Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 41373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 207(@200wpm)___ 165(@250wpm)___ 138(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 207(@200wpm)___ 165(@250wpm)___ 138(@300wpm)
“We’ve got the holly garland and the pine garland. Yee-haw!” Mariel said in Gram’s exact voice, and we both laughed. “Both! Always use both kinds of garland!”
“I miss her.”
“I miss her, too.”
A few hours later I was sitting on a bar stool nursing a Rum and Coke at the Hard Spot Saloon, trying to take a different piece of advice that Gram always used to give us.
“I don’t care if you’re gay, straight, or any of a million things between,” she used to say, holding a finger high in the air as she narrowed her eyes. “You’ve always got to lead with love. Because nobody can fuck with that.”
“I’m definitely gay, Gram, and not anything in between,” I’d tell her, “but I promise I’ll always try.”
The longer I sat at the bar, chewing over the Fixer Brothers TV show contest that night, the less I felt like leading with love was even possible for me.
I was definitely striking out on my attempts to find a date here at the saloon, at least.
I was 26, and I’d been single ever since I left college.
Which was now five years ago. Alarmingly.
I had to do something. No matter how much I loved it, my house was ancient—cabinets falling apart, a stove that only worked some of the time, and a front door that let a vicious cold draft in on a windy day. It was a perfect candidate for their show.
…I was just sorely lacking in the whole “happy couple” department.
So now I was here, glancing around the bar, on the prowl for any guy who seemed boyfriend-eligible. I lived a five-minute walk away from the Hard Spot Saloon, and even though Bestens, Tennessee wasn’t exactly a gay hot spot, this saloon-style bar was the closest thing we had. I’d put on my cutest collared shirt that everyone always complimented me on, saying it brought out the blue of my eyes. I smiled at anyone who walked by.
Probably looking a smidge desperate, but hoping somebody else might be, too.
This building used to be an old, independent bookstore, and when it had gone out of business, it became the Hard Spot Saloon. Some of the built-in bookshelves had been left up, and they stretched from floor to ceiling, wrapping around nooks and alcoves along the far wall. Each alcove had its own pool table or big leather booth in it, and the bookshelves were now covered with framed photos of Hard Spot regulars from years past.
There was a guy at a pool table in the corner with a woman, plenty of regulars dotted throughout the tables in the saloon, and the usual amount of local farmers relaxing after long days out on the fields.
Nobody who seemed like they’d want to be my boyfriend.
I turned back toward the bar and ordered a second drink, feeling my Fixer Brothers dreams slip away bit by bit.
Maybe it’s time to pack up and head home. You don’t win things, anyway, Shane.
“Hey,” I heard from beside me a minute later. “You going to come join me, or do you just like the view?”
I looked up in the middle of a sip of my drink to see the guy who’d been over in one of the alcoves, playing pool with the woman.
Damn.
He was being awfully forward for a guy I didn’t know.
“What happened to your girlfriend?” I asked.
He was wearing a sweater with a tiny Christmas reindeer pattern all over it, which I couldn’t help but love. There was something about his eyes, too. They were brown, but speckled with green and gold, contrasting against his dark brown hair. His eyes had the permanently-sleepy bedroom eyes kind of look that I loved a little too much.
Probably straight, and definitely out of my league, but I definitely liked looking at him.
“Not my girlfriend,” he said. “Just a friend from my theater group. And she headed home.”
I lifted my eyebrows. “Theater?”
He nodded. “Local plays. That kind of stuff.”
I furrowed my brow. “There’s theater here in Bestens?”
He cast his eyes behind the bar, breaking eye contact with me for a moment. “Well, there was a lot more in New York City, but I haven’t exactly been able to break it there yet. I’m here in Tennessee until the new year, staying with my grandparents.”
“That’s a long time for a vacation. Two months?”
The guy moved his fingers over a knot in the wood bar top, his expression far away again. “My living situation got a little fucked up in New York. I’m back here for now.”
My heart panged. It was clear I’d hit a tender spot.
“Well, maybe I’ll come see one of your plays sometime,” I offered. “Here in Tennessee or over in New York.”
His eyes flashed up to meet mine again, the glimmer returning to them. “I’d rather you come play a round of pool with me, right now.”