Her brow pinches with worry. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Honestly?” The fact that I’m standing here, talking about my trepidation concerning a man with Calla of all people, isn’t lost on me. I could continue the lie, but she’ll see right through me. “How long do you think I can hide out here before I’m a complete asshole?”
She winces and smooths her palm over my arm in a simple but comforting gesture. “Not long enough, I’m afraid.”
We last another five minutes around the fire before Calla’s teeth start chattering, and Jonah herds us both toward the door and into peak unease for me.
Outside was calm and casual and chilly. In here, it’s loud and boisterous and toasty, the woodstove blazing with an orange glow. Music plays in the background, but the conversations are too loud for anyone to decipher the song. A medley of spices permeates the air, drifting over from the far side of the room where Muriel and Teddy man a row of tables lined with a dozen chafing dishes.
“I ain’t never seen anyone drop a snow hook and run into the woods with a roll of shit tickets so fast in my life as Earl did!” A man with a straggly beard roars, slapping his hand across Harry Hatchett’s shoulder. The entire group gathered in the center of the Ale House erupts with laughter.
They must be trading old musher stories. There are plenty of them here tonight, some long since retired, but many I recognize from the Iditarod, both mushers and volunteers alike.
Despite my trepidation, the moment I spot Tyler, my heart begins to race. He and Reed are seated at a table, gripping their pints and chuckling at the tales. They haven’t noticed me yet, but this place isn’t that big. It’s only a matter of time.
“I was just about to come out to you.” Steve appears then, holding a pint. “Local IPA. One of my favorites. I think you’ll like it.”
I remember tasting it on Tyler’s tongue the last time I was here, and I loved it.
I smile politely as I accept it and then introduce Steve to Jonah and Calla. The conversation doesn’t last long before someone’s pulling Jonah aside, wanting to know about his planes. It’s inevitable.
“Well, the sergeant is waving me down, so … come see me when you’re hungry. Or for any reason.” With one last knowing look, Calla ambles toward Muriel, shedding her coat along the way.
“My friends are over there.” Steve points toward the corner where a group sits, his hand settling on the small of my back, goading me that way.
But my focus quickly snags elsewhere, on the set of hazel eyes locked on me. Tyler’s seen me, and there’s not much I can do but cast a tentative wave.
He returns it with a lazy salute, but his face is stony.
I feel sick, as if I’m doing something wrong when I know I’m not. He’s the one who isn’t ready. Not me. I was ready for everything.
“Are you okay?”
I nod, hoping it hides my inner turmoil. “You know what? I’ll be there in a minute. There’s someone at the bar I need to say hello to first.” I don’t wait for Steve’s response, rushing to the other side of the room, hoping to find temporary haven in Toby.
Only, Harry Hatchett cuts me off.
I stifle my groan.
“Hey, Marie! I was going to come into your clinic next week, but here you are. Man, it’s been awhile, huh?” He smooths a hand through his blond hair.
“Since you tried to tell me how to run my business and then set fire to a four-decade relationship between our families? A few months, yeah.” I am in no mood to be exchanging false pleasantries. I step to the side to go around him.
He moves with me. “I’m sorry.” His face is a mask of sincere apology. “I was an idiot, and I was wrong.”
His blunt admission takes me by surprise.
“The last few years have been hard. It may seem like I know what I’m doing, but half the time, I think I should quit.” He pauses, as if waiting for me to counter his frank words.
I allow the awkward break in conversation to drag on until Harry begins to fidget. “I appreciate your apology. Is there something else you want?” Bonnie must have relayed my father’s advice.
“Okay, what I mean to say is, you and Sid have always been good to us. Too good. You are the best vet I could ever hope for, and I was hoping you’d come back. At least consider it,” he adds quickly. “The dogs would love to see you.”
I know Harry is quickly running out of veterinarians, but I sense remorse in his voice. Taking on his kennel again would alleviate financial worries—that he aggravated in the first place. But I’m not in the right frame of mind to be making commitments to him. “I’ll consider it.”