Page 16 of Bourbon Bliss
“Are you making fun of me?”
He held my eyes for a few heartbeats, his brow furrowed. “No. Why would you think I was making fun of you?”
“Because we don’t know each other. Usually people who don’t know me find me odd.”
“I don’t find you odd. That was an interesting anecdote about ice cream that I didn’t know. And I’d be willing to bet that rocky road ice cream made people happy. Then, and now.”
He licked his cone again and I mimicked his movement, swirling the ice cream across my tongue in a slow circle. It was soft and cold in my mouth, the rich chocolate flavor pleasing.
Even more pleasing was watching George deliberately lick his ice cream.
The persistent jumpy feeling in my stomach increased. Perhaps Penny had put something in this ice cream that didn’t agree with my digestion. Or it could have been something else I’d eaten in the recent past. I started cataloging everything I’d consumed in the last twenty-four hours. I’d have to throw away the leftovers I’d planned to have for dinner tonight. I couldn’t take a chance on making this strange stomach problem worse.
My heart was beating too fast. I swallowed hard, wondering if I was going to be sick. A part of me wanted to stay here with George. Another part wanted to run. I was vaguely aware that I was experiencing an acute stress response. My sympathetic nervous system was activated, releasing hormones into my body that produced the fight-or-flight sensation. But the release of catecholamines, including adrenaline and noradrenaline, was inhibiting my ability to think rationally.
“Goodbye,” I said, suddenly standing, and rushed out the door before George could say another word.
6
June
George Thompson had invaded Bootleg Springs.
Not literally. He hadn’t staged a coup to oust control of the town from Mayor Hornsbladt. And he was only one man. He couldn’t actually be in multiple places at once, asinvasionwould suggest. But it seemed as if he were. It seemed as if he wereeverywhere.
When I made my weekly trip to the library, I’d seen him walking up the sidewalk on the other side of the road. The next day, I’d come into town to pick up a few essentials at the Pop In. He had come out just as I was about to get out of my car to go in. I’d waited to exit my vehicle until he was out of sight.
I’d started keeping a mental log of George Thompson sightings. Counting the first time I saw him at Moonshine, our encounter in the hot spring, and eating ice cream with him at Moo-Shine, the tally stood at eight. Eight times I had seen or talked to George Thompson in the last week.
He was very distracting.
I drove into town and parked, then did a thorough inspection of my surroundings. Past incidents were a good predictor of future events, which meant the probability I would see him again was high. It seemed as if every time I left my house, there was a George Thompson sighting. Bootleg Springs was a small town, but how was it possible that he was constantly crossing my path? The numbers indicated it was more than coincidence. Yet I had no reason to believe there was any intent on his part. I needed to do some deeper research into the science of probability and statistics regarding coincidences.
Hesitating another few seconds, I narrowed my eyes and took another hard look around. Gray clouds hung low in the sky, threatening a late winter snow, and the streets were empty. No sign of George. It was probably safe to exit and proceed inside.
It was Thursday, so I was meeting Cassidy at Yee Haw Yarn and Coffee. Her work schedule varied, so we didn’t meet every week. But when her shifts allowed, we met here on Thursday afternoons. The fact that she still made time for me when she was busy with not only her career, but her relationship with Bowie Bodine, said a great deal about her character.
But Cassidy had always made time for me. I was the older sister, but I knew that in some ways she felt responsible for me. She and Scarlett had always included me in their social gatherings. I knew it had cost them socially to do so—during our teen years in particular. If people had tried to exclude me, Cassidy and Scarlett had been quick to declare they wouldn’t participate. Parties, bonfires, nights out—if I wasn’t invited, they didn’t go.
As much as I’d always appreciated their loyalty, I’d never wanted to be a burden. I didn’t get along with people with the ease of Cassidy and Scarlett. But our peers had come to accept me—for the most part—or at least had grown accustomed to my presence. It was another reason I had stayed in Bootleg Springs. I fit here, as much as I’d ever fit anywhere. Mostly because of my sister.
I went inside, casting a glance over my shoulder on the way in. No George. I felt a strange mix of things at not seeing him, and I couldn’t understand why I was so confused. Shouldn’t I have been relieved? I’d been anxious at the thought of running into him when I came into town. Now that I knew an encounter wasn’t imminent, why was I experiencing what felt suspiciously like disappointment?
Cassidy was already inside, still dressed in her deputy uniform. I felt a surge of pride for her. She’d worked hard to become a deputy, something she’d wanted her whole life. Upholding the law in a town like Bootleg Springs wasn’t always easy, but she was exceedingly proficient at her job.
“Hey Juney,” she said when I approached her table. She pushed a mug of steaming hot water toward me. “I got you water for your tea.”
“Thank you.” I ripped open an Earl Gray tea bag and dunked it in the mug. In my head, I started counting down the seconds from two hundred forty. Letting tea steep too long would result in an unpleasant bitter flavor.
“How’s your week going so far?” she asked.
I paused for a moment, considering whether I should tell her about George. What was there to tell? That a football player I’d followed for his impressive statistics had come to Bootleg and now I couldn’t stop thinking about his hands? Wait, what did his hands have to do with anything? Surely the important information would be the facts. The George sightings I’d experienced over the past week. Why were his enormous hands relevant?
And yet here I was, imagining those strong hands. And the way he’d licked my rocky road ice cream off his finger.
“Juney? You okay?”
“What?” I blinked, my eyes coming back into focus. “Yes, I’m fine. I was… thinking about something else.”
