Page 48 of More than Fiction (Misty Springs #1)

Corbin

After finishing up at the office , I was too keyed up to lock myself in my hotel room for the evening. The crumpled comforter reminded me of my afternoon with Sophia and the bruise on my heart from the conversation that followed.

I wandered into the lobby, knowing I wouldn’t find Sophia. Instead, I found Cassie, who insisted I start buying some of those “damn expensive whiskey drinks I forced her to order.”

I spent over a hundred dollars on drinks. Only one was for me, the rest Cassie guzzled down after her shift ended.

I didn’t know where she put them. She was small, maybe five foot five, and slender, but she drank more than I’d seen most men handle.

She and I had developed… not quite a friendship but more of a mutual understanding.

After she caught me off guard with her comment about Sophia, I cleared the air with her.

After that, we would occasionally talk during my stays at Elijah’s—if you could call quips, backhanded comments, and the occasional roast “talking.”

I found Cassie’s company refreshingly easy. We could share silence without it ever feeling awkward. Through her, I picked up bits and pieces about Sophia—fragments of who she was, seen through the eyes of someone who clearly cared for her. Cassie spoke about Sophia with genuine admiration.

I also learned Cassie’s dad owned the construction company working on our office space, and that her brother, Brent—the beast of a man who dropped off plans on my first day—was part of the crew .

The more time I spent here, the more I realized Misty Springs wasn’t just a town—it was a web of people tightly woven together. So many stories overlapped, like books in a series.

Cassie even mentioned her grandmother used to know mine. They both used to volunteer at the town library before she moved away.

That small detail stuck with me more than I expected.

No one mentioned my grandmother unless it concerned Buzz or the company.

This piece of history was solely Gram’s.

It was like finding a thread from the past stitched straight into the present—and into this strange little town I hadn’t meant to care about.

After the bar closed at Elijah’s around ten, I found myself venturing out into the cool evening with another destination in mind—I was a glutton for punishment.

I pulled into Boomer’s parking lot and was surprised by the number of cars still there this late on a Monday.

What was I even doing here?

I sat in the car, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel, steeling myself against the irrational urge to go inside. As I stared at the building, a couple walked out, the guy casually throwing his arm around the girl.

They moved together through the cold parking lot, their foggy breaths puffing into the night air. He leaned down and whispered something in her ear, and she laughed as she nestled into his chest.

The whole thing was disgusting.

I took a breath and, against my better judgment, walked through the door into Boomer’s.

Sophia was busy, far too busy to even notice me walk in. Engrossed with jotting down orders amongst a sea of rather large, athletic-looking men.

The scene settled uneasily in my veins. The way those tight jeans hugged her ass, the way her hips swayed as she shimmied her way around the table, the low V of her shirt—the way they all noticed it, too.

I walked over to the bar, which held even more burly men.

What the hell was going on tonight that caused all of these guys to be here? Where did they come from? The whole scene was chaotic .

I was just about to admit defeat, turn around, and leave when I saw a flash of red in my periphery. With his trimmed beard, it took me a moment, but I eventually recognized Brent.

He strode behind the bar like he worked here, tossing an empty beer pitcher in the air before refilling it at the tap.

He glanced up at me, recognition filling his face. “Hey, fancy seeing you here.”

I shrugged. “I needed a drink. Thought I’d stop in.”

“It’s a little louder than usual tonight.” He glanced around, scowling at the crowded bar before turning back to me. “You like darts?”

“I do.”

“Good, we need a fourth.” He plucked a pint glass from behind him before stepping out from the bar. He cocked his head at me to follow.

Beer wasn’t my first choice, but something told me I’d be waiting a while before Sophia could spare a moment to get me anything different. Assuming she could spare any of her attention tonight.

I felt slightly defeated as my planless plan to talk to Sophia failed as I followed Brent past a dividing wall. The scene back here was quieter, more relaxed.

“That’s Sam.” He pointed the pitcher toward a guy with mahogany-colored hair and a matching beard, who gave a quick wave. “This is Trevor,” he added, nodding to a bright-eyed man with a few wild, light-colored tresses peeking out from under a backward baseball cap.

I nodded toward the group, but a sudden unease hit me in the lingering seconds that ticked by after our brief introduction.

I was used to crowds that buzzed with distraction—live music loud enough to fill any silence, champagne glasses constantly refilled before they were ever emptied, and conversations that barely skimmed the surface.

But here?

Here, there were no velvet ropes, no calculated small talk, no scripted pleasantries disguised as networking.

Just me and them .

I shifted my weight, suddenly hyperaware of how out of place I might seem. And for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t sure how to blend in.

Thankfully, Brent didn’t allow my anxiety to rise too high before he slapped me on my back, introducing me in return.

“Guys, this is Corbin, and he and I are about to mop the floor with you at Cricket.”