Tequila Rose

by Willow Winters

  Four years later, this is the only job I’ve ever had, and with the new website and increased sales, it’s paying pretty darn well to boot.

  I suck down the rest of my coffee before clicking on an email about the exhibition coming up. We’re hosting the event and I needed lodging information from Chandler. He runs the inn a few blocks down.

  The rates and blocked-out dates were the last pieces of information I needed to send out a mass email to all invited guests. By the time I’m done thanking Chandler and whipping up a draft of the email, which I forwarded Mandy to check before I send, a new email comes through. It’s from Mandy. She can’t make it in today. Darn, I really wanted to brag about—I mean, celebrate the sales. On the other hand, literally the other hand, is her coffee, which I shall gladly drink.

  I finish mine and scoot hers closer to my laptop. It doesn’t escape me that it’s a bit vexing to not allow any drinks in the gallery, even though I drink coffee right here every day.

  But I’m a single mother of a three-year-old. I need the coffee if I’m expected to function and unlike patrons, I can’t exactly leave just to get a drink when I’m supposed to be working.

  Just as I’m replying to Mandy, updating her on several things she should know ASAP, including the details about the exhibit, the door chimes a subtle ring and I hear a familiar voice.

  “Why is it always dead in here?” Renee asks in a comical tone that makes me smile. She wanders over to one of the new pieces we just got in from New York. It’s abstract circles painted with watercolors on a four-by-seven canvas. The edges have a hint of silver and, in the right light, they look like the phases of the moon.

  “She’s brilliant, isn’t she?” I ask Renee in return, ignoring the question about it being dead in here.

  After squinting at the name on the info card next to the canvas, she tells me, “Yeah, Samantha has serious talent.” She whispers when I make my way to her, sans coffee, “This would look even more brilliant in my bedroom.”

  The laugh is genuine, leaving me with a grin. “You wish,” I say. With my arms crossed, I admire the painting again.

  “I’m doing the video for it today, want to sit in?”

  Renee walks to the bench at the front, leaning against it she makes a face that forces my grin to grow wider. “I’d really rather not.”

  Renee isn’t exactly into art. I don’t hold it against her because most people like to look at it, but are bored by the details. I get it; I know it’s my nerd side. She doesn’t hold that against me, which is why we work so well together.

  “I was on my lunch break and thought you may be lonely in here. Since, you know, there’s never anyone in here.”

  “I told you,” I say, repeating what I’ve told her a million times, “the sales are mostly online, but we need the space for displaying the art and hosting events.”

  “So you say,” she says and slips out her phone. “I’ve got forty minutes, want to go to Charlie’s?”

  I take a peek at my own phone, checking the time and then snatching my newly acquired coffee. Martin won’t be here for another two hours. He does the packing and shipping and although I don’t physically do anything, he likes to have me around if he has questions about which pieces are which. He’s an older man in his seventies and technically retired from the postal service. Boredom led him to apply for the job. I’m glad Mandy hired him; he’s got stories that pass the time. So many stories about this small town.

  “Charlie’s it is,” I say. I make sure to lock up, the bells above the door chiming for good measure. As I’m pulling on the handles to double-check it’s all secured, Renee asks me about Bridge’s first week of preschool.

  She’s the fun aunt I wish I’d had when I was growing up. It makes me happy Bridget has her. Sharon and Autumn too. The three of them taught me a valuable lesson: friends can be your family.

  From the gallery it’s only a five-minute walk to Charlie’s Bar and Grill. Naturally I brag about Bridge the entire way and it only makes Renee smile.

  “That’s my girl.”

  It’s a little past noon on a Thursday, so Charlie’s is bustling with people. The side patio is only half-full, though, maybe because the spring weather is bit hotter today than it should be.

  Gesturing to the square iron table complete with a blue and white umbrella, I ask Renee, “Want to sit here?”

  Nodding, she sits before I do. The matching iron chair doesn’t look comfortable, but I’ve been here for hours some nights and I know looks can be deceiving.

  “I don’t know how you do it all alone.” Her downtrodden tone is unlike her and I don’t care for it.

  I shrug, smiling as I see the side door crack open and Mary Sue steps out, propping the door open with her foot as she digs around in her apron tied at her waist, searching for something. Probably a pen.

  “I’m not alone,” I tell her and give her a gentle nudge. There were plenty of moments over the past four years where I felt alone, although I’d never tell her that. I think everyone has those moments, though, no matter how many people are around you. Every mother definitely has those moments. It’s just a part of raising a child. I don’t want pity. Not when it comes to Bridget. She’s the best part of my life, my world. I don’t need pity because of that. Save it for my bills and family history.

  Renee is a freaking mind reader, so I avoid her gaze the moment those thoughts hit me. I stare across the street, noting all the windows that are open at the bakery and making a mental promise to myself to walk that way when I go back to work. I love the smell of freshly baked bread.

  Mary Sue Rodding, a sweet redhead with a fresh face and bright green eyes, takes our order. She’s waited on me the last three times and she remembered right away that I wanted both a sweet tea and a water, neither one with lemon. Her cousin is the football coach at Fieldview High, where she’s on the cheerleading squad.

  Her family knows my family. Or knew them, I guess that’s more correct to say. I’m the last of the Williamsons and when I get married, poof, that tainted name will be gone. I’ll have an extra glass of champagne just to celebrate that victory.

  It took me a long time to look anyone in the eye. Mary Sue always gives me a broad smile when she sees me, though. I think part of it is because she likes me, and part of it is because she likes the big tips I leave her. She’s also younger and it’s typically the older crowd that has an … issue with me from time to time.

  “So the case is settled, Bridgey is in preschool, you have an exhibition coming up … anything else new?” Renee asks the second Mary Sue turns to head to the table behind us. I don’t recognize the people, must be folks from out of town.

  Shrugging, I struggle to think of anything at all. I just feel relieved. For the first time in a long time, everything seems to be going right.

  “Ooh, there’s something new,” Renee says as her face flushes crimson and she winds the tips of her auburn hair around her fingers. She tilts her chin forward and whispers, “Check them out.”

  I swear her hazel eyes flash when she decides to turn on her charm. My first reaction is to shake my head at her in feigned disapproval. Let’s be real, though, I love a good piece of man candy.

  I’m half hoping it’s someone doing construction on the old hardware store downtown. I know it’s in the process of being torn down and I envision a crew of construction workers, bodies glistening in the heat.

  My body feels alive with awareness but my heart stutters, somersaulting over itself. I was not expecting to see a man I know.

  I recognize his eyes first then his broad shoulders. The flash of a memory lights my body on fire. Thump, thump, my heart comes back to life.

  Brody. The hiss of his name moaned years ago ricochets in my memory.

  He looks all of the man I remember him to be, with a bit of wrinkles that are new around his eyes. The proof of his age only adds to how handsome he is. He has stubble I can see from here; it darkens his strong jaw.

  The smile falls from my
face in slow motion. He’s looking at me and I’m looking at him.

  Oh shit. I suck in a deep breath, clutching the cloth napkin in my lap.

  He saw me.

  Brody

  There’s an undeniable feeling when you meet the gaze of someone who knows you. Take that sensation and multiply it by a thousand, and you still wouldn’t come close to what I felt when her blue eyes finally found mine.

  I knew it was her. The second I saw her, recognition washed over me. It started at the back of my neck and traveled lower. Taking its time just like she did when she drank me in.

  That’s exactly what she did. The look in her eyes changed from mournful to longing and then grew hotter, blazing until she knew I saw her too.

  Caught in my stare, her lips parted like I’d seen them do before and her eyes went wide. I can practically hear her heart hammering in her chest even though we’re across the patio of this restaurant.

  “Dude, what the fuck?” Griffin’s comment distracts me, pulling my attention from her for just a split second.

  His brow is cocked and his mouth open but no words come out. With a gesture of his hand, he silently scolds me for staring her down. It’s enough of a distraction, causing enough time to go by for Rose to hightail it out of there, her chair sliding back noisily and nearly falling over. I don’t remember a time when I’ve wanted to kick his ass more than this.

  “Mags!” the woman she’s with calls out as Rose’s floral skirt takes off in a blur.

  The iron legs of my chair scrape against the floor as I get up to follow her. It’s her. It is absolutely her. Why she’s running? I have no idea but every instinct in me forces my muscles to cord and tense so I can follow her while I call out, “Rose?”

  “Dude!” Griffin yells out, causing the onlookers who were focused on the object of my own attention to turn their prying eyes toward me. I couldn’t give two shits … if it wasn’t for the woman now standing up from her seat and refusing to let me pass. She’s blocking my path by the railing, preventing me from running down the steps and around the corner where Rose just took off.

  “I don’t know who you are,” the tall woman says below her breath with her lips barely moving. She’s tall and thin but somehow still appears athletic. Her eyes narrow as she looks at me and continues, “But I swear to all things holy,” the threat very real in her wide wild hazel eyes, “I will scream bloody murder if you go after my friend.”

  What the hell? This is all like a weird dream.

  Adrenaline shoots through my veins. It’s ice cold and as shocked as the woman in front of me is. In worn jeans and an oversized hoodie, she’s hardly a threat, but she’s terrified.

  Her hands are up, palms facing me and I mirror her body language, glancing behind her to try to find Rose, but she’s long gone.

  “I’m not going after her,” I tell her, mimicking the way she said it as I catch my reeling breath. Griffin speaks behind me at the same time, startling the hell out of me. “He would never hurt a woman; he’s just confused.”

  We share a glance, but the auburn-haired woman doesn’t react. She’s still playing defense and I’d bet good money that she’d attempt a tackle if I rounded her and made a break in between the table and the railing.

  “I’m Brody. I just recognized your friend Rose. That’s it.”

  “Well, it looks like she recognized you too,” she says, indignation draping a veil over her words until recognition hits her eyes, widening them even more and her breath hitches. She knows who I am. I fucking know she does. Every ounce of fight leaves her and something else takes its place when she speaks again. “Anyway, looks like she doesn’t want to see you … so maybe you should just sit back down.” She doesn’t look up at either of us as she reaches for her purse to leave.

  “Hey, wait.” My voice comes our harder than I wanted it to. None of this makes any sense at all and I’m struggling to finish a single thought.

  “What did you say your name was?” Griffin pipes up, acting as my wingman, which gives me time to calm the hell down. All I know right now is one thing and it’s unsettling: Rose saw me and she took off. Fuck. What the hell did I do to her? My throat’s tight as Rose’s defensive line informs us that she’s named Renee.

  “Renee, I’m Griffin,” he says and reaches out his hand as if she’d shake it. Her gaze settles on his hand a moment and I take in the crowd. Every pair of eyes here is on us. Well shit, this is not how I thought this would go down. Not here. And not with the girl I spent hours with years ago, at a time when I needed someone and she seemed to need me too.

  This isn’t a weird dream. It’s a nightmare.

  “This behemoth is Brody. He’s from up north, that’s why he has no manners.” Griffin’s joke actually makes Renee laugh, although it’s short and filled with nervousness. Looking between the two of them, there’s something there, but it has nothing to do with me and Rose.

  “Her name is Rose, right?” I ask Renee, not wanting to waste any more time. “She lives around here?”

  Renee’s smile fades.

  Griffin elbows me in my side, making me wince and then I give him a death stare. “You sound like a stalker,” he grits out between his teeth, low enough for no one but the three of us to hear. Again, he actually makes Renee smile, although he’s looking at me while I’m looking at her and she’s staring at him.

  Clenching my hands and breathing out slowly, I don’t know what the hell to do. So I go with honesty. “A few years ago, I met a girl named Rose and … look, if it’s her and I did something to her …” Fuck, what did I do? I’ve never made a girl take off before. Never in my life has a girl run from me. A deep-seated chill takes over.

  “No, no,” Renee says and it’s genuine, her words spoken quickly to stop my mind from wandering. She seems to catch herself, implying with a shake of her head that I’ve got it wrong. It’s clear she knows the story.

  “It’s just …” Renee trails off, clearing her throat as a gust of wind goes by and her gaze dances between the two of us. Her cheeks are redder now and her defenses are falling. “Look, if she wanted to talk to you—”

  “Hey, sorry, had to get my wallet,” a small voice cuts in from behind Renee. The beautiful woman I remember so well doesn’t look me in the eyes. Her heels click as she takes her place beside Renee, whose slight relief has vanished.

  “My name is Magnolia, not Rose. Sorry,” she says, practically choking on her apology, “I think you have the wrong girl.”

  Renee’s head tilts ever so slightly, the corners of her lips turning down as Rose’s … or Magnolia’s … cheeks turn red all the way up to her temple where little wisps of hair have gone wild from the wind. Or maybe from her running.

  I don’t bother to respond as the air between the four of us thickens. Griffin, the smart-ass that he is, smiles broadly and offers his hand. “Well, nice to meet you, Magnolia. You can run hella fast in those heels,” he jokes and Renee’s smile is hidden behind a cough as Magnolia stiffly takes his hand. Hers is so small in his. I still can’t speak.

  “What did I do?” I ask her, making her chest rise and fall faster.

  “Maybe give us a minute?” Renee suggests, turning her shoulder to us as she tugs at Magnolia’s elbow.

  There’s a spark between us when she glances up at me. I felt it when she first noticed me a moment ago, and I feel it now. It’s scorching hot even as the wind blows by.

  Her hair is pushed to the side, falling across her back from her shoulder and spreading goosebumps along her smooth skin. With the gust comes a hint of her scent. Maybe her shampoo, maybe perfume, I don’t know but it carries a memory with it. One night.

  “I’m sorry,” I say and my throat is tight as the words are forced out. Fuck. I feel like a piece of shit, gazing down at a woman I thought I had a connection with, a woman who obviously wants nothing to do with me.

  For a second, I have a thought that calms my racing mind. Maybe she’s married. Maybe she doesn’t want to admit she knows me or rem
ember that night because she doesn’t want to think of that night when she’s currently committed and happy with someone else.

  Please, for the love of God, please be that. Running my hand down the back of my head and then over my neck, I add, “I’m sorry if I … I’m just, sorry I mistook you for someone else.”

  I’m ready to turn around. Ready to say goodbye to her and every wild thought I ever had about the girl who stole me away that night years ago, until she reaches out for me.

  She did that.

  Her hand on mine. It’s the first touch we’ve had in years and it lights a smoldering fire within me that starts to burn hotter and brighter.

  But just as a flame singes the flesh, she rips her hand back when I turn to ask what she wants.

  “I … I have to go, I’m sorry.” That’s when I see her hand, her ring finger without a single piece of jewelry on it.

  “You just got here.”

  Both Griffin and Renee are silent.

  “I just have to go right now.”

  “Maybe …” she pauses and licks her lower lip, still not admitting that she is who she is. “Maybe I can see you soon.”

  With Renee in tow, the two leave, and I watch as Rose, or Magnolia, whatever her name is, glances behind her.

  Griffin asks the words that resonate in my own mind, “What the hell is going on?”

  Magnolia

  Just breathe through the little whistle. I give myself the command again and the silent relief of air doesn’t do a darn thing.

  “You have to breathe in through your nose and then exhale through your mouth,” Renee tells me, lost in her phone and not even bothering to look up as she speaks.