Page 2 of Hot and Bothered
“This one came back declined, too,” she said.
Bothof them? It couldn’t be a coincidence.
I dropped my forehead to the sticky bar counter and choked back a wail.
“Get Evan,” I heard bartender girl mutter to someone.
It was all I could to do keep from panicking. Was Evan the manager? What happened if I couldn’t pay my bar tab? Would I be forced to wash dishes in the back, or was that a made up movie thing? Would they call the cops on me? Would I get arrested?
I moaned miserably at the thought of havingwanted criminalunder my name in the newspaper.
Right next to the captionrunaway bride.
“Is there a problem here?” said a man’s deep voice from beside me.
I craned my neck up from where I’d plunked my forehead on the counter, and was met with a large chest, fuzzy and out of focus. I craned my neck up further, blinking my bleary eyes, and found myself staring at a tall, handsome man with darkish brown hair and bright green eyes lit up with curiosity. I resisted the urge to bite down on my bottom lip, even though I was sure any lipstick and gloss I’d put on that morning had been smeared away.
The handsome man, who was presumably Evan, tilted his head at the bartender girl, questioning without words.
“I’m sorry,” I blurted out before she could explain.
Handsome Evan blinked down at me. His eyes fell on the sparkling tiara nestled in my once-perfect, and now tangled, updo, down my pearl-lined bodice to the white satin, pointed toe heels peeking out from underneath my mermaid skirt.
“My cards are both declined and I don’t have any cash and I can go wash dishes in the back or something, please don’t call the cops!”
He stared at me. I blinked up at him. His lips twitched upward at the corners. He glanced at the bartender girl and raised an eyebrow.
“She’s been sitting here quietly,” the girl told him.
It was polite of her to say so. I’d been moaning, and sobbing, and generally making a nuisance of myself all night.
“I’m not going to call the cops.” He pulled up a stool and sat himself next to me. “It looks like you’re not having a very good night.” He left the question open-ended, letting me decide how much I wanted to spill.
“I’m not,” I hiccuped again.
Evan propped an elbow on the counter and leaned toward me.
“Want to talk about it?” he asked.
I supposed that was what bartenders did. Talked to their customers like therapists. There was something about alcohol that loosened the tongue, and who better to dish to than a stranger who had no doubt heard worse stories than yours?
“I ran away,” I said in a small voice. “I ran away from my own wedding.”
Compassion lined his face.
“Did you catch him cheating?” he asked, which I thought was terribly forthright of him.
“No,” I replied.
“Was he not a nice guy?” Evan continued, speaking in low, soothing tones.
“He’s a good guy. I just—” My eyes watered again. “I don’t love him.”
“A very good reason not to get married,” Evan said with a sympathetic nod.
“My parents are going to kill me for doing this,” I said.
“I’m sure they’ll understand,” he said.
