Page 25 of She's My Kind Of Rain

I nod. “I’m going to call my mom real quick, then I’ll meet you at the bar.”

She nods back, making her way through the front entrance of The Westmore.

Dialing Moms number, I realize the time and decide against waking her up. I shoot her a quick text to let her know I’m okay, but I just wanted to check in with her, because, well, I miss her.

She responds right away with an, “I Love you. Have fun.” With a smile, I make my way through the doors into a thick crowd and take the long way around to the bar.

16

SAWYER - JUNE 25, 2004

“Call me a creatureof habit or call me whatever you want, but Opeachies is the most chaotic mess I’ve ever had the disservice of seeing and I’d like to avoid it if at all possible, Rhett,” I suggest, approaching the rowdy bar that most newly twenty-one year olds would probably find to be a good time. The music is at a level that surpasses enjoyable and the crowd would rather getcrunk—whatever the fuck that is—than enjoy the talent right in front of them.

“I’m not lookin’ to get wasted, so no Opeachies for us.” He jokingly salutes and walks past the bar’s line. “So, where to? How about The Westmore? We can let good ol’ Nanc know what she’s been missin’, and in the spirit of havin’ a good time, we can make her dreams come true and have them Bushwackers she’ was peddlin’.”

I laugh. Only Rhett would find that to be any different than what we usually do, but in good spirits, I, too, find that to be much more exciting than going to a bar I can’t even move in.

We head toward The Westmore and find ourselves at the same seats we always choose at the bar—maybe I’m not the only one whose habits are hard to break.

Near the other end, Nancy spots us and holds her hand up to gesture she will be a minute. We both take a seat, and Rhett spins his stool around, surveying the crowd like he’s looking for something or someone.

“Alright, what little scheme do you have going tonight, Rhett?” He ignores me for a moment, squinting as he peers around the room, seemingly looking for something or someone.

“Another one of those right place, right time moments. That’s what I’m lookin’ for.” He chuckles and turns his stool back around. “I saw Miss Holloway today and told her if she was out tonight to find us.”

“Rhett, do you have a crush on this rep?” I jokingly accuse. Though, frankly, I’m a bit curious.

“Nope, not in the slightest. She’s a bit too muchsunshinefor this cowboy. I ain’t lookin’ for a woman. Well, I was just now lookin’ for a woman, but not to tie me down.” He releases a soft laugh. “Just wanted to see if she was here so y’all could officially meet, and as your self-appointed manager, I gotta make sure she ain’t givin’ ya a shit deal,” he jokes.

“Sounds like you had the chance to talk business while you were picking up your daily gallon of coffee this morning.”

“Can’t talk business without the client.” A grin appears on his face, and only grows once he sees Nancy approaching. “Nanc, ya wonderful woman. Boy, do I got news for ya.”

“Oh, sweetie, ya always gotsomethin’to say.” She returns his joking manner. “What have ya lovely boys been up to? Haven’t seen y’all in a bit. I was hopin’ to see y’all last weekend. I have a little gift.”

“Sawyer, here—” He pats my shoulder “—just got himself an interview with Telluride Records, and now we get a gift from ya? I think, hell, Iknow, we’ve hit the jackpot.”

“Sawyer, hon, that is the most fabulous news, congratulations! I don’t know that my gift will compare, but here y’all go.”

She hands me what’s got to be the fanciest envelope ever made—shiny gold with a western filigree imprinted on its surface. My name is written in raised black ink, and the envelope itself is sealed with a wax stamp of The Westmore’s emblem—a large cursive W with a simple circle rope border. Inside is a letter invitation—the very invitation I’ve been dreaming of getting. Shock ripples through me as I run my fingers over its surface. My mouth opens, then closes once more, but no words come out. How is this even possible?

“Is that what I fuckin’ think it is? Nancy ya done gone and found a way for Sawyer to get on that stage now, didn’t ya?”

“Oh, hon, I told ya I had no say on that.” A mischievous grin appears on her lips. “Now what do y’all say we get ya a celebratory drink?”

“Nancy,” I say with a huge grin plastered on my face. “We will take two of your finest Bushwackers.”

“Now, ya just wait here one moment, are ya tellin’ me y’all have finally caved and are gonna try the best drink of your life? Once y’all become addicted, ya better take note that these babies are one drink, two drink, three drink, floor.” She giggles, proud of her little joke. “I’ll be back soon.”

I’m not sure if minutes or hours pass once we down our first two Bushwackers. Nancy was not joking about their effect, and I will take it to my grave if anyone asks how we got drunk so quickly.

“Nanc, we will take one more round of yourmagnificent Bushwackers.” The last two words from Rhett’s mouth stumble out. “And this time really perdy them up. Whipped cream and a cherry on top.Pretty pleaasssee,” he draws out, slightly slurring his words.

“Comin’ right up.”

And as she strolls down the line, I notice this time she makes them with less alcohol—something I’m grateful for in case we do, in-fact, see anyone noteworthy tonight—especially since she wasn’t kidding, they’re delicious…and dangerous.

Once our third set of Bushwackers hit the counter, Rhett is eager to hit the dance floor. Something about being two sheets to the wind always brings out the frisky side of my best friend, and that’s saying something since he’s frisky by nature.

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