by Ace Gray
Shit.
Not until this exact moment had it dawned on me where I knew that look from, or how I’d known beyond a shadow of a doubt that she believed her words about me breaking her. It was the same look she’d had when they closed Gretzky’s eyes.
Oh God.
My stomach flipped. Was my mom right? Had I really held a candle for her all these years? Was all the anger directed at her just easier than telling myself I missed her? That she was worth the risk of going after?
I shake my head. I can’t go down that path. Not now. Not with her close. Her dark shiny hair and her ruby red lips and the tattoo… I mean what human being can think clearly when that is the ghost haunting them?
I shove off the couch determined to push it away—all of it. I pick up my little Gretzky and carry him with me as I go to find solace in yet another beer. He licks the bottle neck before I press it to my lips and a smile tentatively replaces the tension that’s been wreaking havoc on my already throbbing headache.
Gretzky Jr. curls into me and his touch is almost as effective as his sip of beer to release my nerves. Just like the original pup. That dog had laid on my chest or my lap almost as often as Cam curled under the crook of my shoulder. All the cares in the world would disappear when we were like that. There were hours on her couch that I didn’t think about anything. Except maybe the feel of her skin and the way our future could look.
Our future.
For the first time, it isn’t a curse under my breath. It’s a question of what might have been.
“On My Mind” Ellie Goulding
The coffee is wrong. All wrong. I’ve made a cup with simmered spice cream every day for the past three years and now I’m inept.
What is this place doing to me?
All I can think of is how it tasted in AJ’s kitchen. There was something extra that morning and now I’m missing it. Completely. It’s slipped away in the wish-wash of emotion I’m dealing with.
I try to shove my face into my screen and forget about the to-go mug of crap beside me. The distribution emails in front of me are desperately trying to demand my attention. Thirteen Bourbon is flying off the shelves in the Pacific Northwest. Our Thirteen Kiraz, chock full of Turkish cherries, has become the most hyped artisanal bourbon for the new year, compounding my problems.
But for some reason, all I can focus on is the coffee recipe.
Once or twice over the past twenty-four hours, I’ve found my wayward hand scratching out mixes of cinnamon, clove, nutmeg, and allspice. Not to mention ways to use it in coffee, cream, and bourbon. Even on paper, it doesn’t seem right.
Luckily my parents’ office door flies open and my shoulders sag with relief at the distraction.
“Trigg?” I cock my head when I recognize the blonde ponytail swishing in.
“Hey,” she rushes over and hugs me. “Where were you last night?”
My brow furrows and my lips thin. “Home,” I answer honestly and when her mouth opens and closes like a little goldfish, I try to add something. “AJ and I…things between us…” It’s so difficult to phrase. Honestly, I can’t figure it out for myself, let alone put it into words. I settle for, “I found out his dad died.” My voice drops. “I didn’t know that until the hockey game.”
“Yeah.” Trigg sits on the edge of the desk I’ve adopted. “It was sudden even though it was a long time coming. I guess I don’t need to tell you that part.” She smiles a sad smile.
“Is he doing okay? With that anyway? Do you know?” I snatch up my lip and worry on it.
“He’s okay.” She nods slowly. “Or he will be.”
“That’s what Sarah said.” I don’t miss her arched eyebrow at my mention of AJ’s mom. “I should’ve been there for him, Trigg.” I sigh. “For you too.”
“You had a world to go conquer, Camilla. And I get how scary this vortex town can be. I left too, remember?” She smiles genuinely. “But not all of us were going to hold you back.”
“Is it too late to say I see that now?”
“A little bit.” She rolls her eyes. “You can start making amends by coming sledding tonight.” Her whole face brightens. “I was just gonna leave this packet for your folks then go change. We’re all meeting at the bar then going up to the college hill when it gets dark.”
“I don’t know. Is he…?” I automatically gnaw on my lip again.
“Of course he is, Camilla, but it’s not the end of the world. Matter of fact, I think it might be good for you guys to spend some time together now that you’ve gotten over the shock of seeing each other.”
“Well I wouldn’t go that far.” It’s nice to banter with Trigg, I’m giggling for the first time since I flew to Colorado. “I have to go home to change, I guess I could meet you later.”
“Camilla, come over, borrow my stuff. Hang out.” She accentuates the words as if she’s explaining a foreign concept. “Where can I leave the business ledger for your mom?”
“On QuickBooks or something. You don’t use software?”
“We aren’t all running an empire, Cam.”
“I’m hardly running an empire,” I scoff but Trigg has pulled another honest laugh from me.
I glanced down at my screen and it’s faded to black. Without thinking it through, I close the lid, and an even wider grin breaks across my face—my cheeks almost hurt. Trigg, of course, simply jerks her chin toward the door.
We link elbows when we walk toward her truck and thank God, or I would have fallen when I scanned up to the roof of her obscenely huge truck.
“You lifted your truck?” I can’t hide the disdain, nor do I want to. “Come on Trigg, you know what that means.” It’s always been synonymous with overcompensation.
“Maybe I grew a very small penis while you were gone. It has been a long time.” Teasing drips off every single word and I can’t help but giggle while I retreat into my coat. “You still can’t talk about sex without blushing? Oh man. I bet guys can’t decide if you’re an angel or the devil.” She laughs loud and sharp.
I sit staring at the open door for a moment, calculating angles, the stretch of my jeans and the height of my heels as if it’s an equation I can solve. Certain theorems from college float through my head like science can actually make this possible.
Before I wander into vectors, two hands grab my ass roughly and shove me. I scramble for purchase when I realize Trigg is all but heaving me into the cab. I shriek, the cry piercing the silent snow all around us, but it’s followed by a husky laugh from behind me.
“You need to eat, Camilla,” Trigg manages between hearty guffaws.
“I do Pilates!” I yell as the door slams in my face.
Trigg has to hear anyway because she laughs even harder as she rounds the hood. When she hauls herself into the ridiculous truck, the whole thing shakes wildly. I’m sure we’re going to topple and I shoot my hands to opposite walls, bracing my feet against the door and the floorboards.
Once again, I send her into booming laughter.
“City Slicker,” she volleys the insult at me.
“Hick,” I spit right back and lean to switch on the radio. Sure enough, Carrie Underwood blares across Trigg’s speakers and I groan.
“Hate country, too? What kind of heathen do they breed in Seattle.”
“I didn’t lose my eardrums in the move, Trigg.” I shoot her the best eyebrows I can. “You have to get into some indie rock. Maybe some electric stuff, I swear your life will be better for it.”
“My lady likes that stuff. She’s from your neck of the woods originally. She’s at the house and I’m really glad you’ll get to meet her.” There is an edge of unease in Trigg’s voice.
She’d never come out and said that she preferred girls but the moment I moved to a liberal city, I guessed. I even tried to drop hints before we’d lost touch.
Seamlessly I answer, “I’m really looking forward to that.” My smile softens for a moment before it’s replaced with an evil smirk. “Particularly because it’ll be
two against one when it comes to the iPod.”
Finally, I’ve made someone else in Willow Creek smile.
“It’s good to have you back. Really good.” Her voice is so warm, completely unlike the boisterous bartender she usually is.
Trigg’s house is still the same small 1970s ranch-style house she grew up in. The exterior is far brighter—white rather than the faded parchment I remember—and the dark brown window trim has been replaced by breathtaking reclaimed barn wood much like the adornment in the bar. The small shop where we used to play spin the bottle shoved between Goodwill items and Trigg’s dad’s convertible has also had a facelift where it sits toward the back of the lot.
“What are you cooking up back there these days? It’s beautiful.” Soft gray wood that has been lovingly treated then bolted together with industrial rivets replaced the withered boards from years past. I make a scene pointing at it so I can slip my finger forward and change the radio station. Go figure they haven’t changed in thirteen years, either.
“Rent it out as shop space,” Trig answers smoothly but her face darkens.
“To who?”
She purses her lips and scrunches her nose; it’s all the answer she’s going to give. As she shoves the truck into park, it falls silent to match Trigg.
I’m emboldened by the easy friendship with Trigg, so I shove out of the door to bolt across the snow-laden field. My ankle rolls once on that crunchy top layer of snow, but I manage to find a little bit of Seattle Camilla and catch myself. As soon as my hand is clamped on the shed’s door handle, I yank with all my might.
The smell of fresh wood, sawdust, and lingering campfire fills my lungs, making my insides melt.
Home.
My condo and office smell exactly like this with a hint of cherry. White wood beams stand on end near a workbench; they look shockingly like the white oak used for bourbon barrels but the grain is off when I run my hands along them. There is a beautiful piece of brushed steel laying on a bench that sets my insides fluttering. Even though my barrels are purely utilitarian, I want the piece of metal below my fingertips binding them simply because of the craftsmanship, the beauty.
“Wow,” I breathe.
“He’s talented.” Trigg has followed me after all.
“That’s an understatement.” A smile so big it splits my cheeks pulls across my lips. “I know woodwork. Recipes are important but you can over-oak your spirits. You have to choose woods that provide enough flavor, burn well, and absorb correctly. I spend a lot of time with white oak and steel hoops.”
My fingers keep running over the smoothed woods on their own accord.
“You need to tell him that at some point.” And the way she says it, says him, I know it’s AJ’s shop. “What do you know, you two have something in common after all,” she adds with a little shock and far more humor.
“One of our major problems is that we have quite a bit in common,” I answer, my voice low.
“Touché.” Trigg collects me by the shoulders. “He wouldn’t love that you’re in here.”
“Yeah, well he kind of hates that I had the audacity to come back to town in the first place so…” I trail off, my hand still skating just above the perfectly honed wood.
“He doesn’t hate you. He’s confused.”
My head swivels a few more times, hoping to capture and keep every detail of this sanctum. “That makes two of us,” I manage when the workshop has filed every corner of my heart.
“Hey,” she jostles my shoulder. “Come meet Cass.” She jerks her head toward the house and with a jumbled heart, I follow.
Cass and I are fast friends and it really isn’t surprising considering we each love Trigg in our own way. We bond far more than is truly healthy in a short period of time, but both feeling like outsiders—Pacific Northwest outsiders no less—works in our favor. We manage to get something decent on the radio as Trigg drives us to the bar.
“You should bartend tonight, Cam. Make real cocktails,” Trigg suggests as we park in back. There are a few other random trucks scattered about but otherwise, we’re alone.
“Uh um,” I stutter. It’s not just the ridiculous outfit that Trigg has shoved me in—skin-tight black fleece-lined leggings, an equally tight thermal, an oversized down jacket and beanie complete with a giant pompom on top—but the idea that I’ll be the center of attention. “I don’t know about that Trigg.”
“You look hot,” Cass prods, only half guessing my worry.
“It’s just behind the bar. I know for a fact you don’t actually get stage fright.” Trigg arches her eyebrow, knowing the other reason I’ve shrunk into the collar of my coat. “Come on!” She stomps her foot when I try to sink deeper. “You come from one of the fanciest cocktail cities in the country. No one gets a beer tonight.”
“They’re all going to order Fireball then.” I almost snort when I laugh. Her smile widens, sensing me caving.
“Not me. An Old Fashioned please,” Cass requests as she pushes me back behind the well. I slip out of my coat accepting my fate.
“There’s Kiraz back there, Cam.” She winces. “Shit, sorry, Camilla.”
“Don’t worry about it. Cam’s fine for now.” And I mean it. Something about this place, spending time with her, makes me comfortable with that too.
“Well lookihere.” Mike, Jimmy, Janie, and Jake are all stomping the snow off their boots and shedding layers. “We got us a fine new bartender.”
I blush and try to sink into myself but I have nowhere to hide in the curve-hugging ensemble.
“The owner has refused to serve beer tonight,” Trigg calls out, mercifully pulling attention from me.
“Okay, fine.” Mike dramatically rolls his eyes and his arms wave out to the sides. “Fireball it is.” Cass and Trigg laugh just as loud as me.
Because of Thirteen, I know every bartender and mixologist on the west coast worth their salt. Much good do they do me drinking at The Barn because we take four shots of the sickly sweet cinnamon whiskey in quick succession. Even on shot number four the syrupy drink burns. I smack my lips and scrape my tongue with my teeth, undoubtedly making a priceless Fireball face when AJ walks in. His eyes snap right to mine behind the bar and fire roars through me as he thoroughly rakes me over.
Whether it’s my imagination or whiskey or—God forbid—real, AJ smirks then prowls in my direction.
“Hey,” I smile brightly. Too brightly, but oh well. “What can I get you? Oh, and be forewarned Trigg has forbidden beer.”
“What are you drinking?” He all but purrs as he nods toward my glass. A glass I’ve barely touched what with all the shots.
“In between all the Fireball being poured down my throat?” I laugh heartily with the wall dropped between us. “Manhattan.”
“With your bourbon?” He suppresses a smirk; I remember the way his lip curls when he’s trying not to laugh at me.
“My Kiraz,” I answer smugly.
“What’s that?” he asks as he leans over the bar, letting his full smile break across his face.
I launch into a description. Details about Turkish cherries, distilling, and cocktail recipes roll off my tongue. And AJ listens. Really listens. I’m surprised and a little giddy that I remember all his tells. He’s leaning in closer, his arms crossed and tucked in tight.
We are almost nose to nose when he finally lifts the cocktail I’ve made from the bar. I watch his lips, how they part and move ever so slightly with his deep breaths. His shoulders gently sway with the movement and I find myself tuned to the rhythm.
Then in the most dangerous move I’ve made in years, I hope. Maybe we could get past the walls, the hurt, the heartache, and the miscommunication. I’d take friends, I’d take anything. I just want to hear his voice from time to time. Okay, I want to hear it every second of every day, but I’m tipsy, not delusional.
When AJ finally sips my cocktail, my insides flutter. His lips purse, the muscles of his neck roll, his fingers flutter on the glass. Then to make matte
rs worse he closes his eyes.
“Whoa,” he says after a single sip, just like he did with my coffee. “Cam, that’s something.” I get the sense we aren’t talking about the cocktail as AJ stares intently. He sets his drink back on the bar and the blush blooms across my cheeks but I don’t retreat. I hear his breath catch in his throat. I feel myself leaning even further forward.
When a throat clears right behind me I snap out of AJ’s hypnotic hold and look around. Trigg has snuck back behind the bar while everyone else stopped to stare. At me. Well likely AJ too, but the laser beam gazes make my skin flush all over again and my shoulders shoot up while my body slumps down.
“Fired!” Trigg yells as she claps me on the shoulder, effectively drawing attention to herself. “It’s been almost eight minutes since the last round of shots and that’s unacceptable. Fired.” The way she waves her hands effectively pulls every eye from my flushed face.
Adoration pumps through my veins just as much as embarrassment.
“Your punishment before you go?” She eyes me playfully. “Another!” A shot I hadn’t seen her pour slides effortlessly down the wood grain.
I slam it then relinquish my stool, surprisingly stable for me. Particularly tipsy me. I murmur, “Thank you,” under my breath as I creep out from behind the bar.
“You’re welcome. Now go dance your ass off.”
“Unsteady” X Ambassadors
If picturing Cam in the shower had messed with me, then watching her shake it in a painted on get up is going to kill me. I picture peeling those clothes off and doing all sorts of completely filthy things to what lies underneath.
And for the first time in years—maybe because of Mom’s words, maybe because of the puppy ghost of Christmas past, maybe because of her friggin’ smile—I indulge myself.
Even though every inch of her skin is covered except for where she’s shoved her shirt up to her elbows, she’s fucking sexy. Her little wrists appear even more delicate but snow gear makes her look a little tougher than her city facade has let her in a few days.
