Autumn Night Whiskey (Tequila Rose 2)

Before I can even say hello to Renee beside her, Griffin’s already directing her to the bar. He didn’t waste any time at all. Judging by her smirk, Renee doesn’t mind in the slightest.

Although she glances at Magnolia, who nods slightly, as if it’s a covert signal, before allowing Griffin to lead the way away from us.

Again, that nagging feeling that something’s off comes back.

“Everything go as planned tonight?”

“Yeah,” she answers while glancing down at her hands. Her fingers wring around one another. It reminds me of how she was that night four years ago.

Some things are the same about her, while others are different … and I’ve fallen for both versions.

“We swung by earlier,” I admit to her and her blue eyes widen like she’s sorry she didn’t see us when she asks, “You did?”

“We didn’t go inside to say hello. Griffin wanted—”

She waves off my apology before I can even finish. “Don’t be,” she says, breathing out and a soft blush rises to her cheeks. It’s accompanied by a nervous huff and a seemingly forced smile.

“You all right?” I ask her, feeling the slight chill of the night. With the front doors wide open, the breeze blows in easily enough. Most of the crowd has filtered to the back, where the bonfire is raging and the makeshift dance floor is packed.

It’s then I notice the goosebumps on Magnolia’s arms. I wish I had a jacket to offer her. Thinking of the setup I have in the back, maybe I’ve got something better.

“I have to tell you something.” Magnolia’s ever-sweet simper fades and as her lips part, I stop her.

“Let’s go to my office so I can hear you.”

Biting down on her lower lip, she nods as I wrap my arm around her waist. It feels right there, and as she walks close to me, I savor the feel of her warmth.

“That’s something I never thought I’d say,” I add in an attempt to ease whatever is bothering her.

“What?”

“My office,” I clarify.

A genuine smile lights up her face, but it only lasts a moment as I lead her through the crowd to the back. If she cares about anyone seeing us, she doesn’t let it show. As I take a second look at her, I note that she doesn’t seem to see them at all. Whatever she’s thinking about has my girl in her own little world.

When I shut the door with a soft click, the music still filters through but it’s quieter back here and warmer. The cameras are all set up so I can see if anyone comes down the slim hall to get back here.

I lock the door to make sure no one interrupts her and then I think maybe I should ask her if she minds, but she’s busy admiring the barely furnished office.

The walls are devoid of decoration and it still smells like fresh paint. The closet door opens with a creak and I pull out a blanket, laying it down on the floor.

Besides the expensive-ass desk, there are only two cheap foldout steel chairs in the corner of the room. When I reach for the two glasses, my heart races. It’s not much. Just a cozy blanket and champagne. I thought maybe no one from the town would bother to show and we could head out back, enjoy the fire together. It’s insanity that the idea of no one coming didn’t matter when I came up with this plan.

“I love the floors,” Magnolia says and then turns, finally seeing the blanket as I pop open the bottle. “I don’t think I told you.” Her last words escape one by one, each one slower than the last.

Her fingers play with the ends of her hair. I’ve noticed it’s a nervous habit of hers.

“A glass to celebrate,” I say and lick my lower lip, pausing to remember how I was going to say it. Celebrate her success, my success … But more so to celebrate us. The way shock stays on her expression and the happiness I thought would light her eyes is absent keeps those words from coming.

“Thanks,” she replies and a nervous prick tickles the back of my throat. I clear it before pouring us each a glass. It fizzes just right.

“I’m always open to decorating advice if you have any,” I offer, feeling my heartbeat pick up. That same nervousness that I’m going to lose her before we even get started clings to me as I offer her my hand to sit and then take my place beside her.

Tucking her skirt under her, she backs up to lean against the wall.

“Is this all right?” I ask her and she only nods. Both of her hands are wrapped around that glass like she’s holding on to it for dear life.

There’s something off. I know it. A crease settles in her brow before she says again that she has something to tell me, not taking a sip of the champagne.