Page 55 of Best Served Cold

I can’t read the expression on her face.

I can’t really figure out what’s going on in my own chest, other than that something significant happened here tonight. Something that’s going to change everything that comes afterward.

“Here,” Dottie says, returning from God knows where with a little lidded canister. The world floods back in. “Rub this all over your face tonight, my dear,” Dottie instructs as I take the canister she’s shoving at me, “and you’ll wake up feeling like a new man. It should help with the bruising too. Iamsorry I wasn’t there to stop it from coming to fisticuffs, but I felt, very strongly, that Sophie needed a chance to confront him. I must admit that I kept the others occupied in the back to give our dear girl that cathartic moment.”

Dylan sighs. “I should have known something was up when you kept asking about the names of the old beers. You had the Buchanans worried you were going senile.”

It amuses me that she thinks she could have stopped Jonah from punching me in the face, but I don’t say so. Turning to Dylan, who looks like he’s doing breathing exercises to get back to his usual state of zen, I say, “I don’t think I can play tonight, man. Can we make it up to you another time?”

He laughs ruefully. “Not a problem. I think we’ll be getting more foot traffic for weeks because of this. The people around these parts have a taste for drama.” Turning to Sophie, he says, “Sophie, can you work?”

That’s when I notice all of the gawking bystanders are now lined up at the bar for drinks, and there’s only one bartender working. She has a fixed smile on her face that makes her look like thebeforein a commercial for anxiety medication.

Hannah whispers something to Briar, who nods decisively and then says, “We all will, if you’d like.”

“Really?” Sophie asks, her face full of wonder. “Wouldn’t your father mind?”

“Oh, yes,” she says, “but I think we’ll have a riot on our hands if we don’t start serving these people soon.”

“I wish someone would work,” says the grumpy old man who’s decided he enjoys dinner theater. “I need a refill.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

SOPHIE

It’s ten forty-five, and the brewery is closed.

Dottie went home soon after the brouhaha, saying her work here was done, but Hannah and Briar both poured drinks with me, Dylan, and the other staffer on shift until the bitter end. Rob and the guys from the band stuck around too. Even though Rob didn’t feel up to singing with a swollen face, they played their instruments for a while for thevery fullbrewery. My whole body had heated up at the sight of his guitar. God help me, he was wearing the homemade strap I’d sewn for him for Christmas.

At one point in the evening, Hannah had surprised us all by offering to sing a cover with them, and she has an amazing, sultry voice.

After closing, Hannah, Briar, and the guys in the band helped us clean up, and Dylan, who had to go home to his wife and stepkids, said we could stay and drink for a while if we wanted to.

Now my friends and I are sitting around a high-top table, drinking pints of The Bitter End while we chat with Rob and his bandmates, Travis and Bixby.

Because he kissed you.

Because he took a punch from his brother for you.

Because you asked him to lie for you.

Because you acted impulsively, and someone got hurt. Again.

Okay, maybe there are many reasons I’m hesitating, but it’s the first one that makes me feel hot all over, even behind my ears. He’d gathered me in his arms like I weighed nothing and then lowered his mouth to mine. The kiss lasted no longer than a few seconds. But feeling the brush of his lips and seeing his face so up close and personal—those wolfish hazel eyes and that perfect-length stubble—did something to me. It’s like a switch was flipped, and I can no longer look at him as just Rob.

You lost that ability days ago, a voice in my head argues, and I take a sip of my beer to silence it, trying to return my attention to the conversation.

Rob’s watching me, his eyes pulsing heat into me, and I almost fumble my beer. His focus is disconcerting and deep—so different from the way other men have looked at me. It’s like they saw only what I showed them, and he sees all the layers beneath.

Hannah would tell me I’m making myself sound like a Tootsie pop if I told her that, and I suppose she’d be right. The thing is, part of me actually wants to let him down to that last layer.

The rest of me is determined never to let anyone down that deep, so I pointedly look away.

Travis is telling us about his past. He went on tour with a major band just under eight years ago, after their drummer dropped out last minute. He’d decided to stay in Asheville for reasons he won’t share, but he says there was some sign he should stay.

“What kind of sign?” Briar asks, getting caught up in the story.

“A literal one,” Travis says. “I asked the universe for a sign, and there was a road blockage directly in front of me. They were just putting it up as I rolled to a stop. A tree had fallen.”

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