Highball Rush (Bootleg Springs #6) - Claire Kingsley Page 0,35

down the twisting highway that led into Bootleg Springs.

I braced myself as the town came into view, expecting to feel a rush of anxiety. The last time I’d seen this place was the day I left.

But instead of hitting me with a flood of bad memories, the sight of Bootleg Springs was comforting. It had changed in thirteen years, but not so much that it wasn’t recognizable.

There were more stores and restaurants than I remembered, but the town still had a quaint lived-in feel. The buildings were worn, but friendly. A small knot of senior citizens sat on benches outside the Brunch Club. And a chicken strutted her stuff down the sidewalk, stopping to scratch and peck.

“Is that Mona Lisa McNugget?”

Gibson glanced over as he parked. “Yep. I think this is Mona Lisa the fifth, though.”

“I guess I don’t know the lifespan of a chicken. They just keep renaming them Mona Lisa?”

“It’s tradition.”

I really had missed this place.

He found a spot and turned off his truck, but paused, not reaching for the door handle to get out. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

I fluffed out my hair and slipped on my oversize sunglasses. “I’m ready.”

I’d decided to wear a tank top today, letting my tattooed arms show. Callie had always worn long sleeves to hide her wounds. But as Maya, I’d tattooed a delicate mandala pattern over my scars. Not only did it make them almost invisible, it had been my way of taking my body back.

Gibson got out and I followed him onto the sidewalk, shouldering my big handbag. I turned a slow circle, letting the moment sink in. I was back in Bootleg Springs.

A tingly feeling skittered up my spine. Henna would say it was a premonition, or the energy of the universe telling me something. I decided it meant I was where I was supposed to be—that I’d made the right decision in staying.

Without quite looking at me, Gibson cleared his throat and took my hand in his. I couldn’t tell if he was nervous or irritated at having to hold hands. Gibs had always been a little rough around the edges, and it was becoming clear that time hadn’t softened him. If anything, he was harder now than he’d been when I’d known him before.

Not that it bothered me. He wasn’t trying to hide anything. So many of the artists I worked with adopted a mask, an identity they showed the world. Usually it was the person they thought their fans expected them to be, but it wasn’t really who they were.

I got the sense that with Gibson, what you saw was what you got. I liked that about him.

I also liked the way it felt to walk with him down the sidewalk, hand in hand. But I knew I shouldn’t dwell on that.

He led me toward Yee Haw Yarn and Coffee. Heads turned as we walked, people’s eyes darting between the two of us. It made me a little nervous, but it didn’t seem like anyone recognized me. I doubted even Gibson would have known who I was if he’d seen me with big sunglasses on.

And they weren’t really looking at me, anyway. They were looking at us. Maybe he’d been right—Gibson Bodine walking around town with a girl was gossip enough.

The scent of coffee and sugary baked goods filled the air as Gibson held the door open for me. I kept my sunglasses on for now—I figured it worked with my look, what with my wild hair and tattoos, and they made me feel like I could hide in plain sight.

“Hey, Gibs,” the young lady behind the counter said. Her eyes flicked to me, then back again. “What can I get you?”

“The usual.” He glanced at me and raised his eyebrows. “Maya?”

Hearing him say my name—that name—took some of the tension out of my body. “Coffee with cream, please.”

“Sure,” she said with a smile. “To go?”

“Yeah.” Gibson let go of my hand long enough to take out his wallet and toss some cash on the counter. He stuffed a couple dollars in the tip jar, then clasped my hand again.

A guy I didn’t recognize sat at a table near the window, staring at me. Gibson stepped in front of me, blocking me from the guy’s view. I leaned slightly to the left to peek around Gibson’s shoulder and caught a glimpse of the guy’s face going pale.

Was Gibson growling at him?

I bit back a giggle while the guy turned away, almost knocking his

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