Page 4

RYAN

Happy hour is pretty much mandatory after work on Fridays. All of the rangers go.

Well, all of the rangers except for Marlow.

She has an open invite, just like everyone else, but she never shows up. I guess the Grumpy Toad isn’t exactly her style.

Tonight, I have one goal at this: find a date for Blair’s wedding.

It needs to be someone local and someone who won’t read too much into it.

I’m not interested in leading anyone on, but I also know that inviting a woman to an out-of-town family wedding is an inherently romantic situation.

I just need to find a woman who doesn’t look at me all wistfully and doe-eyed when I explain that it’s just a one night thing.

No strings attached, and no repeat performance.

Fridays are thick with tourists in Gatlinburg, Tennessee.

The weekday tourists are having their last night out, while the weekend groups are just kicking off their trips.

If you’re a local, you get used to the ebb and flow of endless tourists around here.

If you’re a single guy, you learn to use it to your advantage.

Between sips of beers and snippets of conversation, I scan the bar. It’s disproportionately full of couples and old people tonight. There’s a group of attractive women in the far corner, but my eyes snag on the familiar face at the bar.

It’s Bonnie. Cute, sweet Bonnie.

She’s five-foot-nothing of curves and smiles with a big, generous laugh and an adorable smattering of freckles across her nose.

Tonight, her trademark brown curls are smoothed straight and her black top plunges to unseen depths behind the bar top. It looks all wrong on her, like she’s trying too hard. She’s laser-focused on the bartender, but he’s too busy to notice her.

Fucking idiot.

All this may make it sound like I’ve got it bad for Bonnie but trust me – I don’t. We almost hooked up once, but that came to a screeching halt when she spilled her guts mid-kiss about how head-over-heels she is for Eric, the bartender.

Ever since then, it’s been my mission to help her out. Because if someone as sweet as Bonnie can’t find true love, there’s no hope at all for the rest of us.

Not that I’m looking for love at the moment…or ever.

I make my way through the crowd and towards the bar in the center of the room.

“Hey, you,” I say, eyeing her up and down then speaking just loud enough to reach Eric’s ears, “Holy shit, you’re looking hot tonight.”

“Thanks,” she smiles with a knowing gleam in her eye. “You, too.”

Eric steals a quick glimpse at us as he pours a beer. Bonnie overcorrects her posture and fusses with her hair.

Personally, I don’t think this dude is worth the trouble.

He’s a string bean hipster who can’t even make a decent Old Fashion.

It pisses me off that he makes Bonnie work so hard for his attention.

She may not be the obvious sexpot knock-out type, but she’s cute and sweet and way too good for this douchebag.

We’ve been playing this game for a few weeks now without much progress. It started after our almost-hook-up. We didn’t exactly plan it out, but we have come to a silent understanding. I flirt with Bonnie in front of Eric in hopes that he’ll get jealous and eventually ask her out.

So far, it’s piqued his interest, but not enough to convince him to make a move. I don’t mind though really. It’s pretty easy to pretend with Bonnie.

And then it hits me. It’s so obvious that I want to kick myself for not thinking of it before now.

Bonnie would be the perfect date to Blair’s wedding.

We’re already sort of pretending anyway.

We get along great. Plus, she’s into someone else so I wouldn’t have to worry about her getting clingy.

And she knows I’m not interested in dating anyone at the moment.

It’s settled. I’ll ask Bonnie.

Just not right now.

Eric is hovering within earshot of us. If he hears me ask her to the wedding, he’ll think we’re something serious and I’ll ruin her chances with him.

“Come find me later,” I say close to her ear. “I need to talk to you about something.”

Bonnie gives me a sweetly suspicious look but smiles and nods. Then she goes back to staring at Eric.

I join Hunter on the opposite side of the bar. He’s trying to flag down the bartender, but Eric appears to be doling out drinks in order of attractiveness. And I’m pretty sure Hunter is as far from Eric’s type as they come.

Glancing around the bar while we make small talk and wait, I feel the buzz of male attention swarming around the entrance.

It’s subtle. So subtle that most people would never notice, but I do.

It’s the way half of the men in the bar are angling themselves towards the door.

The way their eyes are lingering in that direction for as long as they can get away with between sips of beer.

The men who are here with their friends are puffing out their chests, sensing some primal, stupid call to compete with each other.

The men who are here with their wives are less obvious with their attention, but not by much.

It’s a rare thing, to attract this sort of universal male attention. It takes more than an attractive woman. She has to have that mysterious, indefinable quality that makes everyone want a little more from her.

I know all of this because this is exactly the way men reacted when Blair walked into a room. Even if I was right there at her side, they couldn’t help but stare at her.

I straighten up a little, admittedly intrigued by whoever just walked into the bar even before I’ve seen her. And when I finally catch a glimpse, I know immediately that every man in this entire bar doesn’t stand a chance. This woman’s mysteries are buried deep under an uncrackable icy shell.

“What’s she doing here?” I tilt my chin towards the front door. Marlow is standing there glancing around. It’s been a while since I’ve seen her in anything but her Forest Service uniform, so her little floral sundress catches me off-guard.

Hunter glances over his shoulder at her then resumes flagging down the bartender.

“Abby probably convinced her to come. They’ve been working together a lot on the nonprofit. Seems like they’re friends now.”

Marlow and I lock eyes for a second, but we are both quick to look away. She finds Hunter’s wife, Abby, in the crowd and slides into the booth across from her, effectively stealing my spot.

I can’t seem to help but scowl across the room.

“What’s your deal with her?” Hunter sighs.

“There’s no deal. We just don’t get along. She’s a pain in the ass.”

“You know, Abby used to get under my skin like that when we first met, too.”

“Oh no, this is nothing like your cute little ‘I pretend you annoy me because I’m actually in love with you’ bullshit. My annoyance with Marlow is true and pure.”

“If you say so,” Hunter laughs as he throws down a couple of dollar bills for a tip and collects his drinks off the bar. “And did you just call me cute?”

“Fuck off.”

We make our way through the crowd and back to our table.

Hunter scoots into the booth beside Abby and sets a gin and tonic down in front of her.

Marlow and I issue bland greetings to one another.

She doesn’t scoot any farther into the booth, opting to sit right in the middle instead.

It’s the opposite of an invitation. I lean against the side of the booth and take a swig of my beer.

This awkward display earns us both annoyed looks from Hunter and Abby.

When Marlow announces that she’s going to the bar to get a drink, I’m quick to casually reclaim my spot in the booth. This backfires on me when she returns a few minutes later and Abby urges me to scoot in so Marlow can sit down.

The booths are narrow, so Marlow and I have to work to keep our space. Each movement is a tense correction of posture to prevent our thighs or shoulders from grazing one another.

All hope is lost though when Emmett pushes his way into the booth beside Marlow, squishing the two of us together as he sets two handfuls of shot glasses down between all of us.

“Bottoms up, everyone!” he yells across the booth and hoists one of the five shot glasses into the air.

The rest of us hoist ours up with decidedly less enthusiasm. The difference between our early twenties and late twenties has never been so glaringly obvious.

We all clink our glasses together, but in that final moment before we tip them back, I notice the silent pause happening between Hunter and Abby.

It’s not lost on Marlow either. Before we can all register what’s going on, Marlow has downed both her own shot and Abby’s.

She does it so quickly, so smoothly, that Emmet doesn’t even seem to notice.

It’s weird. I never would have taken Marlow for a big drinker. It contradicts all of her perfect composure.

Once Emmett slides out of the booth and returns to the bar for another round, the rest of our table sits in strange silence.

I’m not sure what’s going on, but I don’t really want to hang around to find out.

I motion for Marlow to slide out so I can track down Bonnie and then maybe even find some company for the night.