Page 17 of Holiday Hopefuls
“It is if I can help it,” I mutter, closing the door behind me.
5
Callie
The bar is absolutely packed tonight and buzzing with the usual Friday night energy. It’s still early, but the start of the weekend usually means more patrons than normal find their way here thanks to the great live music lineup kept by the owners.
Not that Ian and I are biased, or anything.
Every table and stool is occupied, with a line six people deep at the bar for service. Thanks to the steady stream of tourists and the local university, there’s even a small line of people waiting to be fortunate enough to gain entrance. Lucky for us, we’re with the band. We even have the stamps on our hands to prove it.
“I think I see a couple of spots near the front.” Ian points through the throng of beer and music lovers to a rickety table just big enough for two right by the stage.
Following where he points, I nod while my ponytail tickles the back of my neck.
Dead ahead, Aaron and his band are finishing final adjustments. With his brother and friend basically staring in his direction, the lead singer pops his head up and locates us nearly immediately. He gives us a thumbs up alongside a wide grin before getting back to business tuning his guitar of the night.
“Perfect.” I jut a thumb toward the bar. “I’ll grab the drinks while you snag the table?”
“Cool. Nothing too dark.”
“Coming right up.”
“And a water, please.”
“Got it. Next time, he needs to put out a Reserved sign.”
Ian laughs. “Yeah, I’m sure he’ll get right on that.”
“A girl can dream.”
“Hey, think Connie will come tonight?” Ian smirks.
Rolling my eyes, I groan. “Who knows. But at least she’s the most bearable of the brood.”
“Not to mention, your phone has been blowing up with texts from her since before we got here asking about the details for tonight.”
“That may or may not be a decent indicator.”
Ian grins before hightailing it to the unicorn of seats.
Wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans, I’m once again thankful the dark wash hides everything from stray marker, to sweat, to beer getting sloshed from strange mugs. Being around this many people after a full week isn’t really my idea of a great time. But Aaron’s band has worked hard and I’m proud to be a diehard fan.
Sweat and too much cologne mingle with telltale aromas of bar food throughout the room. Even the air feels sticky on nights like tonight. But the buzz in the air for my friend propels me onward. One careful step, then another. With each one, a tiny sigh of relief escapes me as I avoid running into anyone who’s already had too much to drink. By the time I’m ten paces awayfrom the bar, I’ve managed to only step on two toes, be nudged by one erratic elbow and ward off one unwanted suitor.
Though, my mother would tell me to grab any opportunity that comes my way after Alexander dumped me in the spring.
I can see the whites of the bartender’s eyes when I hear, “Ms. Rutherford?”
My feet come to a crashing halt. Cringing internally, I’m suddenly cursing Ian for suggesting I wear this stupid “I Love This Alot” T-shirt. This may be one of my favorite shirts, but not when I get caught by a parent. Intentionally teaching incorrect grammar is no laughing matter. Ratcheting my body one, two and three times puts me face to face with a high top table occupied by little Cici McNalley’s dad.
And none other than Dr. Oliver freaking Rhodes.
Shock and panic take hold as my fight-or-flight instinct tries to kick in with little success. Apparently, my frozen feet have chosen to fight. Do I pretend not to know him? That would certainly be easiest. I mean, how well can you really know someone after sitting in their office for all of ten minutes while you try to proposition them for their fake dating services? Not very well, I promise.
My no doubt wide eyes land on each of them in turn before landing back on Dr. McNalley. “Uh, hi. Hello. How are you, Dr. McNalley?” I don’t need a mirror to tell me my cheeks are as red as my hair right about now. Cici’s dad is often the talk of the teacher’s lounge—majorly gorgeous, amazing with his daughter, financially stable with an impressive job. Needless to say, having Cici in my class makes me the envy of all the single female faculty members. The one on one parent-teacher conferences don’t hurt, either. Mrs. Johnson, our little old librarian, has suggested numerous times I try to wrangle a date out of Serenvale Springs’ most eligible single dad. And while he is without a doubt the most attractive parent in the PTA andchecks every box for any sexually active human with a pulse, Dr. John McNalley just doesn’t do it for me. Sad, but true.
“I’ve told you, call me John.” He laughs before taking a sip of his drink.
