Page 7 of A Heart On A Sleeve

five

Olive

I Can Buy My Own Drinks

Ugh! I groan and roll my shoulders back, shaking the tension from my limbs to force myself to stop reflecting on the day I’ve had.

I cannot allow Ariella to sniff out my latest obsession.

I don’t even know why I’m so fixated on him.

He seems sort of like a jerk, and I’m here to do one thing—work.

Speaking of the she-devil, I spot Ariella across the room, sauntering toward me in a leather miniskirt, a white silk tank, and heels.

She looks like a sex kitten on the prowl, rather than someone meeting her bestie for happy hour.

“Hi. Oh my God, I can’t believe you’re here and we finally get to do this,” she says, greeting me cheerily with a hug.

“I mean, if you weren’t a big hotshot marketing boss, we could’ve done this any day this week.” I grin so she knows I’m joking and not at all sad that I’ve been left to settle in alone my first week in town.

“Uh, yeah. I wish that all jobs came with a summer break. Working is the worst.” She lays her head on the table, emphasizing her exhaustion from what could only be too much adulting.

“New job’s that good?”

A smile blossoms on her face. “Actually, it is. I am hopelessly in love with marketing. I’m having so much fun, I just feel like a bad friend. How’s Beau?” She wiggles her eyebrows and giggles at her own question.

“Whatever do you mean? Beau is a peach. So easy to work for. Not grumbly at all.” I laugh with her. Beau is pretty great in reality, but he’s an old man. Very set in his ways with expectations for everything.

The server, an attractive man with red hair and adorable dimples, slides up to our table. “Hey, Ariella, how’s it going? Haven’t seen you in a while.” His voice crackles with something suspiciously close to nerves as his cheeks turn just a smidge past rosy.

“Hi, Howard. It’s so great to see you.” Ari places her hand on top of his resting at the edge of the table. “Can we get three witches’ brews and three shots of tequila?” She freaking winks as she glides her fingers deftly over his hand.

“Y-yes. Coming right up.” He scurries away on a mission to secure our beverages.

“Umm, what was that?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at her. Ari has always had way more confidence than me when it comes to men. She doesn’t get nervous and awkward like I do.

“Oh, that’s just Howie. We went to high school together . . . and he always gives me free drinks. I think he used to have a crush on me back in the day.” She shrugs me off like I can’t see the pink tinge creeping up her neck.

“Mmmk. We will be exploring that at some point. Who’s the third drink for?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

“Oh. Sorry, I forgot to mention I invited Meg. I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course. I love your sister,” I reply, meaning it. Meg is younger than us by two years, but she’s a freaking blast. Always up to no good or scheming up a new plan, she makes Ari’s wild look tame.

Howie delivers our drinks along with something that, if I’m not mistaken, looks like a zero-dollar tab.

Part of me hopes he didn’t comp our check just to get in Ari’s good graces, but the other part of me isn’t mad about not paying for them if it means I get to watch whatever’s going on with them unfold.

I’m too nosy and interested in her love life to stop. I’ll leave him a big tip to compensate.

As I take my first refreshing sip of witches’ brew, more commonly known during the months that don’t end in b - e - r as sangria, a very casually dressed Meg slides into the booth next to Ari. With a mischievous grin adorning her face, she doesn’t have to say a word before I know I’m in trouble.

“ So , Olive. How has Mage been welcoming you so far?” she asks, a knowing smirk dancing on her lips.

“Fine. Uneventful,” I respond, glaring at Ari since she so obviously told her sister about my new gig as the town stripper.

“Meet anyone interesting?”

“Not really, should I have?”

“Nope.” She pops the p on the word emphatically.

“What’s happening right now?” Ari chimes in, glancing between us suspiciously. Okay, maybe she didn’t tell her?

I widen my eyes at Meg, trying to decipher what the play is here. I haven’t done anything other than go to work, get coffee, and spend an irritating amount of time wondering about mystery man, Sam.

“Oh, nothing. A little bird told me that Olive has a new friend in town, and frankly, I was shocked to hear who Little Miss Sunshine has made an impression on.” Mischief paints her face, illuminating just how much of a scoundrel she really is.

Ari looks at me, clearly wondering what I’ve been withholding.

“Oh, please. I haven’t made an impression on anyone. Other than working at the store and my normal morning run, I’ve barely left the cottage,” I repudiate her claim.

“Not what I’ve heard. Rumor has it, a certain sexy tattoo artist has staked his claim on the new little lady in town.” She’s goading me, and I don’t appreciate it one single bit.

“You’ve met Sam?” Ari asks, a hint of glee in her eyes.

“Uh, fine. Yes, I’ve run into him a few times.

Once at work when he was picking up an order, once at the town business meeting that Beau conned me into, and once on my morning run when I literally ran into him.

Other than that, he’s mainly taken to glaring at me from across the street.

” Covering my face with my hands, I wait for the onslaught of questions.

Instead, their cackles rapidly turn into outright hysterics.

I wait for them to say something more, but my patience is waning. “What is so funny?”

“Sam is the one guy that every girl in this town is in love with, not counting us, obviously. It’s hilarious that all it takes is one Southern belle strutting into town, and he’s gone all caveman,” Meg says between sucks of air as she continues to fall apart.

“Okay, let’s not get carried away. The guy isn’t even nice to me. He acts like I’m an idiot . . . He even left me a fluorescent running vest so that I don’t make the mistake of accidentally bumping into him again. I’m positive your source has it wrong.”

I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince at this point, them or me.

He’s nothing like the other guys I’ve dated, but then again, most of my dates have been with a bunch of sticks-in-the-mud who my parents insisted on setting me up with.

They all either wanted me to ask my father to invest in their latest start up or enjoyed telling me all the ways I needed to transform myself to be a better fit for them.

After years of trying to mold myself into the perfect package my mother expected me to be, the last thing I need is another person to remind me of my shortcomings.

“Sam is a catch, don’t get me wrong. But the funny part is, he thinks he actually stands a chance,” Meg says, once again wiggling her eyebrows at me.

“What is that supposed to mean?” I huff, downing the remainder of my drink.

“Oh, come on. We all know you’re . . . How should I say this?

Closed off? When it comes to dating, I mean.

” She shrugs as if she didn’t just pinpoint one of my greatest insecurities.

I’d love to be open to it, to wear my heart on my sleeve.

I’m just not sure the thing thumping in my chest can withstand any more rejection before forgetting how to beat all together.

I take back what I said about loving Meg.

“That’s not true. He’s just not my type,” I say, defending myself before it’s really necessary.

Ari shakes her head and sucks a healthy amount of sangria through her straw. “Do you have a type?”

“I, uh, yeah. Of course, I do.” Not that I could tell anyone what it is.

I try to keep my distance—I’ve spent most of my life working to meet expectations.

In the past, the men I’ve dated haven’t been any different than my parents, always trying to fit me into a perfect little box.

And while most of the time that’s my comfort zone, it’s also exhausting to be stuck there.

It’s easier to avoid the whole dating thing in general, keep people at an arm’s length so they never have a chance to be disappointed with me.

“Mmmk. We’ll definitely be coming back to this.” Ari throws my words from earlier back in my face as I inadvertently allow another groan to slip past my lips. Damn that beautiful man-child and his sexy-as-heck tattoos.

“Are you planning to go to this Hollow Hearts thing tomorrow?” I ask, desperately trying to steer this conversation away from Sam and my dating life in general.

In unison the sisters respond with a resounding, “Of course!”

It’s the best event of the season besides Halloween itself,” Meg adds.

“Tell me more. You know I’m a sucker for a good opportunity to people watch.”

“I mean, the whole thing is kind of sad really. There was this witch Irina who escaped here from the trials . . .” Ari’s referring to the famous Salem witch trials, Beau informed me of that much.

“She was supposedly courting one of the judges, and he was supposed to escape with her to avoid the trials. But legend has it that something went wrong, and they didn’t end up together.

She died an old, lonely woman. No one really knows the whole story, but we celebrate her escape.

It’s sort of like the antithesis of Valentine’s Day.

Being single and lonely is the name of the game. ”

“That sounds . . . depressing?” I question their enthusiasm for what seems like a pretty dark event.

“No, it’s a blast. There’s a lot of cute crafts and seasonal decor to peruse, spiked cider, usually a kissing booth or risqué bobbing for apples.

It’ll be the perfect way to introduce you around, since you’re definitely not interested in Sam,” Meg chimes in while they both raise an eyebrow in my direction.

“Great! Maybe I’ll visit the kissing booth more than once,” I shoot back, not convincing anyone that I will be going within five feet of such a thing.

I don’t do casual, but I don’t do committed either.

Three dates is my sweet spot. No one can get hurt in such a brief period of time—and my mother can’t get her hopes up.

They roll their eyes but thankfully go back to chatting about work and Meg’s return to college. She’s just home for the festival, which is better for me. I don’t need the nosy Nellie tracking my whereabouts or who I have and haven’t met yet.

After another drink, we’re all yawning and ready to pack it in for the evening—adulthood.

Meg and Ari stand from our booth, giving me gentle hugs and waves goodbye.

I’m lingering a bit. I still need to get to Howie and either give him a large tip, or demand that he allows me to pay him for my bill.

The guilt of drinking for free is eating at me.

Standing, I peer out across the dark tavern, searching for the adorable redhead.

My eyes land on a set of unmistakably blue ones staring me down, yet again.

He’s sitting next to an attractive man that’s chattering away while Sam isn’t paying the slightest bit of attention.

Instead, he’s locked in on me, looking better than I’ve ever seen him in a backwards hat.

Did he have to wear the hat, I mean, really?

Choosing not to engage more than necessary, I nod at him in acknowledgment but head toward the opposite end of the hand-hewn bar.

Howie saunters over, an apologetic look etched across his brow.

“Howie. I’m Olive. I need to pay you for my drinks.” Direct and firm, not giving him a chance to deny I’ve been indulging for free.

“I-I c-can’t let you do that, Miss Olive,” he stutters, his nerves evident in how furiously he’s wiping the already clean bar top.

“I won’t tell Ari. I promise. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“Oh. I didn’t. Ari drinks on her dad’s tab, although now that you mention it, I probably shouldn’t have told you that because she thinks I give her free drinks.

And well, if she believes that, maybe . .

. You know what? Nope. Never mind.” He’s talking in circles, and I can’t help but smile at his innocence.

I want to pinch his cheeks and put him in my pocket.

He’s so cute in a nervous and maybe a little nerdy kind of way.

“Okay, well please let me pay you. I can’t let you put my drinks on Tony’s tab.”

“I didn’t. Sam paid,” he says, shrugging like it’s not a big deal when in fact it’s a huge deal—to me.

“Nope.” I toss forty bucks on the bar. “Give him his money back or keep it. But please tell him that I do not take free drinks from strangers. If he’s going to pay for things, he has to ask permission first.” I wink, turning to make a quick exit before any arguing ensues.

Howie might tell him or he might not. Either way, my conscience is clear. I don’t owe anyone a thing.