Page 13 of Bottle Shock
“Scottie,” I repeat to the woman on the other end of the line. “S-C-O-T-T-I-E…yes, like the dog…mm-hmm…okay, thank you so much! My number is?—”
And she hung up. Bitch.
God, I hate it here. And byhere, I mean my life. Though, Red Mountain’s not helping. Basically, it’s a mess on all fronts.
Slumping my shoulders, I slide down the wall until my ass hits the carpet. I’m so fucking tired. Tired of making cold calls. Tired of this ridiculous mess. Tired of people I thought were my friends turning their backs on me. No one in the industry will touch me with a ten-foot pole. I’m tarnished. Tainted. Washed up. And, worst of all, blacklisted.
“What am I going to do?” I groan to no one but the empty townhouse.
As if on cue, my Dexcom app buzzes—a low-glucose alert lighting up my screen, because of course my blood sugar has the audacity to be just as much of a mess as the rest of my life. It’s my own fault; I thought I could get away with skipping breakfast. I know better.
Standing, I drag myself into the kitchen and rummage through the pantry until I find the bag of peach rings I keep for moments exactly like this. They’re fast sugar—quick to hit, quick to help—so I pop two before I even think about it. Then I grab the container of clementines I sectioned earlier in the week. Those are for the slow-and-steady rise, to keep me from crashing again.
As I choke down the clementines—stress has obliterated my appetite—my gaze sweeps across the space. Elyse was gracious enough to let me stay in her old townhouse and take over the monthly payment now that she and Dominic are busy renovating their dream house. It’s a decent enough place, she even left behind some furniture for my benefit, but it feels as temporary here as the rest of my life does.
I never expected to be back in my hometown, and the reality of having no other choice but to return with my tail between my legs, only intensifies the utter sense of failure eating away at me.
When you grow up in a town as small as this one, sometimes having big dreams gets you more eye rolls than support. I was never quiet about wanting to become an actress, and I don’t think very many people took it seriously. So when I actually succeeded, those who doubted me, started the countdown to my downfall. In their eyes, it was only a matter of time before my career crashed and burned.If there’s one thing society loves more than watching a woman rise to success, it’s indulging in the perverse pleasure of watching her fall.
Moving back out of the blue, isn’t really dispelling the narrative. I’m exactly who everyone expected me to be. And, fuck, if I don’t hate them for finally being right.
I’ve been in Red Mountain nearly two weeks, and still haven’t stepped foot on Main Street. I’ve resorted to grocery shopping in the next town over and making disgusting coffee outof an ancient coffee maker. I don’t want to be seen, and most of all I don’t want to explain.
Despite keeping a low profile, word about my return spread like wildfire, and something tells me the town gossips have been chomping at the bit to uncover all the juicy details about why I’m back. Red Mountain runs on wine and gossip—two things that, unfortunately, pair very well together.
But that all ends today. I agreed to meet Elyse at Novel Teas and Coffee—her sister Ariana’s coffee shop—for some girl time. It’s my first real public outing, if you don’t count Lily’s birthday party.
After lying low for as long as possible, I figured it was time to face the town and get it over with—ride out the gossip until someone else does something more interesting.
The drive to the heart of downtown takes longer than I was expecting. Tourist season is in full effect, a detail that somehow slipped my mind. I guess I still find it somewhat baffling people choose to vacation in the town I couldn’t wait to escape.
The sidewalks are packed, visitors wandering from tasting room to tasting room, some already looking tipsy and it’s not quite lunchtime yet. A live jazz band is playing in the gazebo nestled at the center of downtown, and the music drifts through the small opening of my rolled down window. I can’t help but smile. There’s just something about a little jazz tune that loosens the tension in my shoulders, and lightens the ever present pressure that lives in my chest.
Music has always played a part in soothing the rough edges of my soul. It’s probably why I feel the most like myself when the music is loud enough to drown out everything else.
My phone buzzes, alerting me of a text. Likely Elyse, wondering where I am.She’s punctual to a fault, while I’m habitually late to everything.
Ignoring her text for now, I keep my eyes peeled for anopen spot, and for once, my tiny daily ration of luck comes through—a parking spot opens up right outside Novel.
Through the large open windows that line the front of the building, I can see Elyse is already seated with a drink in her hand. She waves at me excitedly and I try my best to match her enthusiasm with a wave of my own.
The moment I step through the front door, my nose is greeted with the sweet aroma of high-quality coffee.
Chicago had its perks. Good coffee wasn’t one of them. Call me a snob, but no one does coffee like the Pacific Northwest—and that’s a hill I’ll proudly die on.
Split between joining Elyse at the table or ordering first, I hesitate, my sandals catching on the ornate rug decorating the black and white tiled floors. Elyse motions for me to order, making the decision for me.
The line is nonexistent, and before I can even say hi, Ariana is darting out from behind the counter and wrapping me in a warm hug.
I’ve known Ariana and her twin, Layla, since the day they were born. Even though I’ve seen them grow up—and still catch up with them now and then—my brain insists on freezing them at about ten years old. Which can be a bit of a jump scare when months go by between visits.
Once a shy little girl with blue eyes that seemed too big for her face, Ariana has grown into a total bombshell. Though I get the impression she hasn’trealized just how gorgeous she is.
“Took you long enough to come by,” Ariana’s muffled voice says againstmy shoulder. “And you snuck out of the party before I could say hi.”
“Sorry,” I mutter as my face flushes. I don’t usually mind my fair, freckled skin, unless I’m embarrassed, which turns it the same shade of red as my hair. It’s not cute.
Not one to pry, she smiles easily. “Want your usual?”
