Page 5

MARLOW

“So, I’m guessing that’s not actually a gin and tonic in that glass?” I ask Abby after Hunter wanders off.

“Just water with lime.”

“How far along are you?”

“Eight weeks. We aren’t ready to tell anyone yet.”

“Well, congratulations. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Thanks…and thanks for taking that shot for me. I think Hunter and I both panicked for a second there,” she smiles.

Abby doesn’t work for the Forest Service, but she’s starting a nonprofit that’s sponsored by the agency.

Nature Track helps at-risk kids by taking them out on the Appalachian Trail for wilderness therapy.

And even though it doesn’t fall strictly under the responsibilities of my position, helping her set the whole thing up is my favorite part of my job.

Ever since I was in foster care myself, I’ve wanted to work with kids like me. Kids in difficult situations, kids who don’t have the support they need.

The natural career path for me was to work with foster kids. Managing foster care and adoption cases back in Chicago was both rewarding and heart-breaking. I was prepared for that. I just wasn’t prepared for the scales to be so stubbornly tipped toward heartache.

After five years, I needed a break. It all hit too close to home.

I bottled it all up, just like I learned to do when I was a kid being passed from home to home, and I managed to keep some level of professional detachment.

But just barely. Most nights I was a wreck.

Barely sleeping, barely eating. Barely functioning.

But the chance to help kids indirectly through Abby’s program appealed to me. It’s honestly why I accepted this job over the other offers I received.

“Marlow?”

Abby’s voice fades in and I realize I’ve been distractedly sipping at my drink.

My head swims. I’ve never been much of a drinker, and I haven’t done shots in the better part of a decade.

“Sorry, what?” I ask.

“What’s the deal with you and Ryan?”

Oh, that .

I shrug and take another ill-advised sip of my drink.

But Abby doesn’t give up that easily. “Do you guys have a thing going on?”

“A thing ? Oh God, no. Unless by ‘thing,’ you mean mutual disdain.”

“So, it’s not just an act? I sort of thought you two were secretly hooking up or something.”

I can’t decide if the sudden urge to vomit is the alcohol or the thought of being one of Ryan’s many, many conquests.

“It’s not an act. We genuinely dislike each other. In fact, he poured glitter all over me just yesterday as some sort of stupid prank.”

Abby laughs and shakes her head at me. “I think you’re misreading the situation. I mean, if I genuinely disliked someone, I wouldn’t spend my time on an elaborate plot to cover them in glitter. Are you sure he wasn’t just trying to break the ice with you a little? Or maybe flirting with you?”

“Definitely not,” I say. Although I wonder if she’s onto something with her theory about breaking the ice. “At least not the flirting part…”

“Well, I think you should prank him back and see what happens. Maybe you two just need to clear the air and get a fresh start.”

I shrug and take a long sip of my drink to avoid committing to an actual answer.

The afternoon turns into night. Through the small window in the door, I see that it’s getting dark outside. The bar is getting rowdier. The drinks are flowing easier.

When Emmett comes back with another tray of shots later, I take two again. The third time he comes around, Hunter manages a quick sleight of hand and gulps down an extra shot.

Thank God for that. I’d probably be on the floor if I had to take another.

The rest of my night is a mission to drink all of Gatlinburg’s water supply so I can sober up.

On one of my many, many trips to the bathroom, I spot Ryan in the crowd. He’s talking to a tall blonde. Even though she’s probably the most attractive woman in the bar, Ryan is acting completely disinterested.

So, this is his tactic? Making women work hard for his attention? As if they should beg for the pleasure of going home with him. As if he could have any woman in this bar.

Okay…he probably could. Except for me, of course.

Abby’s words from earlier rattle around in the fuzzy corners of my brain.

Break the ice.

Prank him back.

This is the answer to all of my problems with Ryan. It will show him that I’m fun. I can totally handle pranks. All of the pranks. I am the prank queen…not an emotionally crippled basket case who cries over spilled glitter.

Maybe this will be our thing – playing pranks on each other instead of simply hating each other’s guts.

Yep, this is totally the right thing to do.

I’m sure of it right up until my last sober brain cell screams at me to stop. But it’s too late. I’m already right there beside him, too close to turn back.

“There you are, babe!” I say in my cheeriest voice.

Ryan turns and knits his eyebrows in confusion when he sees me standing there. I thread my arm through the crook of his elbow and give him a quick peck on the cheek.

Guess I’ll be spending the rest of the night washing my lips.

“Uh – I,” he stammers.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” I chirp. My boob is pressed into the solid muscle of his upper arm. He’s staring at me like I’m an oily pigeon that has just landed on his shoulder. And across from us both, the blonde sucks her teeth.

Perfect. Maybe she’ll throw her drink in his face.

All three of us stand there awkwardly for a moment.

I definitely did not plan this out very well.

My tipsy brain sort of imagined her snorting in disgust, calling him a name, and stomping off in the opposite direction.

Instead, the blonde stands there and simply watches us.

She’s even more gorgeous up close. A smile tugs at her full lips, and suddenly I can’t help but feel like she’s in on the joke.

Shifting uncomfortably as the seconds tick by, I blurt out, “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend, babe?”

“Sure, babe ,” he says curtly. Ryan casts a sideways glance at me. Annoyance leeches out of him as he speaks. “This is Blair; Blair, this is Marlow, my coworker.”

“Your coworker?” she laughs abruptly. Her eyes slowly scan me from head to toe. “ You’re a forest ranger?”

It occurs to me to be offended, but I push past it for the sake of the joke.

“Yeah, but we’re not just coworkers, right…Ry-Ry?”

Ew. What? Ry-Ry?

“Um, apparently not, Marl,” he says.

“Oh, so you must be his date then?” the blonde asks. Her tone is all wrong. There’s no indignation, no anger, or confusion. In fact, she seems less confused than I am.

Maybe I’m too drunk for this.

“Y-yes, we are on a date,” I say with an oddly triumphant flourish of my hand.

Yep, definitely too drunk for this.

Blair laughs again. I glance over at Ryan, but he won’t look at me. His jaw is set and he’s watching the woman carefully. Not like he’s admiring her though…more like he’s half expecting her to stab him.

“No, I mean for my wedding. You must be Ryan’s plus one,” she clarifies.

My stomach drops. Ryan stands stiffly beside me, making no effort to interject. Heat floods my chest and face. I know I’ve gone full tomato.

“Sorry, how do you two know each other?” I ask.

There’s a long pause.

“Blair and I used to date,” Ryan finally says, “and now she’s marrying my stepbrother.”

Another long pause. This has to be the most awkward situation in the history of the world.

When I was younger, I saw something on TV about spontaneous combustion.

For whatever reason, I thought it was something that happened to everyone sooner or later.

I lived in fear of it for weeks, until I turned in a seriously misguided report on it for science class and my teacher sat me down and explained that I didn’t need to worry about it.

It’s not real, she told me.

This is the first time I’ve thought to argue with that assertion. It certainly feels like I’m about to burst into flames.

“Right, well I should really get back to my friends.” Blair forces a smile as she glances back and forth between us. “But it was great bumping into you. I guess I’ll see you both next weekend.”

Blair trots off with her blonde waves bouncing behind her. Ryan downs the rest of his beer in a single gulp. He glances at me briefly without a hint of emotion on his face before he walks away.

I’m glued to my spot.

Part of me wants to go after Ryan and apologize, but I know it’s the wrong course of action right now. It would be more for my benefit than his. I’ve crossed the line from tipsy to drunk and I couldn’t possibly muster up the apology that he deserves right now.

Instead, I close out my tab at the bar and try to sneak out without being spotted. Fleeing seems like the smartest move at this point. Just as I’m about to step out of the bar, a hand catches my arm.

“Are you leaving?” Abby yells over the crowd.

“Yeah, I’m not feeling so great. I think I need to go lay down.”

“I can drive you,” she offers.

“No, don’t worry about it. I just live around the corner. I can walk.”

“Are you sure? Will you at least text me when you get home?”

I nod and step out into the cool night air. Noise from the overflowing bars spills out into the street. As I pass by a row of touristy bars, a group of men turns to check me out. Their drunken catcalls echo down the street, but I don’t acknowledge them.

The prank-gone-wrong plays on repeat in my head. Why did I think that I could pull something like that off? With Ryan of all people? We aren’t even friends, and now he probably hates me more than ever. At least he has a good reason for disliking me now.

A set of footsteps falls into line right behind me. I stiffen and glance backwards, expecting to see one of the cat-callers from a moment ago. But instead, it’s Ryan.

“What are you doing?”

“You’re drunk. You shouldn’t be walking home alone,” he says.

“It’s just a couple blocks.”

“Still,” he says.

It hardly seems right to argue with him, considering that I just humiliated myself (and probably him) in front of his ex and he is still offering to walk me home.

We walk the two blocks silently. An apology almost bubbles past my lips a couple times, but there are tears lurking somewhere in that same vicinity, so I bite them both back.

I’m not sure why I’m feeling so emotional. I guess I’m not a very fun drunk.

When we reach the bakery, I stop to fish my keys out of my purse. The little cobblestone square outside is quiet, far removed from the nighttime debauchery of the town.

“You know this is a bakery, right?” Ryan asks.

“Yeah, I live in the apartment upstairs.”

He looks skeptical, like maybe I’m so drunk that I’ve convinced myself that this German bakery is my home. It seems I made quite the impression tonight.

I unlock the door and pause before stepping inside.

“Thanks for walking me home,” I say.

“No problem.”

There are no goodnights. Ryan gives me a quiet nod, shoves his hands in his pockets, and turns to walk back to the bar.