Lennon and I were always close, and even though we don’t see each other that often since she took a job in Detroit, things are never awkward between us. We’re only seven months apart, and she really is just like my sister.
“When is your interview?”
“Next Tuesday. I’ll be coming in late Monday night and my interview is Tuesday morning. My flight doesn’t leave until the evening, so please tell me you’re not working.”
“I’m off Tuesday!” I say
“I knew this was meant to be.”
“It totally is! How cool would it be if you moved here?”
“That would be awesome. How are you liking it, for real?” she says.
“I’m settling in. I actually just got to a bar. By myself.”
“What? Elory Harris is going out alone?”
“Hah. I do things alone. Just not very often in social settings.”
“Well, have fun. You deserve it. I know you haven’t gone out since you’ve moved.”
“I haven’t, but—”
“No excuses. But really, Rory, have fun. Meet a cute guy. Flirt a little and have him buy you a drink.”
“Remember when we used to pretend to be British?” I laugh.
“Our accents were terrible.”
“But it worked. We always got guys to buy us drinks.”
“Nix the accent, but don a fake name,” she suggests. “No harm in having a little fun, right?”
“You are right,” I say, letting her words sink in. “A little fun never hurt anyone.”
“Well…” she starts and then laughs. “Be safe.”
“You too. Love you, Len.”
“You too, Ror. Night!”
I end the call, check out my reflection one more time since I have a terrible habit of smearing my lipstick without realizing it, and get out of the Jeep. Cold air hits me in the face, and I hurry in, regretting my choice to not wear my coat into the bar. It’s freaking freezing, but I don’t want to have to worry about my coat once I’m inside.
Nerves flutter through me as I step into the bar. I don’t go out on my own like this very often, and I’ve never set foot inside a bar without a boyfriend or several girlfriends on my arm. I take a second to look around and then feel a sense of empowerment flood over me, washing the nerves out to sea.
This place is crowded, and country music plays above the sounds of dishes clanking and people talking and laughing. It’s exactly how I pictured a small-town bar to be, yet more at the same time.
It’s big.
Full of all sorts of people.
Modern in some ways and country in others.
I immediately love it.
Smiling, I weave my way through the crowd, spotting a seat at the bar.
“Rory!” someone shouts, and I turn to see Jane, another nurse from the hospital waving at me. She usually comes in as I’m leaving, but we’ve chatted a few times and she’s nice enough. She’s young, only a year or two out of nursing school, and always cheery.
“Hey, Jane!”
She waves me over, holding a beer in her other hand. “You finally came!” Turning to the guy next to her, she motions at me. “We work together, and I keep telling her to come out here some night when we’re both off.” She takes a drink of her beer only to realize it’s empty. I’m guessing that’s not her first of the night. “This is Damon, my boyfriend. This is Rory. We work together.”
“You already said that,” Damon laughs and wraps his arm around her waist. “You’re so fucking cute.” They kiss and I’m left standing there awkwardly. Isn’t love so fucking grand?
“I need to introduce you to someone,” Jane blurts, breaking away from her boyfriend. She takes my arm and pulls me over to her table. “Guys, this is Rory. We work together.”
“Hi,” I say, lifting my hand up in a little wave.
“This is Nick. He’s single,” she adds quietly, wiggling her eyebrows. “Ohhhh! Perfect timing!”
A cocktail waitress brings over a tray of tequila shots. Jane downs one and trades it for another, handing me one as well.
“Do a shot with me!”
I wrinkle my nose. “I had way too many tequila shots in college. I can’t do it anymore.”
“What do you want?” Nick asks, giving me a smirk. “You look like the kind of girl who prefers a glass of expensive wine.”
Is that a compliment? A backhanded insult? I’m not sure. But I smirk right back and straighten my shoulders. “Actually, I like whiskey.”
“Damn,” he says. “A woman after my own heart.” He flags down the cocktail waitress and orders two shots of whiskey. Do people take whiskey as a shot? I don’t drink enough to know. And when I do drink it has to be something sweet where I can barely taste the alcohol at all.
“Thank you,” I say, trying to be coy, and take the whiskey from the tray. The smell of tequila coming from Jane is strong and makes me shudder, reminding me all at once of that one night I spent on the floor of a Taco Bell bathroom after a little too much partying.