bit. I sighed softly.
Zoey shook her head. “You know, it’s always the hot ones—”
I elbowed her in the ribs swiftly in an attempt to get her to shut her mouth because Luke was, once again, within hearing distance.
“Gah, bitch,” she griped, rubbing her side gingerly.
Luke halted his steps in front of us.
“Sorry about that, oh—” His brow pinched together as he took in the scene in front of him, absentmindedly repeating the steps of making my second drink. Not a question asked, he looked to Zoey as he slid my glass to me. “Another for you too?”
She nodded, asking me, “And shots?” One of her eyebrows peaked up high again to ask if I was interested. The intensity in her questioning eyes told me that I had no choice in the matter. Without an answer from me, Zoey deduced, “Shots.”
With that, it was determined that the night had only just begun.
I woke in a daze with sunlight peeking through my window and searing into my eyes. Our walk home from the bar, which we later learned was named Henry’s because—you guessed it—the owner’s name was Henry, was incredibly hazy. It was past midnight by the time we left and when we got back to the apartment, I all but fell into bed and immediately went to sleep.
Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I grabbed my phone from my bedside table and unlocked the screen to reveal five missed calls and ten missed texts, all of which were from Colton, as predicted. They ranged from, ‘Claire, please come home,’ to, ‘You can’t just run away from your problems, you’ll get that eventually.’ I laughed sardonically, closing my phone thinking that I can, and did, run away from my problems, thank you very much.
I rose from my bed, willing myself to clear my mind of Colton, and winced. Hangovers were real after all, and I decided that Advil, coffee, and bacon were a must. I padded through the apartment, feeling like I was walking amongst the clouds as my head bobbled on my shoulders, to find Zoey sitting at the kitchen table. Her head hung in her hands and a mug that appeared to be untouched sat in front of her.
“Mornin’ sunshine!” I spoke in the cheeriest, loudest voice I could manage.
She looked at me through half-lidded eyes, emitting a sound that I could only describe as alcohol-induced misery.
“I made coffee,” she stated with a groan. “Also, we’re out of Advil and I may be dying.”
I snorted at her expression. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, I’ll go grab some at the market down the street. How about some breakfast burritos too?” She moaned almost sexually, and I deadpanned, “Please never make that noise in my vicinity again.”
Zoey finally lifted her head, her eyebrows dancing up and down in my direction, and quipped, “You know you like it.” Her vocal cords still sounded like they were rubbed raw, but the thought of greasy food must have sparked some sort of life back into her body as she said, “Give me two seconds; I’ll go with you.”
We walked the few blocks to the store in our pajama bottoms and loose sweatshirts for there was no point in changing. We decided that today would be nothing more than laying around and watching movies considering that tomorrow we were going to start job hunting. I happily breathed in the crisp air around me as we made our way back home with burritos, an Advil container that had already been opened and contained four fewer pills, and Starbucks in hand. Sure, we had a pot already brewed at home, but Zoey was the one who made it—and she makes really shit coffee. I silently praised myself for successfully avoiding the concoction as we rounded the corner to our apartment. As the complex came into our line of sight, Zoey grabbed my arm, pulling my caffeine fix away from my mouth abruptly.
“Oh, my God!” She exclaimed. “Look!”
A certain clean-cut bartender who I couldn’t help myself from chatting to all night was leaving our building.
I felt my eyebrows raise as Zoey and I slowed our steps, taking in the situation from afar. The curious thing about the scene that made Zoey squeal out in the first place was that Luke wasn’t alone. Another man trailed behind him as they walked down the sidewalk away from us.
“Hello, tattoos,” Zoey cooed quietly enough so he wouldn’t hear.
The man in question was facing the opposite direction and I couldn’t get that great of a view of him, but I was on par with Zoey with the first thing that I noticed about him being the dark ink that spanned over both of his rather large arms. He had similar colored hair to Luke, but it was longer, almost chin length, and tucked behind his ears. He shivered against the cold of the morning considering he was only wearing a black t-shirt and jeans.
I whispered to Zoey, “Where the hell did we just move?”
“I don’t know,” she replied, “but I like it. Do you think it’s something in the water here that makes the men ridiculously attractive?”
I snickered. They stopped walking as they approached a grey car and when they did, Luke turned around and gave the tattooed man a tight hug. As he pulled away, Luke was saying a few choice words. He clapped him on the shoulder and the man walked around the car, sliding himself into the driver’s seat.
Zoey muttered, “Hot. If they live here, can we figure out a way to watch? For real, I’d pay good money—”
I had to shove her to make her stop talking. Without the other man obscuring his view, Luke had seen us, waved hello, and was now making a beeline toward us. By the time our paths were about to cross, we were situated right at the stoop of our apartment complex.
“Hey, Claire!” He smiled. “Zoey. How are your heads this morning?”
“I’m operating at a solid 90%,” I told him with a grin, “so I’m getting there. I think Zoey has seen better days, though.”
He let out a deep laugh. “Serves you right for ordering that many Fireball shots,” he said. “Didn’t you hear that shit has antifreeze ingredients in it? You’ve got to have a hell of a headache.”
“Okay, first of all,” she began her ramble, the pep seemingly back in her step, “the antifreeze thing was disproven. Or it was fixed—whatever. It doesn’t have antifreeze in it. Secondly, it’s delicious. I regret nothing.”
“Yeah, well,” he responded, “I can’t touch that stuff with a ten-foot pole. Not since the incident I had with it anyway.”
I was sure that I looked like a dog that was about to be given a bone. It was natural to be intrigued after a sentence like that—or at least that’s what I had to tell myself.
I questioned, “Oh, the incident, you say? It sounds like you have a story to tell.”
“It sounds like you have a reason to come back to the bar, then.” He winked.
All I could do was laugh, for the action had made my head swim. The term ‘panty-dropper’ came to mind.
“All right, you’re on,” I replied. “We’ll be back, but give us at least a day to recover. Oh, and probably not tomorrow, we’ll be busy job hunting.”
“You guys both need a job?” He spoke while he fiddled with his car keys, “Henry’s is hiring if either of you are interested. I mean, we’d prefer someone with at least a little experience, but—”
Zoey cut him off. “No way, this is perfect!” She placed her green eyes on mine. “Claire used to bartend! Didn’t you, Claire?”
“Oh, um, yeah,” I stammered.
Not only had I not expected where this conversation had gone, but I wasn’t sure if my past experiences technically counted as bartending. Sure, I was tending to a bar…but I was neither compensated nor working in an actual establishment…nor was I of age to be serving alcohol.
“She’s damn good at it too,” Zoey added. I thanked her with a quick glance. I was never very good at singing my own praises, not to mention that I wasn’t sure if these praises should be sung at all. But Zoey—well, Zoey could be a walking billboard for anything if she put her mind to it. It was the extroverted streak in her. She continued, “I’d take the position, but I’ve never been great at that...I can’t get the ratios right in any drink.” Her coffee-making skills came to mind, and I smirked. “Anyway,” she circled around to her original point, “Claire’s your girl. Really.”
Luke’s gaze turned towards me as I pondered everything. “Well,” he asked, “do you want the job? We’ve been having a hard time finding someone. If you want it, it’s yours.”
I initially considered turning him down, but I wasn’t sure how many choices I realistically had for my employment. I didn’t go to college, and I didn’t exactly have a respectable looking resume—okay, I didn’t have a resume at all and I was in my mid-twenties. I cringed even thinking of the response I would have if someone asked me what I’d done with my life so far. Oh, just following my ex-boyfriend around like a lost puppy dog doesn’t exactly come across very well in an interview—and my pre-Colton years could have been just as hard to explain away, if not worse.
“I mean, you can think about it, of course,” Luke announced, backtracking a bit.
I suddenly realized that in getting lost in weighing my options, I had remained silent for quite a while.
“Oh, um.” I shook my head quickly. “No, sorry there was erm—something else on my mind there for a bit. That actually sounds great!”
“Yeah, you’ll take it?” His silvery eyes sparkled.
I nodded vigorously as I agreed, “Yeah, I’ll take it!”
“Awesome!” He smiled so brightly that I wondered if I had been briefly blinded. “Henry’ll be stoked, we’ve been shorthanded for a while now.” Luke reached into his pocket to pull his phone from it, unlocking it with a swipe of his finger. He extended it out to me and said, “Give me your number and I can get back to you once I talk to Henry, but I think I’ll have you start tomorrow if you want—maybe 6:00?”
I typed my digits into his cell quickly and placed the phone back in his palm.
“That soon?” I asked curiously.
“I don’t know—never hired anyone before.” He flashed me a crooked smile. “Like I said, I’ll just talk with Henry and make sure.”
“And how do you know that I’m not absolutely insane?” I countered with a smirk.
“Okay first of all,” he replied, mockingly whining, “stop it! Don’t make me all nervous about hiring you! If it doesn’t work out, it’ll look bad on me, right?”
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” I relented.
“And,” he added, “I just have a feeling, I guess.”
I squinted my eyes at him, having already forgotten my previous joke. “A feeling?”
“That you’re not insane.”
“Ah, right,” I responded, shifting my eyes to the ground for a moment as I smiled at his candor.
“Anyway…” he rubbed the back of his neck in almost a shy manner, “tomorrow. I’ll text you.”
“Got it,” I said. “Thank you, really.”
He shrugged off my thank you and smiled softly, pointing his car keys at me that he still held in his hand. “I gotta go. Zoey,” he jingled the keys in her direction, “good to see you.”
She gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Luke.”
He waved yet again at both of us and as he turned to walk away, Zoey and I began to ascend the staircase to our new home on the second floor. In my peripheral vision, I saw Luke’s head tilt to the side in surprise.
“Wait a minute,” he called out. “Do you both live here?” We nodded in unison. Luke shook his head and looked skyward for a moment. “Well damn,” he remarked, “I guess we really will be seeing a lot of each other, then.”
Luke backed away, waving goodbye again with another soft chime of his keys.
It only took her three steps upward for Zoey to pipe up and say, “You’re welcome.”
I nearly chanted, “Thank-you-thank-you-thank-you!”
The relief of finding a job so remarkably quickly had left me elated. My legs attempted to do some sort of a celebration dance as we made our way, but my uncoordinated self and slightly dizzy head had other plans. I tripped on the concrete loudly, choking out a laugh as I did so, and held my left hand up high to save my coffee from spilling on the ground below. In my actions, I had spun and landed flat on my backside, staring directly toward Luke. Naturally, after I had fallen and yelped in laughter, he turned around out of curiosity.
His eyebrows pinched together, and he called out, “You good?”
I smacked my right hand over my mouth to keep from cackling maniacally.
“Good God, get it together you klutz,” Zoey mumbled. She reached down to help me to my feet and yelled back to Luke, “Don’t mind her! Like a baby giraffe trying to learn how to walk sometimes, this one!”
It looked like he just pressed his lips together tightly to hold back his laughter and bid us an additional silent adieu.
“So, you’re a mess,” Zoey commented as she righted me.
I exhaled as I stood and took a deep sip of my coffee.
“Just excited,” I said, forcing myself to hold back a squeal. “I got a job!”
“Happy for you,” she replied with a genuine smile.
We finally began to officially make it up the staircase and I inquired, “Where do you think you’re going to look tomorrow?”
“There’s that cute boutique down the way that had a help wanted sign out front,” she said. “I think I’ll start there. God knows I have enough experience with that.”
Zoey had always worked in retail. It was a good fit for her. She’s sassy and hard-headed enough to handle rude customers, but bubbly enough to still give great customer service.
“That sounds perfect for you.” I added, “I’m sure they’ll love you and hire you immediately.”
Zoey smiled as she unlocked our apartment. “Uh huh, I’m sure they will. So—movie night?”
“It’s only eleven in the morning,” I reminded her.
“Er,” she corrected herself as she placed her belongings on our kitchen table. “Movie day. And night.”
I shut the door behind me, feeling like a fifty-pound weight had been lifted off of my shoulders.
“Sounds perfect,” I replied.
