Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Danielle

I stick my fork into the cake and rest my head against the kitchen cabinet. I trade the fork for a bottle of wine and take a big gulp. I need it to wash down the taste of carrot cake. Normally, I steer clear of this stuff, but it was the only cake Walmart had in their bakery at one AM.

Feeling sick from all the cream cheese frosting, I close the cake box, wipe my eyes, and push myself up off the kitchen floor. I drop my fork in the sink, take the wine, and go out onto the back porch, wanting the quiet of the night to open up and swallow me whole.

Sundance is looking out his Dutch door, head hanging low and his lips slack. He’s nearly asleep, but he perks up and nickers softly when he sees me. I chug another mouthful of wine, grab a pair of flip-flops, and walk through the damp grass to the corral. I spill a bit of the wine when I climb through the wooden fence, and Sundance tries to lick it off my arm when I get to his stall.

“I’ve made a mess of things again,” I tell him, resting my head against his. He nudges me, trying to get to the bottle of wine. “I’m throwing a pity party for one and drinking my problems away. You’re a horse. What do you have to be anxious about?”

I undo the latch and open the door to his stall, squinting in the dark to avoid stepping in a fresh pile of horse poo as I move through his stall and into the barn. I stick my arm through the bars on his interior door, undoing another latch, and go into the aisle. Blindly, I walk through the barn until I come to the cross ties. Then I reach out in front of me for the string to pull to turn the light on.

“Sorry, guys,” I say to Bailey and Alibi, the other two horses. All three are Quarter Horses with similar levels of training. Sundance is the most ornery of the bunch, which is probably why he’s my favorite. His coat is dark chestnut, and he has a thick white blaze on his face.

I take another drink of wine and grab a towel from the cross ties. Shaking it out to make sure there are no spiders, I fold it in two and lay it down in the aisle next to Sundance’s stall.

I was never a horse person before I came here. Mom made sure both Diana and I took lessons for a few years, if only to say that her girls took riding lessons at one of more prestigious barns in Greenwich. Everything was done for show. I didn’t get it then like I do now.

Horses are big and heavy, with four feet that end in solid hooves. They could kill you in seconds if they wanted to. Putting your faith and trust into an animal this powerful seems like a death wish, doesn’t it? But they trust you back.

And that bond is something I still can’t explain, yet here I am, drinking wine from the bottle while talking to Sundance. People on the east coast would pay good money for this kind of therapy.

“Telling Mom I was engaged was stupid. I can’t hire an escort, and I’m pretty sure they’re going think I want sex, and I don’t. Not even from Stephan and his perfect abs that I’m pretty sure were photoshopped into that photo.” I take another drink of wine. “And the one guy that might have agreed to play the part doesn’t want anything to do with me right now.”

I let out a sigh and rest my head against the wooden stall. “I’m going to have to tell Mom that I either made up the fiancé thing, pretend like we had a very dramatic break-up, or try to convince everyone he wasn’t able to get off work.”

I let out a breath and swat away mosquitos.

“I think I get it now. I’m still trying. Trying to fit in. Trying to follow their rules. Well, fuck their rules.” I raise the bottle of wine, toasting myself.

Sundance sticks his head over the stall guard and noses for the wine again. I get up and get him a treat, which of course makes the others want treats too. I toss a treat in everyone’s food buckets and then give Sundance a hug goodnight. I lock up the barn and go back inside, feeling a bit lighter.

Quietly, I sneak through the house and up to my room. I change into PJs and climb into bed, trying to tell myself it’ll be all right in the morning. I don’t work tomorrow, and by the time I see Logan again, enough time will have passed that things won’t be awkward anymore.

It has to.

Going against my better judgment, I grab my phone and send Logan one of the better Game of Thrones memes I’ve been saving. There’s a chance he’s sleeping, but then the text goes from delivered to read, and I hate that he never disabled that feature on his phone. Because now I’m going to stare at my phone for the rest of the night waiting for him to reply.

I exit out of my texts and check my email. This time, there really is another job rejection letter in there, telling me that while my resumé is impressive, I lack the experience the company is looking for.

How the heck am I supposed to get experience when no one will hire me? Though, if I’m being honest with myself, I’m glad I didn’t get that job. The office is down in Indianapolis, and the thought of leaving Eastwood makes me a little sad.

I black out the screen of my phone and set it on the nightstand. Orange Cat paws at my door, and I throw back the covers to let him in. He runs away as soon as the door is open.

“Jerk,” I grumble and fall back into bed. Closing my eyes, I think of Grandpa’s words: how lucky you that you get to fail.

I’m still trying to feel lucky.

*

I climb up the basement stairs and emerge into the narrow hall that runs behind the kitchen at Getaway. It’s Monday, about an hour before we open, and I just finished inventorying our hard liquor supply. I haven’t seen Logan since Friday, and he never responded to my text.

The air is different now, and it’s slowly eating away at me. I would give anything to go back to that moment in the fridge and kiss him instead of waiting for him to kiss me.

“I got everything counted,” I say and extend the clipboard, heart in my throat.

“Thanks.” He takes the clipboard from me and sets it on the desk. “Now I can see how much to take out of Owen’s paycheck.”

I smile, just wanting things to go back to normal between us. “I’m pretty sure you can take out at least two bottles of Patron and a handful of beers.”

Logan chuckles and plants his feet on the ground, pushing the rolling chair back to the printer, grabbing the paper that it spits out. He spins the chair around and looks at me, really looks at me. My lips part and my pulse speeds up, getting a flash of his body against mine, the heat of his skin contrasting with the cold metal of the fridge.

I feel color rush to my cheeks, and I look away, taking a strand of hair and twisting it between my fingers.

“How’s, uh, Dexter?”

Logan shakes his head. “The little shit pulled a carton of eggs off the counter this morning and ate half of them before anyone noticed.”

I laugh. “Have fun smelling those farts tonight.”

Logan laughs too and plows a hand through his hair. “I’ll put him in Owen’s room.”

I smile, and it would be easy to tell myself things are going back to normal, but there’s still a distance in Logan’s eyes that’s tearing me up inside.

We both go back to work, getting ready to open. With the exception of our regulars, Mondays are pretty slow until about five or six in the evening. Though today, we did get a handful of people coming in, confused as to why we’re not open for lunch on weekdays when we are on weekends. I keep track of it all to use to prove to Logan and Owen that turning this place into a full-on bar and grill will be more than worth it. There are a few other restaurants in Eastwood and only one other diner. We’re on opposite sides of the town, and a decent amount of highway traffic comes through our doors. We’d do really well serving food during the day.

I’m jotting down an informal business proposal when the overwhelming smell of Chanel No. 5 wafts through the doors. It’s breezy today, and every time the front doors open, a warm summer wind comes through. I’m sure it’s annoying the people at the tables near the door, but I find it refreshing, especially when you consider that the few regulars glued to their barstools aren’t the cleanest.

I look up just in time to see my sister step away from Peter’s side, heading to the bathroom. Peter looks around the bar, and his eyes settle on me. He brings his hand up in a little wave, and I do the mature thing and drop down to the floor, crouching behind the bar.

Maybe if he can’t see me, he’ll go away.

“Danielle?” His voice comes from above me. I’ve never wished for a cream pie more than I do right now. I’d stick my face in it and pop up, speaking with an accent Mrs. Doubtfire style. I don’t have a pie, but I can still pretend I don’t know him…right?

“I’m sorry,” I say with the worst British accent in the world as I stand up. “I think you’re mistaking me for someone else.”

Logan, who’s at the other side of the bar, looks up. “What the hell?” he mouths, and I only respond by wrinkling my nose.

Peter tips his head, looking me up and down. He’s checking me out, and he’s not trying to hide it.

“You look good, Danielle.”

“I told you, I’m not Danielle. I’m, uh, Kasey, and I’ve never heard of this Danielle before.” My accent is starting to sound Scottish. And now, both Peter and Logan are looking at me like I’ve lost my damn mind. Truth is, I did a long time ago.

“Dani!” Diana calls, coming out of the bathroom. She must have just gone in to check out her hair or something. She’s beaming, but the smile isn’t genuine.

“What are you doing here?” I blurt.

“Nice to see you too.” She presses her lips together and adjusts the strap of her Louis Vuitton purse over her shoulder.

“Of course it’s nice to see you.” It’s not good to see Peter, and they both know exactly how I feel. “I just wasn’t expecting it. At all.”

“Peter has business in Chicago tomorrow, so we came a day early and thought we’d drive down and see how you’re faring in this little town.”

“I’m doing all right. I like it here.”

She raises her eyebrows. “It seems like it could be relaxing with that slower pace of life. And I have to say, it’s nice to see that you’ve stopped caring what people think of you.”

“What?”

Her eyes drop to my crop top. “Oh, never mind.”

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“A hot water with lemon, please.”

I’m positive no one has ever walked through the doors of Getaway and ordered that before. “Uh, sure.”

“So.” Diana slides into a barstool. “Mom said you told her you’re bringing a date to my wedding.”

“Uh, yeah. I am.” Is it just me or is the temperature rising in this place? I can see Logan watching me out of the corner of my eye.

“And that’s not all she said. So, let me see it.”

“See what?”

“Your ring, silly! You’re bringing your fiancé, right?”

Now I need some hot water with lemon because my throat is suddenly dry. “I, uh…”

“Did you make it up?” Diana’s lips curve into a smirk, waiting to bust me. “Because I wouldn’t blame you. I mean, your big sis is getting married, and it will be the wedding of the year. A little lie wouldn’t be a surprise.”

“I didn’t make it up,” I stammer.

“Well, then show me your ring.”

“I, uh, I…”

Diana grabs my left hand and brings it to her face.

Dammit.