Page 22 of Bourbon Bliss
Sheriff Tucker shook his head. “My future son-in-law. But Bowie’s a good kid. Glad he and my daughter finally got their heads on straight.”
“Your daughter the football fan?”
“No, Bowie’s with Cassidy, my youngest. The football fan is June.”
So hewasJune’s father. I suddenly wanted very much to be in this man’s good graces.
“Well, like I said, I’d be happy to sign something for her.”
He pulled a scrap of paper and a pen out of his pocket. “Wish I had something better, but this’ll do.”
I signed the piece of paper, taking care to make my signature legible for once, and handed it back.
“Thank you, Mr. Thompson,” he said.
“GT,” I said. “And no problem. Tell your daughter I said hello.”
“I’ll do that,” he said, smiling so his mustache twitched.
I hoped he would. And maybe soon I’d have a chance to see June Tucker again.
8
June
An evening at the Lookout wasn’t typically a cause for anxiety. I didn’t mind being here. I could always read or browse ESPN.com on my phone if I was bored.
But tonight, I was completely out of sorts. George Thompson was here.
His presence in the bar was palpable. It was as if he displaced the air, leaving what was left to press against me, the molecules all fighting for space.
Grateful I’d chosen to dress in layers tonight, I took off my cardigan. I couldn’t decide if the temperature in the Lookout was warmer than usual, or if it was me.
Or George.
Briefly, I contemplated leaving. I’d run out of Yee Haw Yarn and Coffee yesterday to avoid him. But I’d spent the rest of my day in a haze of distraction, trying to unravel the knots in my belly. Confused as to why I’d chosen to flee. Although I was feeling a now-familiar swirl of nerves, I didn’t want to leave.
But I wasn’t going to go so far as to talk to him, either.
“Is that him?” Cassidy asked as she sidled up next to me. She gestured with her beer toward George. “The football player?”
I was about to answer in the affirmative but he chose that moment—that precise second—to meet my eyes and smile.
It wasn’t just a smile. Oh, no. It was a slow spread of his lips, parting across perfect teeth. Dimples puckering his cheeks. It was crooked and sexy and utterly disarming.
I almost fanned myself.Fanned myself, which was so ridiculous I couldn’t believe the urge had been mine.
“Whoa,” Cassidy said.
“Yeah.” Was that my voice? So breathy and mesmerized?
“I take it the answer is yes,” Cassidy said. “You look a little starstruck. And… oh my god, he’s coming over here.”
He was, indeed. His eyes were locked with mine, that grin still on his face. George Thompson was walking toward me, his six-foot-five frame all confidence and grace.
I swallowed hard but managed to keep from jumping off my stool and running out the door.
“Hey June,” he said. “You look very pretty tonight.”
