Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Chloe

“It happened again,” I whisper into the phone, swallowing hard as my eyes dart around the dimly lit living room. Farisha’s driving home and it’s one of the rare occasions we’re actually talking on the phone since she can’t text and drive.

“You wrote a creepy scene and freaked yourself out?” she asks with a laugh.

“Yes,” I hiss. “And then I heard Balloon scratching on the door to be let out. But he’s not here, Farisha! He’s not here!”

“There are raccoons all over the forest. That’s probably what you heard.”

“How can you be sure? Coming here alone was a mistake!”

She laughs and something hits the large living room window, making me jump. Eyes wide, I turn, expecting to see a man with a hook arm or a deranged clown standing next to the glass. Instead, I see several large bugs flying around one of the exterior lights, and some sort of beetle hits the window again.

I let out a breath, shaking my head at myself. I get really into what I’m writing, and being alone in this house surrounded by water and trees reminds me how isolated I am, especially since no one is next-door right now at Wendy’s house.

“You need to get out of the house,” Farisha says. “Sahil is working tonight. I’m sure he’ll give you a free drink or two if you stop by The Cantina.” Sahil is Farisha’s younger brother who bartends at a bar in downtown Silver Ridge. They have the best margaritas in town.

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” I muse. “And I already did my makeup for dinner.”

“Why did you do your makeup for dinner? I thought you were just eating at home with your dad and Wendy.”

“We were at home, and Dad wanted to take photos. I figured I’d put one on I*******m later,” I admit, knowing how shallow that sounds. I’ve grown a thick skin over the years, but if putting on some makeup makes me feel a little better, then I’ll do it.

“I’ll text him and let him know you’re coming.”

“Thanks. Give Ally a hug and a kiss for me,” I say, missing my goddaughter. She just turned three last month and is the cutest thing ever. Farisha, as well as her husband, teach at Berkeley. We’re in the same state but are hours away, so we don’t see each other often since it’s not like I can hop in the car and make the half-day drive up north easily.

“I will. Have fun, but not too much fun.”

“Buzzkill. Night, Rish,” I say and then hang up. Stretching my arms over my head, I quickly reread the scene I just wrote, double-check that my document saved, and then go upstairs to change out of my comfy clothes.

I packed rather quickly, and in my haste overpacked, which I usually do regardless. I didn’t have time to plan anything out, to stop and think about what I’d need to wear on certain days. I don’t like living out of a suitcase and already hung up my clothes in the closet. I pull the hair tie out of my hair as I look through my options, deciding on a black dress. It’s simple enough to wear on a casual night out like this, but still adding a hint of date-night sexy too.

My hair air-dried after showering and needs just a bit of straightening at the top to help tame some of the fly-aways. If my hair wasn’t so thick, it would probably curl a lot better than it does, and instead hangs in loose waves that make it look like I put effort into my appearance.

I grab a pair of dark red stilettos and then change my mind at the last minute, feeling like I’ll look like I’m trying too hard if I go all out with the little black dress and a pair of killer heels. I trade the heels for sensible wedge sandals.

Without giving myself time to second-guess my appearance, I head out, taking the keys to Dad’s Jeep. The air has cooled off after the storm, so I double back into the house to get a sweater, and then have to go around checking the locks before I can go out and come home an hour or so later without freaking out.

“This house has so many windows,” I grumble, turning on the upstairs hallway light to make it look like someone is home. Silver Ridge is a small town, but it takes a decent amount of time to get into the downtown area since I have to drive all the way around the lake. It’s nearing ten-thirty when I pull into the bar’s parking lot. The place is packed, though Silver Ridge’s definition of “packed” is different than what I’m used to from living in LA.

I haven’t been here in years, and it looks—and smells—the same. It’s supposedly part of the charm and the reason the owners have hardly done updates over the years. People like knowing what they’re coming to, and while it’s mostly an excuse to never update lighting or decor, this place is nostalgic for many people, from the locals to the people who come to Silver Ridge on vacation to use our lake and our hiking trails.

There was a time when I wouldn’t be caught dead walking into a bar alone. Just thinking about it would cause my chest to tighten and my stomach to clench up. I’ve gained a lot of confidence over the years, though it didn’t come easily, and I still find myself slipping back from time to time.

I’m actually smiling when I step through the double doors, emerging into the dimly lit bar. Sahil is behind the counter, filling beers and talking with his customers. He looks up after he passes out the glasses and waves. I wave back, and he shoos someone away from the bar, giving me their stool.

“Damn, Fisher,” Sahil says, coming around the bar to give me a hug. “You look good.”

“I’d say the same about you, but that would be a lie,” I shoot back, and we laugh. Sahil is five years younger than me and was quite the pain in the ass when Farisha and I were younger, mostly because she got tasked with looking after him when her mom got caught at work, filling out paperwork or coming up with new health protocols for the school.

“Rish said your dad’s house is haunted now?” He raises an eyebrow and goes back around the bar. “Or should I say again?”

“There’s a good possibility.”

“Wouldn’t it have had to be haunted before? Unless someone died there recently or something, and as far as I know, there have been no murders in Silver Ridge in over fifteen years.”

“Don’t jinx it.” I pull my hand through the strap of my wristlet purse and put it on the counter in front of me. “And you mean there haven’t been any murders that we know of. I stand by what I said before and there has to be at least one body dumped in the lake every other year.”

“The lake is pretty populated this time of the year. Wouldn’t one end up floating up to the surface?”

“Not if you know what you’re doing.”

He laughs and reaches below the bar for a glass. “You’re so weird, Fisher.”

“And you’re boring.”

We both laugh, and he makes me a cocktail. I take a few sips and turn in my chair, looking out at the patrons, seeing if there’s anyone I know. My heart speeds up a little at the thought, and I’m torn either way on someone recognizing me. I love to talk about my books, and I’m so fucking proud of what I’ve accomplished. It wasn’t easy, and I hope my story of refusing to give up after seventy-six rejection letters can give other aspiring writers some hope.

Mrs. Clemmons, my high school English teacher, is sitting at a table with a few of her girlfriends. She has to be nearing retirement now, and her whole face lights up when she sees me. Waving like mad, she turns to her friends, no doubt telling them who I am before getting up. As she weaves her way through the crowd, a blonde woman takes a step back from her friends, who are hanging around a pool table, and accidentally bumps into Mrs. Clemmons. The blonde turns to apologize, and I recognize her right away.

It’s Lauren fucking Wallace.

Ugh. Of course she’s here tonight of all nights, though it doesn’t surprise me she still lives in Silver Ridge. She was Queen Bee during our youth, why give that up? I’m rather proud of myself, though, for not feeling unnerved by the sight of her. She was all big and bad back in middle and high school, but she can’t make me feel small, for I’ve built a successful career on the very things she used to make fun of me for.

“Oh, Chloe!” Mrs. Clemmons coos, coming closer. I smile at her, and then see someone else, someone who does unnerve me.

Sam.

The breath catches in my chest, and I choke on my words, sputtering to say hi to Mrs. Clemmons. Sam smiles, and I can see his blue eyes sparkle from all the way across the room. He goes around the pool table—the same fucking pool table Lauren is standing next to. He’s talking to someone else, and the guy turns slightly to pick his beer up from the table, though I don’t need to see his face to recognize Mason.

He hands a pool stick to Sam, saying something that makes Sam give him an annoyed look, which in turn makes Mason laugh. A woman with short dark hair comes up next to Mason, and he slips his arm around her. If he’s here with the dark-haired woman, then is Sam here with Lauren?

No wonder he only invited me over for dinner—for a family dinner.

“How are you, dear?” Mrs. Clemmons asks, and I tear my eyes away from Sam, forcing a smile. Act normal, Chloe. Sam isn’t interested, not now, not ever.

“I’m…I’m…” I’m fucking furious, and annoyed as shit at myself for being furious, for still holding onto even a shred of hope that Sam would see me as anything more than his tag-along sister. “Good,” I finally spit out. “I’ve been good. How about you? Are you still teaching?”

“Oh, you remember!” Mrs. Clemmons laughs and brings a hand to her heart.

“Of course! And I remember it was you who told me not to get too hung up on the beginning of a story and I can let the backstory unfold along with character development. That advice definitely helped.”

Mrs. Clemmons beams. “Oh my goodness, wait until I tell my students—and yes, I am teaching. This is my last year and then retirement, here I come!”

“That’s exciting, congrats!”

She waves her hand in the air. “Not as exciting as you! Just look at you! Books in stores, doing interviews on TV, and having a series turned into a popular show! We are just so proud of you, Chloe.”

“Thank you,” I say sincerely. “I just followed my dream of being a weirdo.” It’s something I’ve said more than once, and Karina has warned me not to use the same line over and over or it will make me sound too scripted.

“Well, it took you far. You even dated that actor. His name escapes me, but he was on those superhero movies.”

I nod. “Charles Baldwin.”

“Yes, him! Ohhh, my granddaughters just love him. My daughter too. And me,” she adds with a laugh.

“He’s pretty easy to love,” I say back with a laugh. “He’s a good guy.”

“But you two aren’t…”

I shake my head. “No, we’re not dating. We realized we’re better as friends,” I say, going with a line this time Karina has fed me and wants me to use. Because Charles and I are friends, and we all know someday the truth is going to come out, and for Charles’s sake, I hope it’s sooner rather than later. “And he travels so much for work. Shadowfall is filmed all over the place. The scenes in the magical forest are all filmed in Turkey.”

“Interesting! Do you ever get to go on set—oh look, I’m interviewing you. I’m sure you want to enjoy your evening with your friends.”

“It’s fine,” I tell her, not bringing up that I’m here…at a bar…alone…because a raccoon probably tried to get into the screened-in porch and it scared me. “And yes, I do a lot. The good thing about being a writer is you can write pretty much anywhere.”

“Oh goodness, yes. I picked the wrong career path.” She laughs again. “How long are you in town? I don’t want to impose but school starts next week, and the kids would just die if you came and spoke to them.”

She’s talking about her students, I’m assuming, and that sort of thing is usually set up by Karina for me, but this is home. I don’t need special arrangements to go back to Silver Ridge High, and I’m not going to accept any sort of payment from the school.

“Probably only a week. I came back to the peace and quiet of Silver Ridge so I can finish my book,” I start, leaning to the side so I can look past Mrs. Clemmons at Sam.

He’s bent over the table, about to hit a ball with the pool stick. Lauren picks up a beer—Sam’s beer—and waits until he’s straightened back up to take a sip. She makes a show of putting her lips around the bottle, and damn her, she doesn’t spill a drop.

“…the next time you’re in town?”

I blink. Fuck. What? “Uh, sure,” I mumble, watching Lauren take the pool stick from Sam and bend over, purposely bumping him with her butt. My blood starts to boil…even though I know I shouldn’t care.

Mrs. Clemmons claps her hands together and I realize I just agreed to come in and talk to her class. “They’re going to love it!”

“Yeah.” I try to fake excitement. “Email me details?”

“Of course, of course!”

I grab a napkin from the bar and take a pen from Sahil to write down my email for her, giving her my personal email account so her message won’t get lost. She’s so excited she practically skips away.

“You made her night,” Sahil says, coming back over and grabbing my drink, topping it off with more vodka and club soda. “What you do, agree to have a quickie in the parking lot?”

“Sex with older women is your fantasy, not mine,” I shoot back.

“It’s a wonder you’ve never been subject of said fantasies. You’re looking pretty old there, Fisher.”

“I’d glare at you if it wasn’t for all the Botox making me look younger,” I joke, and he laughs. “It’s nice talking to you again.”

“We could talk more often if you came home more than twice a decade.”

“I’ve come home more than that, and shouldn’t you be giving your other sister the same lecture?” I ask, meaning Farisha. “Though I think having a kid gives her a pass.”

“It does, and now that our parents have one grandchild, they won’t stop pestering me to settle down. I keep telling them I will once I’m done with school.”

“You’ve changed your major how many times now?” I cock an eyebrow.

“Five. And I’m kind of taking this semester off.”

“Oh, right. You should be at school now. You’re taking time off?” I echo. “That couldn’t have gone over well with your parents.”

“Hell, no. I had to go on three arranged dates to get them speaking to me again.”

I laugh and take another slow sip of my drink. Sahil is waved down to the other end of the bar, and I drum my fingers against the worn wooden counter, fighting the urge to turn around and glare daggers at Sam.

That traitor.

Of all the women in Silver Ridge, he has to be hooking up with Lauren fucking Wallace. Letting out a sigh, I take another sip of my drink and casually look out at the bar. My mistake. Mason catches my eye and a big smile splits his handsome face. He elbows Sam and points, waving to me.

Dammit.

Dammit.

Dammit.

I suck down another sip of my drink and pull the straw out of my mouth too soon and slobber it down my chin. Smooth, Chloe, real smooth. Confident by Demi Lovato comes on, and it’s like a sign. I quickly wipe my chin, set my drink down only to pick it back up, needing something to do with my hands.

But I’m nervous and what if I drop it? Mentally, I roll my eyes at myself. I need to get a fucking grip. Forcing myself to take in a slow breath and hold it, I remind myself of five positive things in my life, like my therapist suggested when I get anxious like this.

I followed my dream and have a successful career. I have good friends. Spartan is the perfect horse. This dress looks good on me tonight. Another group of Shadowfans started a fundraiser just this evening to donate to an animal shelter I volunteer at back in LA.

Letting out my breath, I go over everything again and feel a little better. I have no reason to be nervous, even though my mortal enemy from my teen years might be going home tonight with the only man I’ve ever really loved.

Mason gets to me first, spreading his arms for a hug. I set the drink down, forgetting to be nervous for a few seconds.

“Fish-face,” he says affectionately and pulls me in for a hug.

“Fart-breath,” I say right back, remembering the stupid nicknames we made up for each other when we were kids. Mason is the youngest of the Harris brothers, and I know he had a crush on me for a few years. There were times when I wished I liked him back, but I’ve never been one to date a younger guy, and…well…he’s just not Sam.

My Sam.

“I heard you were back.” Mason gives me a tight squeeze before letting me go, taking a step back. He looks me up and down, not caring how obvious it is that he’s checking me out. “Rory might stalk you.”

I laugh. “If only all my stalkers were as sweet as her.”

“You have stalkers? For real?” The smile starts to fade, and I remember Sam telling me Mason is an FBI agent now. He probably takes stuff like this seriously.

“Kinda comes with the territory. I haven’t had anything too bad yet, though, and I’m trying hard not to take it personally. Like, aren’t I good enough for you to camp out outside my house for two weeks before you smell so bad joggers find you in a tent made from ripped bedsheets I threw away over a month ago?”

Mason laughs. “That’s oddly specific.”

“It might have happened to a friend.” I swallow hard, eyes shifting from Mason to Sam, who got held up by Lauren on his way over. He stops next to his brother, and my heart thumps like mad in my chest. The stupid thing is going to give me away.

“Chloe,” Sam says, and everything in the bar quiets. All I hear is the breath leaving my lungs and my pulse, bounding through my body. “You…you look good.”

“Now this time I believe you,” I say, shocking even myself at the ease of the words leaving my mouth. “I’m not wet this time.” Mason raises an eyebrow and looks from me to Sam and back. “I got caught in the rain,” I add quickly, unable to look away from Sam’s eyes. He looks good too, casually dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. His hair is still perfectly messy, begging for me to run my fingers through it.

I blink and get a flash of Sam, skin damp from the rain, and I feel the shock all over again. He was the last person I expected to see and seeing him all grown up was almost too much for my system to handle. He’s always been fit, but he’s filled out, far from the boy I had a crush on.

Sam is all man now, and he looks like a heartbreak waiting to happen.

“Who’s this?” Lauren pushes her way next to Sam and goes to rest her hand on his arm. He moves away at the last second, making me second-guess if they’re actually here together. Lauren plasters a fake smile on her overly made-up face and tips her head as she looks at me, doing a very good job of pretending not to remember me.

Mason shoots Lauren an incredulous look. “You don’t know who she is?”

Lauren keeps the smile on her face and shakes her head, blonde hair falling over her shoulder. She’s still pretty, just as she was before. I never understood how anyone could have such naturally smooth and blemish-free skin like Lauren. She has a lot of makeup on—it’s well applied, at least—but I can still tell her skin is just as perfect as before.

“It’s Chloe,” Sam says, gaze on me. Hearing him say my name sends a shiver through me, and my heart aches at the thought of what might have been.

What should have been.

“Chloe,” Lauren muses, acting like she has to think back to who I am. “Oh, now I remember you! We went to school together.”

“Yep.”

“What have you been up to?” Lauren asks, way too chipper.

Mason’s brows pinch together. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, silly,” Lauren laughs, leaning closer to Sam. He doesn’t move away this time, and I hate the tension that fills me when I see her hand brush over his. “Why would I be kidding?”

Mason slowly looks from Lauren to me. “She’s famous.”

Lauren’s eyes go to me again, settling on my breasts for a second. “I don’t watch p**n,” she says and then laughs. Once a bitch, always a bitch, determined to bring anyone else down to make herself feel better.

“I’m an author,” I retort, keeping a sweet smile on my face. “If you’re not a reader, you might not have heard of me.”

“Who has time to read?” Lauren laughs. “And I remember now. You have like an ebook or something, right?” She just has to get the final insult in there, and I’m not wasting my time on her. She quickly turns, hair swishing behind her, and puts her hand on Sam’s chest.

Suddenly, I’m back in the foyer of the sorority house, tears streaming down my face while Heather Hunt cackles like a madwoman with her hands all over Sam.

“Do you want to get a drink?” Sam asks me, moving Lauren’s hand from his chest.

“I, um, I…” I sputter. Getting drinks with Sam is a bad idea. I know it, and he has to know it too, which is probably why he’s asking. He might have grown up, but he’s still the same playboy who broke my heart years ago. “I already have a drink.”

“Oh,” Sam says, looking taken aback.

“I mean, I’ll finish this one eventually, right?”

“Right,” Sam says with a chuckle, lips pulling into a smirk that makes me weak in the knees. Stay strong, dammit. He runs a hand through his hair and holds my gaze. My stomach flutters and I swear there is something there, something I’ve dreamed about.

No.

Don’t be stupid. Just hours ago, he said I was like a sister to him. He’s asking to get a drink so we can catch up, that’s all.

“So, what do you say?” Sam asks, and my lips part. For my own sake I need to say no. Because I know myself and I know I just can’t help but want Sam. I’ll only be setting myself up for heartache later. But for the freaking life of me, I can’t open my mouth and tell him no. Thankfully, I’m given a few seconds to recover when the dark-haired woman Mason was with comes over.

“I go to the bathroom and come back to find all of you gone,” she says, and Mason turns, wrapping an arm around her. “I knew you were a sore loser.”

“I am not,” Mason says back, pulling her hips to his. He doesn’t introduce us, and I get the feeling it’s because he’s not sure what this woman’s name is. “Come on, let’s play another round.”

The dark-haired woman nods and shifts her gaze to Lauren, waiting for her and Sam to follow.

“Go without me,” Sam says.

“Get us a table,” Mason tells him, whisking both the dark-haired woman and Lauren away, but not before Lauren can give me a final scowl. They leave, and the sounds of the bar wash over me again. Has it always been this loud?

“You’re here alone?” Sam closes the distance between us, leaning on the bar. I’m sitting on the barstool again, nervously stirring my drink. Why do his eyes have to sparkle like that? And why couldn’t he have shaved this morning? That stubble on his face only draws my attention to his perfectly sharp jawline.

“Does that surprise you?” I ask coyly, surprising myself a bit. Who is this girl being all flirty with Sam fucking Harris?

“It does,” he goes on, leaning a little closer, making my heart speed up. “I didn’t think you’d be the type to go to bars alone.”

“The type?” I put my straw between my lips and take a drink—successfully, I should add. I don’t choke or dribble anything down my face this time. “And what type is that?”

Sam smirks. “The type who arrives alone but has no intention of leaving the same way.”

One-night stands aren’t my thing. The closest I’ve had is sleeping with Martin Miller, a film producer, after our third date. A lot of tequila was involved, and sloppy sex was finished with Martin crying about how much he missed his ex. It was a memorable night, that’s for sure.

“Is that why you’re here?”

“I didn’t come here alone.”

I wrinkle my nose. “You came with Lauren?”

Sam doesn’t so much as flinch at the mention of her name. “I came with Mason.”

“And you intend to leave with him, don’t you?”

“It’s always been my fantasy,” he says seriously, and we laugh, slipping back into that comfortable friendship too easily. I need to claw my way back to being awkward so I remember not to get ahead of myself.

Sam’s eyes are on me, looking at me like I’m a snack and he hasn’t eaten in days. I take another drink and put the glass down. I should order something to eat before I sit here, nervously sucking down drink after drink. I’m prone to poor decision-making on a daily basis, but my chances of doing something I regret go up one hundred percent when I’ve been drinking.

“That table will be empty soon,” I blurt, right as Sam opens his mouth to say something.

“A table?” he questions, following my gaze to the table where Mrs. Clemmons and her friends were sitting. They just paid their bill and are getting ready to get up to leave.

“Mason asked you to get a table.”

“Oh, right. You want to join?”

“Um,” I start and grind my teeth together. I want to get something to eat, so it makes sense to go to a table where there’s a menu stashed behind the salt and pepper shakers. “Maybe. I am kind of hungry, but I also have the best seat in the house by the bartender.”

Sam looks at Sahil. “That’s Farisha’s brother, isn’t it?”

I’m a little surprised he remembered her that easily. “Yeah. Sahil.”

“Are you and Farisha still friends?”

“Best friends,” I say with a nod. There was a time I considered Sam a best friend too… “She’s a professor at Berkeley and has a kid now, so I actually don’t see her very often, but we talk all the time.” I take another sip of my drink. “Are you getting anything to eat?” I ask him, thinking ordering something to-go will be a good idea. Then I can get out of here before I give into temptation.

“Yeah, I’m always hungry after surgery.”

“Has the menu changed much?” The Cantina’s dining section is open from four to eight PM, and then limits customers to twenty-one and up after that. “I haven’t been here in…gosh…probably six years.”

“It’s been a while for me too,” Sam says. “But I’m going to assume no, other than adding some allergy-friendly options.”

I nod and then remember he said he’s always hungry after surgery. “You were in surgery? Here?”

“Kind of,” he chuckles. “We were over at Jacob’s and he had a dog come in that was hit by a car. I helped until the vet techs showed up.”

“Oh, well, that was really nice of you. How’s the dog?”

“Stable and expected to recover.”

“Good.” I risk meeting his eyes again and my stomach flip-flops the moment we lock gazes. “Other than working, what else have you been up to?” I bite my lip, a bad nervous habit Karina yells at me for during interviews. I bite hard enough that the pain temporarily distracts me from whatever is making me nervous.

“That’s pretty much it,” he admits. “The trauma center and the gym are more home to me than my actual home.”

Which you share with…

Stop it. It would be a good thing if he had a serious girlfriend. Then I’d know for certain I have no chance—like now—and I can finally move on. His phone rings, and he takes it from his pocket. Looking at the name on the screen, he sends the call to voicemail and puts the phone on the bar counter, face down.

“Not important?” I ask.

“No.” He meets my eye again. “What about you? Other than writing and hanging out with celebrities, what do you do?”

“That pretty much sums me up, but with more emphasis on the writing than having a social life.” I still consider myself an introvert, but I have fellow introvert friends and we like to hang out hermit-style together. “I have a horse,” I add, having to remind myself not to be the crazy cat lady of the horse world. “His name is Spartan.”

“You always did like horses.”

“Yeah, I have. I spend a lot of my free time at the barn.”

“Speaking of horses,” Sam says with a snort of laughter.

“What?” I ask, confused, and then I follow his gaze and see a guy I can best describe as an obnoxiously overdressed cowboy. His blue plaid short-sleeve shirt is tight, trying to show off muscles that he doesn’t have, with the top few buttons undone. His tight shirt is tucked into even tighter pants. His shiny belt buckle was bought and not won from a rodeo, I’m sure, and his pointy-toed, snakeskin cowboy boots are so not practical for a day working on the ranch.

“I’m willing to bet he’s never even ridden a horse,” I whisper-talk to Sam, going right back to that just-like-old-friends vibe again.

“Oh, there’s no way. And I’m really regretting not wearing one of my many Grand Champion ribbons I won back in my 4H cattle days.”

Laughing, I turn my head toward Sam. He turns to look at me too, and the humor on his face melts away when our eyes meet. The sounds of the bar start to fade and my heart is suddenly in my throat. Sam’s lips part and he slowly angles his body toward mine. Without realizing what I’m doing, I twist in the barstool, reaching out for him.

“Need a refill?” Sahil’s voice startles me, and I jerk away from Sam. “I’m about to go on break.”

“Um, I, um, um. I’m good,” I sputter. “Thanks, though.” Sahil zooms away, going to fill a few more drinks. “Oh, the table is open.” I look from the table to Sahil, wanting to say bye to him before he goes on his break since I probably won’t be here much longer and who knows the next time I’ll be in Silver Ridge.

“You coming?” Sam asks after taking a step forward.

“Yeah, in a minute. I’m going to tell Sahil bye and then I’ll meet you.”

Sam’s eyes linger on me for a second and then he nods. I make the mistake of looking at the cowboy again, and the second my eyes meet his, he tips his hat in my direction.

I spin back around in the bar stool, pushing my heart back down into my chest, telling myself not to think about Sam. Someone steps in close next to me, and I’m choked by the smell of cologne. I look up from my drink and see the cowboy grinning at me.

“Hey,” he starts. “Did it hurt?”

“Excuse me?” I ask and take a sip of my drink.

“Did it hurt?” he repeats. “When you fell from Heaven?”

I blink once. Twice. He’s trying to be ironic, right? Carefully setting the drink down on the bar top, I realize he’s serious.

“Not at all,” I answer. “Because I clawed my way out of the bowels of Hell.”

“Hah. Good one. I haven’t heard that before.”

I shrug. “I’m original, I guess.”

“I like it.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Dillan.”

“Chloe,” I say and look at his hand for a second before hesitantly reaching out. Shaking hands is such a weird thing when you stop and think about it. I don’t want to touch someone I just met, yet if I don’t, I’m the rude one. Dillan circles his fingers over my palm, and I pull my hand back, getting creeped out already.

       Dillan leans on the bar, getting too close for comfort. “You want a drink?”

“No, thanks.” I hold up my drink. “I’m good.”

“Chug that one and I’ll get you another. I’m thinking shots of whiskey.”

I give him a blank stare, not even sure how to respond to that. “Yeah, that’s a no. Besides, you don’t take shots of whiskey. It’s meant to be sipped.”

“Oh, a woman who takes her time.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “My kinda lady.”

Picking up my drink, I stand to go to the table with Sam and Mason. I’ll say bye to Sahil later. “Look,” I start. “I’m here with friends and I—”

“Want to get out of here? I was just going to suggest that.” He reaches forward, trying to put his hand on my hip. I jerk away so fast my drink sloshes down my front.

“Hey,” Sam bellows, deep voice coming from across the bar as he makes his way back over. “She’s not interested.” Brows furrowed and jaw set, Sam stares daggers at Dillan. Had he even made it to the table? There’s no way he heard our exchange from across the bar.

“How do you know she’s not?” Dillan retorts with a smug look on his face. “Did you ask her?”

“I don’t have to,” Sam says back. “Because I know her.” Sam extends his arm toward me, and Dillan shoves his hand away. “Seriously?” Sam’s brows go up as he looks down at Dillan.

“Yeah.” Dillan sways on his feet and sizes Sam up and down. “Because I think she is interested.”

“I’m not,” I say, but my voice is lost in the sounds of the bar. Club soda and vodka drip down my hand, but I can’t take my eyes off Sam. Dillan turns again, using his body to block me from Sam.

“Let’s get outta here,” he starts and reaches for me again. This time, I shove his hand away and Dillan takes a quick step back, bumping into Sam. He turns, fist raised, and goes to throw a punch right at Sam’s face.

Sam easily blocks it, catching Dillan’s fist and shoving his arm back. I sidestep out of the way just in time for him to stumble into the barstool I was just sitting on.

“You okay?” Sam asks me, and my heart flutters in my chest seeing him defend me like this, though I was perfectly capable of handling this on my own. Opening my mouth to tell him, yeah, I’m fine, I blink and get a flash of things unfolding before me like a movie.

And if this was a movie, Sam would take me in his arms and tell me how he’s always had feelings for me, and it took him seeing me with someone else to finally come to his senses. He’d kiss me and Dillan would be forgotten, and we’d all live happily ever after.

But life isn’t a movie.

Life doesn’t blissfully continue in one on-going happily ever after. No, life is a constant state of filler scenes, and if you’re lucky, you’ll get a happy-for-now every once in a while. But all good things must come to an end and one moment of true happiness doesn’t define the rest of your life.

“Fuck you, man,” Dillan says, bloodshot eyes narrowing. He goes to swing at Sam, but Mason is there in a flash, holding up his badge and moving in front of his brother.

“You might want to rethink your next move,” he says, and Dillan leans in, looking at Mason’s FBI badge. Dillan lowers his fist, glowering at both Mason and Sam. Sahil motions for a bouncer to come over and escort Dillan out.

“You okay?” Sam asks, grabbing a napkin for me to sop up my wet dress.

“Yeah. Thank you.” I press the napkin to my lap.

“Of course. No one messes with you.”

I look up and he diverts his eyes, confusing me. For the split second he seemed possessive and jealous, I let my mind get ahead of me again. He wasn’t worried about me going home with someone else because he wants to be the one to take me home.

Get a fucking grip, Chloe.

He’d rush over here just the same if some loser was hitting on Rory too.

“We should grab that table before someone else takes it,” I say, watching the waiter clear the final plates and cups onto his tray. “It’s ready.”

“Finally,” Mason says. “I’m fucking starving. You’re joining us, right, Chloe?”

I’m about to say yeah—going against my better judgment, I know—when I realize “us” means Sam, Mason, Lauren, and her friend. I don’t want to feel like a fifth wheel, and I really don’t want to bullshit any niceties with Lauren.

“Um,” I look down at my dress. I’m wet and sticky. “I think I’m going to head home so I can change.” Swallowing hard, I look at Sam and my heart hammers in my chest. Nerves prickle along my spine. “I’d love to still catch up, though…so if you, uh, want to come over we can, um, catch up. And I just said catch up twice in the same sentence.” I shake my head and smile. “If you want.”

Sam nods. “Yeah. I’d like that. Sometime tomorrow then?”

“Oh, uh, sure.” Wait, what? I know I wasn’t overly obvious about inviting him over, but I thought the message was clear enough. And Sam’s message back is just as clear. We were friends before, nothing more and nothing less, and that’s all we’ll ever be.

I unzip my little purse and put a twenty on the counter, giving Sahil a little wave. I take one last look at Sam’s beautiful blue eyes. “Don’t worry about it. Tell Rory I said hi.”