Page 10 of Until Next Time
I give her a soft smile and reach my hand out to her. If looks could kill, this girl would have committed first degree murder in that moment. She reaches out hesitantly and offers me her fingers as she does one of those non committal handshakes like she thought I had cooties or something.
“Interesting name. I’m Stephanie, and I guess I know River through Dawsen.” She says flatly, her eyes bouncing around the room, making it abundantly clear that she would like these pleasantries to be over, and I would love nothing more. So I oblige, and since I’m fine not being the bigger person, I give a fake grin, “Riv, I’m going to grab a glass of wine. I’ll catch you in a bit.” He holds up his fist and I bump the side of it with mine. “Oh, and good to meet you, Samantha!” I smile even faker that time and pursue my mission for wine.
I can be petty if you’re going to be a bitch. ‘Interesting name’—I recount in my head and give a mental scoff. Saying something is “interesting” is just another way to show disapproval while still being polite, and if this woman—who doesn’t even know me—is going to give me that much attitude, well honey, two can play that game.
Yep, I still need a drink.
10
Dawsen
I’ve been caught in multiple conversations with locals that consisted of absolutely nothing substantial—just the classic “hi, hello, how are ya, this place looks amazing, great turnout, love what you’ve turned this place into.” Which is all so well meaning, but having the same conversations on repeat is exhausting. However; It’s a welcome distraction as I’ve been trying to avoid Stephanie all night.
Stephanie is a nice girl, and we’ve had some fun times together—actually, I can’t really vouch for her character at all. We never talked much in the way of getting to know each other. I’m not proud of it, but that’s just the way it’s been. I’ve got a feeling that she might have caught feelings based on the way she’s been trying to get my attention all evening. And I’m the dick who doesn’t want to deal with that. In my defense, I laid my intentions out very clearly from the start with her—I’m notlooking for anything serious. I just wanted to have some fun and blow off some steam. There’s no way to say that without sounding like an asshole though, and I’m getting the feeling that maybe she thought she could be the exception to that.
I’m in the middle of talking to Mira, the woman who owns the only bookstore in town, when I see Birdie hanging around the tasting bar. I let Mira finish her thought about hosting a book club at Southbound once a month, then I reach out and put my hand on her shoulder, “Mira, that’d be awesome. We can figure out the details this week. I’ve got to check on the bar, but it was so great talking to you.” I say as I’m intently watching Birdie’s every move over Mira’s shoulder. She gives me a warm smile, “Yes, yes dear.” I nod and make my way to the bar.
Birdie is standing at the edge of the bar that is completely packed. There’s not one seat available, and there’s hardly any standing room left. I sneak up behind her, and lean down over her shoulder, altogether a little too close, “Red, or white, miss?” She practically jumps as she reaches up to her ear and looks up and over her shoulder. She let’s out a breathy chuckle, and I round the bar, and grab a glass.
“Frick, Daws. You scared the shit out of me!” She says as she puts her hand over her chest. I laugh and start polishing a wine glass for her.
“Frick?” I tease. “What are you, in eighth grade?”
She rolls her lips together and folds her hands together on the bar like she’s trying to look distinguished, “I’m trying to cuss less, ok?!” She says it like she’s almost embarrassed at the confession.
“Ahh, City girl’s got a mouth on her, huh?” I say jokingly, trying to ruffle her feathers because I know for a fact she hates being calledcity girl.
River had her on speakerphone a few months back when she called him to vent about this horrible first date she went on. Shewas so offended that the guy called her acity girl, she cut the date short. I felt a strange sense of satisfaction over that—more than I had any right to feel over something that didn’t concern me.
“I’m not a fucking city girl!” She says in a whisper-yell as she throws one hand up theatrically.
“Okay, whatever you say Bird.” I say with a wink and a half smile. I can see her settle down with that, so I place a bottle of red wine in front of her, “Do you have a preference?” I signal to the bottle as I’m about to pour, waiting for her approval.
“I want the best and most expensive wine you have, please.” She says as she straightens and juts her chin up at me, and sets her eyes on me. Fuck. Those eyes.
I smirk and tilt the glass towards the bottle as I begin to pour.
“This is one of our Cult wines, it’s a Norton. It’s a dry red with a full body. It’s my favorite.”
I give her a heavy pour and she reaches out to grab it, her fingers graze mine at the exchange. She says nothing, but keeps her eyes on me as she takes her first sip. The way she looks bringing that glass of wine to her full lips has my pants getting tighter. I’m sick.
“That’s a damn fine cup of wine, sir.” She says in a very fake southern accent. It’s not lost on me how she just called it a ‘cup of wine’ either.
“Glad you like it.” Is all I can think to say.
She takes another sip, and I’m standing there trying to keep my hands busy by twisting corks back into bottles, and trying to distract myself from the Bird at the end of my bar with the pretty fucking lips, her dark lashes and the jeans that look like they were painted on.
“Heyyy, you!” Stephanie drawls as she basically nudges Birdie from her spot. “Oh uh, hey! Good to see you, Steph.” I say slightly distracted, because I can’t help but notice Birdiebeing tuned into this whole interaction. I’m nothing to her, but for whatever reason, I really don’t want her thinking that there’s anything going on between Stephanie and I. Because there’s not. I need to make that clear.
11
Birdie
I think I just threw up in my mouth. This Stephanie character keeps putting her bony, perfectly manicured fingers all over Dawsen’s big bicep.
It feels like a red mist has fallen over me. Who even am I? I’m getting so worked up over a situation I have no business caring about. But dammit, I care—and I’m staring. I cannot stop staring. This is so typical me—just breaking my own damn heart with all the scenarios I’ve imagined with Dawsen and I. And here he is, looking like pure sex while some other woman marks her territory. I’ve got to put some distance between me and this situation-ship they’ve got going on because I might spontaneously combust, spewing out profanities and bitch slaps.
I reach behind the bar and grab the bottle that Dawsen had poured from, I top off my glass and return the bottle. I give Dawsen another glance, and I raise my glass to him, and beforeI can overthink the look he just gave me, I walk away and leave him in Stephanie’s grip.
