Page 53 of There's Pumpkin About You
The Locke and Key is a dingy bar just off of Main Street. It’s also the only bar in Eaglewood. If you want anything better than sticky floors, even stickier tables, shitty cocktails and cheap beer, then you’d have to drive to Stanwood which is the town that separates Wren’s town from my own. The bars will still be shit, but slightly less shit.
The lights are always dim, I assume so that Roland, the owner, doesn’t have to pay too much on the electricity. The moment we walk in, my boots begin to resist me with every step.
I gain myself several curious glances as we walk over to the bar. Coming to the Locke for a drink isn’t something out of the ordinary for me, but ever since I broke my arm I haven’t been around. I assume that Sandra’s stunt with the town hall meeting and my idiocy when demanding Jamie come work on the farm in the middle of the Sweet Cinnamon Café hasn’t done me any favors.
The guys all seem to be in lighter spirits the moment that they all find a beer in their hands, each of their troubles being replaced by the taste of hops and malt. Mine, however, seem to stay sat on my chest like an anvil. There’s an urge to rub at the area to try and relieve the pressure, but I know it’ll be useless.
When it comes to these guys, their troubles are light enough that a couple of drinks at the end of the day is enough to temporarily lift some of the weight, but when it comes to me, there is too much going on for my brain to even think about shutting off. I’m the owner of a failing farm that has been owned by my family for three generations. If I fail, my family fails.
“What’s got your face looking like Emilio’s ass?”
I only realize the question is being directed at me when my shoulder is nudged. I try my best to hide the wince.
“There’s nothing wrong with my face.”
“Is that what the girls tell you?” Bash jests.
“They tell me it’s a lot better than yours. Actually, they tell me a lot of things are better than yours.”
“Hey!”
Out of nowhere, Wren and the same woman from earlier seem to appear, cutting off what I’m sure would have been a pitiful comeback from Bash.
Any hint of a smirk disappears from my face as I turn to the one person I wasn’t aware would be here tonight. If I’d known, I definitely would have avoided the Locke… or run a brush through my hair at least.
Our eyes meet and for a second I find myself in that embarrassingly corny part of a movie where the music slows and everything around me just seems to fade away. Wren with make-up on is a sight to behold, but bare-faced Wren who I’m looking at now is something that only a world more advanced than ours could have thought up. Gone is the usual light make-up that she wears—the black stuff on her eyelashes, that stuff that makes her cheekbones sparkle. The only thing that remains from her usual look is the lip gloss that coats her lips and tempts me like a snake in a garden. I clutch the bottled beer in my hand a little tighter to stop myself reaching for her and finding out what that lip gloss tastes like. Not that I really need to taste when I can always smell it on her. Coconut.
“What are you doing here?” I ask her as my eyes trail down her open jacket which shows a cropped t-shirt and low fitted jeans which show off a sliver of light brown skin. She must have gone home to change. My voice sounds hoarse and dry and I’m aware it’s not from the alcohol.
Usually, her eyebrows would dip, the sides of her lips would mimic their action and those hazel eyes would flare with a spark of fire that would travel down and heat her words. But this time there’s no dip anywhere, just a blank look that finds my now confused expression.
Something is wrong.
I catch a glimpse of Finn on the other side of the booth we managed to snatch up and I instantly know I’m right. He’s frowning at his little sister the same way I am.
“Hey, newbie!” Jamie yells over the live band, completely unaware of her current expression. “Glad you could join us! Make room for her, boys.”
She steps forward and before I can even think about it, I’m up on my feet. She watches me, waiting to see what I’ll do, and even I’m now wondering what the fuck my plan here is.
I close the gap between us and lower my head towards hers so she can hear me.
“What’s wrong?”
A small spark of surprise widens her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t play dumb, Wren. What’s the matter?”
She shakes her head. “Nothing.”
“You’re lying.”
This time when she looks at me, her gaze is steady and bold, and for a second I feel vindicated enough in the knowledge that the Wren I know and dislike is back.
“I said I’m fine, August.”
“And I said that’s bullshit, Wren.”
We match each other’s intensity in a staring competition, my stubbornness fueling her, and hers fueling me. When I see the way she shuts off her eyes, letting them become dull and blank, I take a step back. I’m not going to get anywhere like this. I sit my ass back down and resume showing all of my attention to the bottle I’ve put back in my hand.
