Page 27

No, it was more than that. She exuded something that made me weak in the goddamned knees. Easiness. Her teasing maybe? And under that snappy exterior, something soft and vulnerable too. Something kind of… sad, maybe, but not the kind that needed pitying. It just seemed like she’d had a hard go, but she wasn’t letting that keep her down.

It was dangerous. I should have stayed away. She even gave me an opportunity.

“You don’t have to stay,” she said as she climbed inside. “At the coffee shop, I mean. I can get a cab home.”

There was a little voice telling me to run.

But I ignored it. “It’s fine,” I said, backing up. “It’s good for me to know what’s happening around Jewel Lakes. To get a feel for all the local establishments.”

“Is that part of your job?”

“Yeah,” I said. It was, sort of, but even I wasn’t foolish enough to lie to myself. That wasn’t why I wanted to go. Not at all. But it could be, I realized. There could be a perfectly neutral, non-Michelle-related reason I wanted to take her to this opening.

“I oversee all the departments who look after everything to do with Barkley Falls. From water supply to events in town spaces.”

“But Roasters is in Millerville?”

“Barkley Falls and Millerville have a lot of crossover.”

I wasn’t sure who I was trying to convince.

As I drove, Michelle asked me more about my job, and I told her about how I had my finger on just about everything that happened in town. I told her about the time I spent outside my job involved in local community projects, charities, and events.

“So, you volunteer at things you do anyway for your job?”

“I spend a lot of time at work managing other people who get to do the fun stuff. It feels good to roll up my sleeves and actually get involved in stuff too. Plus, when I’m not getting paid, it feels more… pure somehow. Like I’m not just doing it for a paycheck.”

Michelle smiled. “You’re an asset to the town, Will.”

“Hell, I wouldn’t go that far. I just care about this town. About the people in it and visiting it. Even if they are pains in the ass half the time all wanting to get married on the same weekend in July every summer.”

“You manage the weddings too?”

“Hell no, that’s where I draw the line.” As we passed the giant Welcome to Millerville sign, I explained how I had a whole events department that reported to me, and how it was one of the biggest departments in the city because of how popular weddings were at Barkley Falls Green.

“It’s a beautiful spot,” she said.

It was a beautiful spot. Barkley Falls Green might be my favorite spot in the whole county, and that said a lot, given how gorgeous the lakes and woods were. The Green was an immaculate lawn and garden on the edge of downtown with a hundred-year-old gazebo overlooking Opal Lake. I made sure the grounds were meticulously maintained and that the gazebo got a fresh coat of paint every year. As a consequence, everyone in the state seemed to want to get married there. While it wasn’t my job to manage bookings, I usually stopped by to make sure no one was messing anything up.

“A couple years ago I went to twenty goddamned weddings,” I said.

“You must really love weddings, huh?” she asked, as I pulled onto the street Roasters was on.

My stomach shifted. I’d walked right into that one. “No, actually,” I said. “Can’t stand them. I don’t really believe in marriage.”

“Don’t believe in it? Like you think it’s a myth?”

She was teasing me.

“They exist. Hell, I’ve been married myself. I just don’t think—” how did I word this so I didn’t sound like an absolute scrooge? “I just think they were transactional arrangements way back when, and, somehow, we got it in our heads that people had to be in love to get married.”

We’d reached the coffee house. I pulled into the parking lot around back, killing the engine.

“That’s generally what’s considered a bare minimum for marriage, yes,” Michelle said, her voice kind of strange.

“Look, I’m sorry if I sound like a cynic,” I said, my hands still on the wheel. “I just didn’t have a great example growing up. My mom was perfect, and my dad was… not.”

Once, during an argument, my little sister Stella told me the reason I didn’t get along with Dad was because we were so similar. I’d been pissed. But she didn’t think it was a terrible insult. She was a lot closer to Dad than me and Hank, and later, she was the one who ended up taking over the garage. “Dad and I are nothing alike,” I’d told her, my voice steely.