Page 88 of That Moment
Her offer shouldn’t shake me this much. I have a good life here. A career. A family who needs me, even if they meddle too damn much. And it makes me wonder if I’ve just been settling.
My phone sits beside me, screen black. My first instinct is to call Brooklyn, pour it all out, let her talk me down. But my fingers hover over another name. Scotty.
God, Adrienne, don’t.
Except I do. I type two reckless words:thinking about you.Then I hit send before I can overanalyze it.
The second the text disappears, I drop my phone face down on the desk. I try to bury myself in work, but every few minutes I sneak a glance, hoping, dreading. But there's nothing. The screen stays stubbornly blank. By the time the clock ticks past five, I’ve checked it so many times I feel like a teenager again, pathetic and desperate.
I push back from the desk, my thoughts quickly spiraling from hope to desperation and now anger.
If he doesn’t want to answer, fine. I don’t need him. I don’t need anyone.
In the hallway, Trent catches me before I make it to the elevators. His shirt sleeves are rolled up, tie crooked, the look of a man who’s survived too many hours with Drake Slade in “semi-retirement.”
“Beer?” he asks flatly. “I’ve earned it after babysitting our uncle all day.”
The laugh bursts out of me, tension cracking. “God, yes. Please.”
Minutes later, we’re stepping into the warm hum of the Slade Brewing tasting room. It’s the newest addition to the main brewery in Colorado. Something that took way too long to finally get done. But after it took my Uncle Drake a decade for this town to finally come around to the Slade name, a big thanks to my Aunt Celeste, he never wanted to jeopardize that again. And byopening a tasting room, his fear was that it would take too much business away from The Place or the few other places in our small town.
But that’s when I had to step in and remind him just exactly who Adrienne Slade is. I made sure there were contracts in place that would help the small businesses in town, not hurt them. We sell food from local restaurants in our brewery, and for the few items we make in-house, we get all the food products we can from local farms.
The tasting room is so new you can smell it. A mix of hops and wood polish. A soft murmur moves throughout the room, the laugh of a few kids playing bags outside next to the roll-up garage door feature that I knew would be a hit.
Tyler spots us first, waving us over with that big, easy grin of his. My stomach dips the second I see who’s sitting with him. Scotty.
He’s leaned back in his chair, hat tipped low, a beer bottle loose in his big hand. My breath catches, pulse skipping. I think back to my earlier text; still been no response from him.
Please look at me. Please smile.
I offer him one first, tentatively. But all he gives back is a tight nod. Half a smile that never reaches his eyes.
The tiny sting of it slices through me sharper than I expect. My own smile falters before I paste it back on, sliding into the seat beside Trent. The hum of the room carries on around us, but all I can hear is the silence sitting heavy between me and the man across the table.
Trent groans, stretching like he’s been carrying the weight of the whole brewery on his back. “Alright, I’m up. Anybody need a refill?”
Before I can answer, Tyler hops off his stool, grinning. “Sit your ass down, Trent. You’ll forget half the order. I’ll come with.”He claps him on the shoulder and they both head toward the bar, leaving me alone with Scotty.
The silence is thick. Too thick. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and force myself to meet his eyes. “Hey… about earlier. If that text came across as too much?—”
He cuts me off, voice low and rough. “Wasn’t sure it was even meant for me.”
The words land like a slap. I laugh awkwardly, confused. “Who else would I be texting?”
Scotty doesn’t answer. He just takes a long pull from his beer, jaw tight, gaze fixed on the wall like I’m not even sitting here. Then, flatly, he says, “Can we not? I just came for a beer.”
The brush-off hits hard. My back goes stiff, shoulders squared. “What’s your problem?”
He tips his head back, lets out a sharp laugh that’s anything but amused. Finally, his eyes cut to mine. “Maybe you should text the guy from the bar instead.”
The bottom drops out of my stomach. “What?” I whisper, stunned.
But he’s already shoving back his chair, the scrape loud against the wood floor. Standing, creating distance like he can’t get away fast enough.
“I’m done,” he mutters, not looking at me as he strides off towards the restrooms.
I sit frozen, heat burning in my cheeks, heart racing with confusion and embarrassment.
