Page 53 of More than Fiction (Misty Springs #1)

Corbin

After their accusations , followed by a back slap and a we’re just messing with you dismissal from Brent, Sophia’s friends gave me a reprieve.

Their curiosity shifted to other areas of interest—namely, drinking games. The raucous energy of their games—quarters, and some chaotic thing called fingers—filled the bar with laughter.

I joined in, Sophia’s friends, and the game eased the tension in my chest.

It was nearing midnight, the crowd had barely begun to thin, and I still hadn’t seen Sophia.

“Darts?” Trevor called out from behind Cassie, who gave an exaggerated eye roll.

“Let’s go!” Sam grinned, tossing me an inviting glance.

Brent led the way as we wove our way through the crowd to the other side of the bar. Once we crossed the dividing wall, the atmosphere noticeably shifted—quieter, calmer, with a subdued energy that felt like a different world entirely.

Sam plucked the darts from their rack, tossing one lightly in the air and catching it effortlessly. Trevor fiddled with the tattered dry erase board that served as our scoreboard, his voice rising in a mock play-by-play as he narrated their imagined victory.

“Don’t psych yourself up too much, champ.” Brent smirked, grabbing a dart and eyeing the board with mock intensity. “Zoolander and I smoked you last time, and we’ll do it again.”

“Zoolander?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Your nickname,” Trevor said with a smirk. “Since you always dress like some damn model. ”

“And out of all the models in existence, that’s who you went with? Zoolander?”

Sam nearly spit out his beer, laughing as he wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, and Brent’s grin widened into a toothy smile.

Trevor grinned as he lined up his shot, the four of us falling silent as he flung each dart at the board.

“So, what is your intention with our Sophia?” Trevor asked after his last shot landed.

“Shit, Trev. Lana said to have some tact about it,” Brent chided.

“What the fuck is tact? We all want to know.” Trevor rebounded.

“I have no intention ,” I said, lining up my shot. Then I dropped my hand at my side, turning to face them. “She’s about to work for me. That’s it.”

The guys each found a different corner of the ceiling to avert their eyes to, quietly avoiding my attempt to convince them—and myself—that there was nothing more between us.

The guys’ silence threw off my game. I missed every dart I threw.

“Trevor, will you shut the hell up when it’s our turn to throw?” Brent grabbed the darts I handed him. “You keep messing Zoolander up.”

“If a little distraction about Sophia is all it takes, I’ll bring her up all evening,” Trevor joked. “Right, Sammy?” Trevor nudged Sam’s arm. “Sam! Why are you so quiet, man?”

“What? I’m not! Is it my turn?” Sam jolted out of his chair.

Sam lined up and threw, missing every one of his shots, too.

“What is with you guys tonight? My back hurts from carrying you. Focus Sammy. FOCUS!” Trevor made a two-finger I’m watching you gesture between him and Sam.

Brent lined up to throw next, easily hitting his targets as he spoke. “I’m just sorry I didn’t let you punch Landon in his stupid fucking mouth. That guy needs a good ass-kicking.”

I took a sip of the whiskey Cassie had ordered for me—she was right—it wasn’t bad. “Landon won’t be a problem for any of us anymore.”

Trevor paused mid-throw and turned his head to me. “Okay, that was the most badass fucking thing I’ve ever heard someone say in real life.” He walked over to me, his eyes wide as he excitedly turned his Chase Construction ballcap backward. “What’d you do?”

***

The bar was empty, with the exception of Sophia and her friends, by the time the guys and I emerged from the back room.

I’d filled the guys in on the high-level details of the Norwood family's sudden exit, and they all insisted they owed me a shot the next time we threw darts.

Next time.

The words stuck with me. A month ago, I would’ve considered this whole town a pit stop—just a rung on the ladder to CEO.

But things were shifting. I hadn’t expected to enjoy the quiet camaraderie with the guys, the easy way Cassie called me out without blinking, or Lana’s coffee.

I hadn’t expected to feel anything at all.

And now, even with the Norwood family handled, even with Sophia and me off-limits, and no reason to come back once the branch took off… a part of me was already anticipating that next time.

And another part—one I didn’t quite recognize—was surprised by how much I might actually miss this place, these people, this feeling .

I saw Sophia bussing glassware from tables near the bar. A deeply rooted sense of desire clung to me to protect what was mine, even if it wasn’t.

She looked up at me, her face morphing into shock. She clumsily dropped the glass she was holding. The shattering sounds echoed off the empty walls of the bar.

“Shit,” she cursed.

“I got it!” Trevor called, walking instinctively over to the broom and dustpan as if he’d cleaned the floors of this bar a hundred times.

Her friends were all performing some sort of job: Brent stacked chairs, Lana wiped tables, and Cassie wiped the bar top. Even in their slightly buzzed state and the fact they weren’t getting paid a dime to work there, they all pitched in.

Sophia strode over to where I stood by a row of booths, grabbing a bucket with spare rags on her way. Her friends paused their tasks briefly to watch our exchange.

“What are you doing here?” she asked .

“I had some business to attend to in Misty Springs.”

She crossed her arms as she looked at me.

“Really? We’re doing this again?” Her face tinged slightly pink.

My eyebrows lifted as we both seemed to recall our conversation in the hotel room when I pulled the tag from her shorts.

She glanced back at her friends, who quickly resumed their labors, before lowering her voice. “What kind of business ?” she asked with a coy grin, confirming my suspicions.

Looking into Sophia’s deep blue eyes, I realized I didn’t want to see them ache with talks about the Norwood family and their schemes—I definitely didn’t want tonight spent with her thinking about her ex-fiancé and his family.

So I avoided the question altogether. “I’m heading back tomorrow morning to spend Thanksgiving with my grandparents.”

I held out my hand, gesturing toward the bucket she brought over. She handed me a spare rag. I got to work wiping the neighboring booth.

Her face deflated slightly, and she nodded. “How have things been since Toni’s accident? Have you talked anymore with Buzz?”

I paused a moment.

Most people ask questions like that as currency—“How are your grandparents?” actually means, Where are the cracks in your armor? Where can we press?

It was always calculated. Their curiosity came with an edge, a purpose. If my grandfather’s mental health was faltering, that meant a power vacuum. If my grandmother was struggling, it meant we might be distracted.

Weak. Vulnerable.

But with Sophia… it didn’t feel like an interrogation. It felt like care .

I cleared my throat, focusing on a particularly sticky spot on the booth. “Toni’s home now. Buzz is still… quieter than usual. Different.”

“Are you okay?” she asked softly, gently brushing my shoulder with her hand.

I wasn’t. Not entirely. But it wasn’t just my grandparents weighing on me. It was the way her touch still undid me, the way my blood pumped when she looked at me like that .

“Corbin, come over here!” Trevor called from behind the bar.

Sophia gave me an excited smile before nodding her head toward the bar. “C’mon, these rascals won’t stop until we toast to Turkey Day. It’s tradition.”

Devyn quickly jumped up onto one of the bar stools. “You know the drill, Sammy, pour me something strong.”

“Your wish is my command.” Sam grabbed her hand, kissing the back of it.

I stopped Sophia before she made it behind the bar, placing my hand on her shoulder and pressing her into a barstool. No way I was going to allow her to make her own drink. She worked her ass off tonight.

“I got you, Sophia,” I whispered in her ear.

Her breath hitched, and she turned slightly to me, her lips near mine.

Her friends exchanged a look again, the same one from earlier. There was no hiding things from this group. They knew Sophia too well.

Sophia watched me intently as I pulled down a bottle of Hendrick’s gin, a couple bottles of Vermouth, and a martini shaker. I knew she liked martinis and found myself wanting to prove I could make one as good—if not better—than her little bartender friend from the gala.

Lana requested white wine, which Brent seemed eager to make for her—probably because it only involved pouring one liquid into a glass.

Trevor got Cassie a whiskey, to which he tried to bribe her to pay him in an over-the-shirt boob squeeze.

Brent punched Trevor on the arm, telling him to find someone else’s sister to hit on.

Sam made a beeline for the margarita machine, which was spinning the premade slush on the bar behind him. He plucked a glass and started pouring.

Sophia watched me intently as I shook the martini shaker, her eyes skimming down my arms. I had discarded my jacket and rolled up my sleeves, and I may have flexed a little more than necessary as I mixed the drink. I strained the liquid into a martini glass and set it on the bar in front of her .

Her hands brushed mine as she grabbed it, and I slowly traced her hand with my fingertips as I let go.

I watched her sapphire-blue eyes intently as she took a sip.

Her tongue darted out to lick the remnants from her pink lips, lips I could still taste on mine, lips I enjoyed seeing wrapped around me, all the way to the base.

Suddenly, that was all I could think about.

“What the hell is this?” Devyn’s voice cut through my lust-fueled thoughts.

All heads turned to her, and she held up a plastic straw with a margarita-soaked diamond ring dangling from the end.

Confusion flickered across her face as she looked around for answers—until she noticed Sam wasn’t standing behind her anymore.

He was kneeling on the floor.

A collective gasp rippled through the group as Sam took Devyn’s free hand.

“Devyn,” Sam began, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “Two years ago, I met you in this bar, and you’ve owned my heart every day since.”

Sophia slid from her barstool, stepping toward Lana and Cassie, their arms wrapping around each other as they squealed in unison, an almost choreographed burst of excitement.

“These floorboards,” he continued, gesturing toward them with a wry smile, “they’ve seen a lot—our first date, some stale beer, and… if I’m not mistaken, the aftermath of your first J?gerbomb.”

The group chuckled, though Brent muttered, “You’re losing her.”

Cassie groaned something about leaving out the vomit.

Sam exhaled a shaky breath. “Devyn Flores, will you marry me?”

“Yes!” Devyn squeaked, her voice breaking with emotion.

Sam rose to his feet, lifting her off the barstool in one swift move and spinning her in an exuberant hug before pressing his lips firmly to hers.

The girls huddled together, jumping up and down and squealing, while Trevor and Brent exchanged grins, glasses clinking.

I stayed where I was, a whiskey glass in hand, watching the scene unfold from behind the bar .

Sophia, Lana, and Cassie rushed to Devyn, their voices a flurry of high-pitched squeals about how beautiful the ring was—until Devyn laughed, holding up her hand. “It’s sticky.”

Sam ambled over to the guys, chest puffed like he’d just hit a game-winning shot. Trevor and Brent greeted him with rough hugs, back pats, and teasing grins.

“That was probably the worst proposal I’ve ever seen,” Brent said with a smirk.

“Was it?” Sam asked, unbothered, still beaming with excitement.

“You could’ve left out the J?ger-induced puking,” Trevor quipped.

“She still said yes.” Sam’s grin stretched ear to ear as he winked at me.

I joined them, stepping out from behind the bar.

“I thought it was perfect.” I clinked glasses with Sam.

And I meant it—I’d seen proposals orchestrated to perfection, complete with flash mobs, champagne fountains, and designer rings.

But this? This was something else entirely.

Unpolished, quirky, and raw.

I looked around at this tight-knit group of friends, their lives interwoven with laughter, teasing, and loyalty that bound them together. They were a chosen family, weathering life’s highs and lows in tandem.

Even more profoundly, I felt like I wasn’t just a silent observer of their world—I was part of it.