Page 74 of The Secret We Keep
“Can I get you a drink?”
In slow motion, I turn my head and try to smile at the barman. “Yes. Please.”
He waits, clearing dirty glasses off the empty table next to me. “Anything in particular, or shall I just make a guess?”
I look down at my hands. I’ve been pinching my skin around my thumb, unaware. It’s only when I stop does my pulse throb in the divot left by my nail. “Rum and coke, please. Actually, make that two.”
He chuckles. “Both for yourself?”
I shake my head. “No. I’m waiting for somebody.”
Gathering up the final few glasses, he asks, “Hate to ask, but you got any ID?”
My heart makes its way to my throat. “Yep,” I shakily reply, pulling out my purse and showing him my provisional license.
The man who looks a little older than me, studies the picture, one eyebrow raising. “Two rum and cokes, coming right up.”
He holds out my ID, and I take it from his hand. “Is something wrong?” Instant heat blanches across my cheeks. I know nothing is, but I saw the weird look of shock on his face.
The barman stands straight. “Nope,” he says right away, skilfully holding empty glasses in his fingers. “I was just wondering why I haven’t seen you in here before.”
Putting away my purse, my voice thickens. I’m not about to admit that I’m scared and wish I hadn’t come out at all. “I don’t go out much.”
Oh, because that’s so much better.
Christ. My honest, and quite frankly, pathetic truth makes him smile. “Well, new faces are always nice to see.”
I look around, avoiding eye contact, feeling stupid.
“I’ll be right back with those drinks.”
I watch him walk away, spotting someone looking over.
With my shoulders suddenly hunched, I try to mind my own business, hoping I get lucky when I call Holly again. This time, when I press call, it goes straight to voicemail.
I try again.
No answer.
Opening up my messages, I send her a text.
Where are you? Is everything alright? Please let me know you’re okay. I’m worried.
My hands are shaking as I wait for her to read it.
Which she doesn’t. Fear starts to eat away inside of me. This is so unlike her. What if something’s wrong?
When the barman comes back over with the drinks, the smile that pulls on his face is one I’m familiar with. Pity.
“Two rum and cokes for you and… somebody.”
Is he making fun of me?
“Thank you.” I don’t look at him, hoping he’ll walk away and leave me alone once I’ve paid.
I grab my purse again. “How much do I owe you?”
He holds up his hand. “Nothing,” he sings.
