Page 68 of Sunshine

“It’s super new,” she insists. “And anyway, that’s not what tonight is about.” She shifts on her heels and looks to the ground, and I realize talking about this makes her nervous.

“Hey,” I say quietly. When her eyes rise to meet mine, I give her a soft smile. “It’s okay to be excited about a boy. I’m happy for you—I promise.”

Her exhale is sharp, loosening her shoulders. “How are you doing?” she asks, cutting straight to the point.

My smile grows. I can’t help it, even if it might not make sense to anyone else. I’m not ready to share what happened with Wells—I know how crazy it all sounds only weeks after losing Jason—but I know how sure I feel in my heart that what happened wasright. “I’m okay,” I say honestly. “It’s been a hard few weeks, but I’m finally seeing a light at the end of the tunnel.”

She tilts her head. “You seem lighter.”

“I feel lighter,” I agree.

She reaches a hand out to wrap around my shoulder in affection. “I’m glad, Layla.”

My eyes sting with emotion, but for once it’s not sadness.

We make our way down the block to Wild Coyote and find the lot already full of cars. I spot Wells’s truck parked in the same corner he was in the night of Jason’s funeral, and my heart takes a tumble.He’shere.

Inside, the bar is dark. Without any windows, there’s a perpetual feeling of night that feeds into the overall dungeon-like vibe of the place. It’s what has the regulars squinting likeraccoons being exposed by a midnight porch light when Regan holds the door open for me and I follow her in. Regan and I squint back, adjusting to the dark atmosphere as we look for open chairs.

Within moments of finding two open seats at the bar, Wells appears from the back. He looks like a dream under the neon lights, his olive skin glowing beneath his dark T-shirt and black cowboy hat. The line of his honeyed jaw jumps when he notices me sitting here, and I nearly fall out of my seat when he approaches.

I feel tipsy and I haven’t even ordered a drink yet. My body sings under his attention, a spark in my chest igniting with a longing I can’t explain. I’m not sure how long it’s been there, but it’s as real as the blood roaring to life beneath the surface of my skin.

His eyes bounce to Regan before they land on me again. “Enjoying your evening?” he asks, the corners of his mouth tugging into the smallest of smiles.

“We just got here,” I clarify. “But that’s the goal.”

He hums, considering, taking a moment to scan the many faces around the bar before he continues. “It’s busy here tonight—you two be careful, all right?”

I roll my eyes. Careful is thelastthing I want to be. “You don’t have to worry about us,” I counter, sidestepping the authority in his voice with an attempt of my own.

His eyes narrow, the brown of them solidifying like stone. It’s a look that drips in power, and it sends a shiver through me. “Layla,” he warns. “You know how rough it can get in here.”

It’s true—most indecent and unruly behavior that erupts into gossip starts inside this very bar. With the Bennetts at the helm, it makes the establishment even more risqué. Town loresuggests Wells’s grandfather, who founded the Wild Coyote in the 1930s amid the Great Depression, was as vile and mean as they came. His son, Wells’s father, has instigated dozens of drunken bar fights here that have led to almost as many arrests. My eyes flick to Rhett behind the bar as he pours a beer from the tap into a pint glass, and I think of how he keeps that family reputation alive. Brooks has also had his fair share of fights and scandals, though he’s calmed down over the years. But Wells . . . I’m not sure Wells has a mean bone in his beautiful body.

“You know, I figured that might be where theWildcomes into play in the name,” I say with sass.

He ignores me and politely asks Regan, “Can I get you something to drink?”

Regan eyes the collection of liquor bottles that lines the bar’s back wall, and then the three handles of beer on tap. “Do you serve martinis here?”

Wells’s earthy eyes flash with amusement. “How about chilled bottom-shelf vodka in a regular glass with a wedge of lemon?”

Regan lets out a breathy laugh. “Sold.”

He turns to me. “And for you, sunshine?”

I feel Regan stiffen at the nickname—for as much as Wells has called me that over the years, no one besides his brothers and Jason has ever heard it. I try to keep my voice casual as I answer. “Whiskey,” I say. “Please.”

He knows I only drink whiskey when I’m feeling reckless, and I want him to know that’s exactly what I am tonight.

His throat rolls with a swallow. “Coming right up.”

Regan is justabout three sheets to the wind off Wells’s “martinis” when David arrives to pick her up for their karaoke date. If he were anyone else, I’d send him packing and get her home myself. But I trust David, and I recognize the warmth and delight in his eyes when he walks in and sees her—it’s clear whatever is brewing between them is genuine.

When they leave, I turn back to the glass of bourbon I’ve been sipping on for the last hour. It’s only my second one, but I know better than to rush whiskey. Plus, my body is already whirring from being in the same vicinity as Wells, and I don’t want to overdo it and ruin any opportunities to get close to him again.

I steal a glance at the dark hallway that leads to the back office and I’m surprised to find him standing in the shadows. His arms are crossed over his chest, a shoulder leaning against the wall, and he’s watching me with a level of reverence that steals the breath from my lungs.

---