Page 25 of Your Place or Mine

Drew grinned. “You’re assuming she’s not more stubborn than you.”

I scowled. “No one is more stubborn than me.”

“Okay, but I saw her face when you shoved over that drink with those dandelions—”

“I didn’t shove it.”

“Youpresented it aggressively.”

I rolled my eyes. “It was a message.”

“Yeah, and she heard it loud and clear. But she didn’t back down. She just sat there sipping your insult-garnished cocktail like it was the finest drink in the county.”

I ran a hand through my hair and groaned. “Shelikedit, Drew. That’s the problem. She took the whole thing and didn’t flinch. And now I don’t know what to do with that.”

“Sounds like respect.”

“Sounds like bait.”

Drew snorted. “Well, maybe next time she walks in, you can meet her with a bouquet of poison ivy.”

I stared at him.

“Kidding,” he added quickly. “Mostly.”

The jukebox clicked softly in the background as a new song started. Something slow and bluegrass-y. The kind of song that made you think about things you didn’t want to admit.

“She’s gonna mess this place up,” I said again, softer.

Drew didn’t respond right away. He just looked around at the empty bar. His eyes scanned the scuffed floors, the patched-up booths, the mismatched barstools, the ceiling fan that squeaked if it turned too fast.

“She might not,” he said eventually. “She might just want to make it better.”

I shook my head. “People always think better means different. But this place? It’s alreadygood.”

Drew looked at me, his voice steady. “Then show her what makes it good. Don’t just growl at her across the room like you’re guarding buried treasure.”

I didn’t answer.

Mostly because I knew he was right.

But also because there was something uncomfortable in how she looked at this place, as if shehad seenit. Like she appreciated it. And still, there was that glint in her eye that said she wanted to put her stamp on it anyway.

I couldn’t let her.

I wouldn’t let her.

Not without a fight.

The night had settled into that eerie kind of quiet that only comes after two in the morning in a town like Reckless River. Not a single car passed, no doors creaked open down the street, not even the damn raccoons were rustling in the alley. Just cold air, gravel under my boots, and the low hum of the streetlamp flickering above the back parking lot.

I’d told Drew to head out twenty minutes earlier. He’d looked at me like I needed a therapist and a long nap, but he didn’t argue, probably for the best. I needed space. And silence. The kind that only the end of a long, frustrating night could bring.

I returned to my truck, swinging the door open and tossing my keys onto the seat. But I didn’t climb in right away. Instead, I leaned against the open door, stretching my back and letting the night wrap around me like a blanket soaked in tension.

I should’ve gone home.

I should’ve driven straight to my place, showered, and fallen face-first into bed.

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