is closed on Monday. Even Unc can’t go seven days a week. But Tuesday night, it’s burgers and fries across the bar.
“What made you want to be a photographer?” Bobby asks before taking a monstrous bite of his burger. He’s got on a blue shirt with a yellow logo that’s so faded I don’t know what it once said. Before he sat down, I saw worn blue jeans and dirt-kicker boots. He’s not dressed up tonight, but he still looks good. If I nuzzled into his neck, I think he’d smell like sunshine, sweat, and sex. Even though I’m across the bar, I take a deep breath, wondering if I can catch a whiff and confirm that hopeful dream.
I take out my phone, snapping a shot of my lemon wedge-topped tea reflecting in the shine on the bar and highlighted by the neon-lit beer sign on the wall. A quick caption, Sweet tea is the new coffee, and the yum emoji, and then I post. I don’t even wait for the first heart or comment, putting my phone into my back pocket without a thought.
“I think I always was to some degree. Mom taught me to see the world through different lenses, literally holding up gel filters and introducing me to artists who painted from various perspectives. I drew when I was younger, was okay at it, but I couldn’t get the realism I wanted. I joined yearbook as a way to participate without having to actually, you know, participate. And the rest is history.”
I wave a French fry around like a wand that magically transported me from high school to this moment. Bobby grins wolfishly, catching my wrist in his hand. Before I know what’s happening, he’s snagged the fry from between my fingers with his teeth, literally eating it from my hand. His tongue snakes out to lick the salt from my fingertip, then he chews around a self-satisfied smile.
“What the?” I balk, wiping my fingers on a napkin. Secretly, I’m delighted, which is dangerous.
He doesn’t react, instead focusing on our conversation like what he did was completely normal. “I looked up your blog. I started going through all the pictures, and they were cool. You’re really talented, but I had to stop.”
He swallows as if that’s some big confession.
My brow furrows. “Why?”
His fingers dance on the bar top, and again, I wonder if he’s playing a song or doing it randomly. “It felt . . . intrusive. Like if you were just this anonymous person, it’s a peek into your day to day life. I get that, it’s what you’re intentionally doing. But since I know you and want to know more about you, it felt creepy. I want you to share those stories with me willingly, not learn about you from whatever you put online. Does that make sense?”
He shakes his head like he uttered complete nonsense.
I feel like it was pretty profound. Both that he gets why I do what I do and that he wants more than the snippets of me I share publicly. He wants more than more. I get the feeling he wants it all. All of me. The question is . . . why?
“It does,” I tell him. “It makes sense.”
His shoulders drop two inches I hadn’t realized they’d climbed up, almost like he was nervous. But he’s Bobby Tannen, star of Great Falls.
“Tour tonight?” he asks, setting another twenty down.
“I can’t. The tour or the money. That’s too much by at least twice.” I push the twenty back his way. “You got the last one, so let me pay tonight. I’ll let you in on a secret . . . I get an employee discount.”
He chuckles lightly but shakes his head, not touching the money. “No worries, I’ll see you tomorrow. Sweet dreams.”
Thursday night two-dollar drafts are in full effect. Along with the early evening crowd, everyone is clamoring for a bowl of Ilene’s chili, which is apparently blue-ribbon award-winning at the town’s annual chili cookoff six years in a row.
Ding. Ding-ding-ding.
Her bell hasn’t quit ringing all night as she serves up bowl after bowl. I peeked through the window earlier and saw four huge pots simmering on the stove top, which had seemed like a lot, but given how many Olivia has served, I bet we’re running low by now.
There’s only one thing missing . . . Bobby.
He’s been by every night this week. He sits, and we talk about everything and nothing, our days, our lives. I’ve heard