for good fun.”
“Can’t argue with that. And I’ll have a stout, if you have one on tap.” Anything rich and dark with a hint of bitterness. Something to pucker her tongue so she’d stop wondering what Jack tasted like.
Imelda nodded and went to work.
Clementine watched a man and woman playing pool. They brushed shoulders, giggled, and traded teasing smiles. So at ease with each other. No concern for who was watching them or hiding their feelings. Maybe they were married or flirting for the first time. No. Married. Their rings caught the light, winking secretly at each other. Such a bond, to pledge yourself to someone. Too often, people took it for granted. Vows were tossed around as readily as salutations, off the cuff, on a whim, because it felt good now. The world had become a culture of right now.
The need for immediate gratification felt diluted in Whichway. Aside from Jack’s luxury automobiles, no one seemed to compete for fanciest car or trendiest clothes, the relaxed vibe of this bar proof enough. Everything moved slower, actions more meaningful. Smiles were real. Hellos were genuine. Clementine had never considered leaving New York. Now…she didn’t know.
What would it be like to nest in Whichway and sip coffee at the Who’s It Café and run at Wherever Park and drink beer at Whenever and eat apple turnovers at the Whatnot Diner on the fly? She rolled her eyes at the idea. It was a selfish daydream. Ridiculous.
Imelda pushed the stout toward her. “Someone’s got an admirer.”
“Admirer?” Clementine said, playing the innocent. But, oh yeah, she felt those aquamarine eyes all over her. The awareness came with a sting of self-rebuke. Jack had been all she’d focused on since walking in here. She’d scanned the exits, had done a half-assed sweep of the patrons and texted Lucien, but Jack’s unrelenting stare had reduced her to a tingly mess while she’d gaped starry-eyed at couples playing pool.
Imelda waved her fingers playfully. “Oh, go on now. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed a certain dark-haired man’s attention. He can’t take his eyes off you, and I’ve seen you two at the diner, close but not close, testing the waters like a couple lovesick teens.”
“Imelda!”
“What? The tension’s thick enough to carve.”
“I’m here for the festival, not to date.” She was also there to lie to everyone’s faces while deceiving the first man in a lifetime to make her feel real. She sipped her beer, the bitterness more pronounced than usual.
Imelda harrumphed loud enough to be heard over the country tunes. “He’s still a fine male specimen.”
“I can’t argue with that.” Or with the way her body responded to his proximity. Not turning around was a Herculean effort.
“Hard to believe that tall drink of whiskey was once all elbows and knees.”
Clementine nearly choked on her beer. “There’s no way.”
“God’s honest truth.”
“Like, gawky but handsome?”
Another waitress, with a halo of tight red curls and big green eyes, poked her head over Imelda’s shoulder. “Oh, girl. Not even close. As awkward as a newborn foal. The handsome bug didn’t bite his sweet ass until college.” She winked at Clementine. “I’m Tami.”
“Lovely to meet you, Tami. I’m Clementine, and you’ve got to be shitting me.”
Jack wasn’t just cute. He was classic and masculine, fit and tall with those damn teasing dimples. He was an immortal among men. Maybe that was taking things a tad far, but the man was universally handsome.
Tami leaned on her elbows, a conspiratorial look in her eyes. “Picture that slice of hunk pie with braces and acne and glasses, and a preppy wardrobe suited to the fifties, all wrapped up with the self-confidence of a shamed turtle.”
“It doesn’t seem possible.” Except for the self-confidence part.
Tami sighed. “Every woman in Whichway curses herself for teasing the poor colt. But who would have guessed he’d turn into that?” She gestured angrily toward him, like his handsome pissed her off. “And if what Melissa says is true…”
“Just gossip, Tami Troublemaker.” Imelda nudged her coworker’s elbow. “Don’t go spreading lies.”
“You sayin’ you ain’t heard the same?”
Clementine raised her hand. “I haven’t heard anything, and I’m literally dying of curiosity.” She pretended to wilt off her stool.
The girls laughed.
Clementine laughed.
Actually laughed. Easily and openly, as though it were the most natural thing in the world to laugh in this bar where husbands and wives played pool and she gossiped with pseudo-friends. Unlike that terrible girls’ night, this effortless reality was her right now: a careless stop on the highway, a foolish