Heartland (True North #7) - Sarina Bowen Page 0,65

at a bar nearby.

“The Hardwick Duo!” Ellie cackles. “That sounds dirty.”

“It’s a town. I think Keith grew up there.”

“Well, let’s go! This concert is tonight.” Ellie pulls out her phone to check the time. “They’re on right now!” She grabs my hand and tugs me down the sidewalk.

“I’m avoiding him,” I remind her several times as we head for the bar. “Tonight was supposed to be about other things.”

“Let’s just see,” she says as we cross the street toward the brightly lit place. “Can you honestly resist Hot Farm Boy playing music on a stage?”

No, I guess I can’t.

Ellie leaps onto the curb, steps up to the bar’s entrance, and, holding the door open, beckons me inside.

Because I’m me, I spot Dylan immediately. Not like it’s hard. He’s up on a small raised stage, playing a fast-paced fiddle tune, wearing his usual white tee and flannel shirt, the sleeves rolled up on his muscular forearms.

And he’s glorious. Swaying with the beat, the orange lighting glinting off his wavy hair. The music flows from inside him in an unselfconscious way. He looks relaxed and happier than he’s looked in weeks.

Gulp. I knew it would be difficult to see him again. But this is so much worse than I even predicted. The crowd leans forward, because they can feel the pull, too. It’s a hundred or so really attractive… I blink. Men.

I’d expected to see women throwing themselves at Dylan. But it’s a bunch of dudes, with very few women mixed in. Most are same-sex couples, drinking and dancing with each other.

Holy crap. Dylan is so hot and lovely that everyone in Vermont wants a piece of him. Not just the women. Every gender.

“Sorry, my dear. I’ll have to ask you to leave. It’s twenty-one and over only.”

I tear my attention off Dylan to focus on the bearded guy who’s shaking his head at Ellie, crushing her hopes.

“But he’s a friend of ours,” she says.

Big Beard shakes his head again. “I can’t break the law, though.”

Of course he can’t. “It’s okay,” I say, my hand already on the door. “Come on.” I don’t have cash for a ticket, anyway. That guy is also collecting ten bucks from everyone who walks in.

Ellie groans unhappily. Seconds later, we’re back outside in the cold.

I can still see Dylan through the window. Let’s face it, this is how I’ll always see Dylan—at a distance greater than I wish for.

“Look, you should stay,” Ellie says. “You’re twenty-one. Here—I have money for your cover charge!” She digs into her pocket for her wallet.

“No way,” I say quickly. “This was girls’ night.” I never want to be that kind of friend—the kind who abandons her buddy to chase after a boy. Especially a boy who doesn’t really want her.

I give Dylan one more wistful glance. That’s when I spot two familiar faces in the crowd. There are two women right in front of the stage, standing close together. I almost missed them, mistaking them for a couple.

The taller girl is Daphne Shipley. And the other one? Kaitlyn.

My stomach drops hard and fast.

“What is it?” Ellie asks.

“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head to clear it. I turn away from the window. “Dylan’s ex is in there.”

“What?” Ellie shrieks, pushing past me to peer through the window. “Who is she? Wait…” She rises onto her tippy toes. “The one with the fancy red scarf, right? She looks like the evil queen in Snow White.”

I laugh, because it’s not a horrible comparison. Personality-wise, anyway. “She’s smug, isn’t she?” I hate that she’s here, even though I can’t imagine that Dylan invited her. But either way, Kaitlyn outgunned me in a game of wits I’d never wanted to play.

“Fuck her,” Ellie says with surprising ferocity. “Let’s go. New plan. I’m buying us something to drink. But you have to flash your ID at the liquor store.”

I laugh as she grabs my hand. “Okay. What do you want? I think there’s cheap wine that comes in a box.”

“Cider,” she says firmly. “You choose the kind.”

Cider reminds me of Shipley Farm. I can’t sit around mooning about Dylan, drinking out of a bottle with his name on it. That’s too loser, even for me. So when we reach the store I choose a four-pack of Citizen Cider, a Shipley competitor.

Take that, Dylan.

“I’m still not ready to go home,” Ellie says. “Let’s go contemplate life from that weird sculpture in the quad.”

“Okay, sure,” I say. It’s cold out, but partying with Ellie is a heck of