Page 6 of The Best Kind of Bad

He has straight, confident posture, but he looks weary.

He glances over at me, catching me staring. I scramble for something to say. “Rough day?”

Those smooth lips tug into a smile. “Getting better by the second.”

Tia snorts, sliding two glasses in front of us. “I’m going out there to check out the band. Make sure the place don’t burn down.”

I flinch, the smell of smoke and the sound of sirens hovering in my memory. Tia tosses her bar rag aside and slips out from behind the bar. I watch, incredulous, as she walks right out of the bar. “Is she really just… leaving?”

Dusty grins. “Looks like it.”

“Do you work for her?”

He laughs. “No. But it’s an interesting proposition. Maybe I ought to apply.” There’s a dark tenor to his joke, but I let it pass.

“Small towns are bonkers, man.” I say, shaking my head. “She’s really not worried about getting robbed?”

He shrugs. “Who’d rob her? Everybody is out there.”

I flick an eyebrow upward. “Maybe I would.”

He laughs, spinning his glass in slow circles. “What are you doing in here, anyway? Party’s out there.”

“Same thing you are, I imagine.”

He cocks his head, interested. “Yeah? What’s that?”

“Hiding.”

His smile flickers, but he keeps it in place. “You came to Swede Fest to hide from people?”

“I didn’t know it was Swede Fest.”

“The bright lights and loud music didn’t give it away?”

I laugh. “I was drawn in. Like a moth to flames.”

“I see.”

“And, I guess, I just didn’t want to be alone.” The words sort of slip off my tongue. Blame the second vodka tonic, though it usually takes four of them before I start spilling my guts. The most intoxicating thing about this moment is sitting in an empty bar with a stranger. I can tell him anything and it won’t matter. No one else will hear what I say.

I can tell him I’m really fucking sad.

I miss my mom. And Uncle Gus.

My dad is sick, and I know he’ll be next, and I don’t know what comes next after he leaves me, too.

And I’m scared. The only thing between me and the edge of destruction was my bakery, and that went up in smoke.

My business was all I had. More than that, it was something I actually cared about. These days, the things I care about are few and far between.

I could say these things. But then maybe I’d have to elaborate. And I really don’t have it in me. So, instead, I clear my throat. “What about you?”

“Same.” He glances over his shoulder, eyes distant as he looks towards whatever waits for him out there.

5.

Dusty

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