And Then He Kissed Me

by Kim Amos

  “Then ask her,” Kieran said.

  “I will. But you should be there when I do.”

  “What purpose will that serve?”

  Because you’re an addict and maybe a liar, too.

  “Because then we’ll get everything out on the table. All of us. If she’s lying, I’ll know. Whatever happens from here, it happens with the truth front and center.”

  Then I’ll have proof that I was naïve about many things—my job, my love life—but I wasn’t misguided by the one constant in my life. By my sister.

  Oh, God, she was almost yearning for Kieran to be making all this up.

  “I’m not lying,” Kieran insisted, his eyes flicking across Audrey’s face.

  “Then let’s make sure of it tomorrow. I’m meeting Casey at the Paul Bunyan Diner at noon. Can you make it?”

  “If that’s what you want, then yes.”

  “It is.”

  Time passed, but whether it was seconds or minutes, Audrey wasn’t sure. All she knew was that, at some point, she couldn’t bear to have Kieran’s concerned gaze on her another moment.

  “I need to go,” she said finally. She stood, tottering in her heels. Kieran reached out across the conference table, as if to steady her, then pulled his hand back.

  “Tomorrow at noon,” Audrey said, trying to sound strong.

  “I’ll be there.”

  Not daring to look at Kieran again, Audrey left the conference room. She could feel her shattered heart pressing against her skin—but whether it was broken over the truth about Kieran or the idea that her own sister had orchestrated the most destructive concert of Audrey’s life, she wasn’t at all sure.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  It was early, not even noon, but Audrey wanted a drink.

  After the morning she’d had, she figured she might just have six drinks.

  In fact, she was fairly determined that she wanted to drink asparagus beer until she couldn’t remember who Kieran Callaghan was. Steering her car out of the Harley dealership parking lot and into the bright May sun, she drove to the Wheelhouse Bar.

  * * *

  The smell of spilled beer and old wood greeted Audrey as she opened the door to the Wheelhouse. The space was dim, the jukebox was quiet, and no one else was there. She looked at her watch. No wonder it was deserted—it was only ten fifty. Not even eleven o’clock yet.

  This was desperate.

  Ignoring every voice inside her head telling her to leave now and go for a long run, Audrey shimmied herself onto a worn leather stool at the bar. She was still wearing her outfit from the dealership, and she desperately wanted to peel off the constrictive layers, but she didn’t have anything else to put on. She’d reeled out of White Pine Harley, barely aware of anything, much less her clothes.

  Now, she was at a bar looking like an alcoholic S&M Barbie.

  Fabulous.

  Nevertheless, she folded her hands and waited for someone to notice she was there.

  After a moment, Dave Englund emerged from the kitchen door to Audrey’s right carrying a dish rack full of clean glasses. He stopped abruptly when he spotted her. Audrey couldn’t be sure, but it looked like he tightened his grip on the large plastic rack, perhaps to keep from dropping it.

  “Audrey?” he asked, his head tilting slightly. If his black hair had been longer, it would have flopped.

  “Hey, Dave,” Audrey said, smiling too big. She worried that she looked freakish, trying to pretend it was totally normal for her to be sitting on a barstool, dressed in a corset at ten fifty in the morning. “How’ve you been?”

  Dave walked over and set the clean glasses next to the bar’s stainless steel sink. “Ah, fine, I suppose.” She wondered if he’d mention the other night, maybe chastise her for the way she’d flirted and then run off with Kieran, but instead he was staring at her with something like concern lining his face. “And you?”

  His emphasis on the word you was unmistakable. The subtext all but screamed: What are you doing here?

  “I’m great,” she lied. “Never better. I was just hoping I could get a little more of that asparagus beer. I promise to keep it to myself, just like last time. Pinkie swear.” She held out her pinkie and instantly regretted it. What was she, sixteen?

  Dave stared at her. “Beer came out yesterday. Festival starts tonight, you know.”

  “Right,” Audrey said, pulling back her errant digit. Of course she didn’t have to keep the beer a secret—the festival would be in full swing soon, no doubt right about the time she was parading around hoping to be crowned Asparagus Queen.

  “Can I just have some, then?”

  Dave grabbed a clean glass off the rack he’d just brought in. He pulled the tap’s handle, and Audrey watched the golden liquid flow, her spirits already lifting.

  Dave placed it on the bar.

  “Thanks,” she said, and immediately tipped it back. The ice-cold beer went down her throat like bubbly, asparagus-y heaven. After she swallowed, a small hiccup escaped her. And no wonder. She’d consumed half a pint in one gulp.

  Audrey looked from the glass to Dave, who was just standing there. “It’s good,” she offered.

  “Best batch I’ve made so far.” He said it lightly enough, but she could see worry creasing the skin just above his dark brows. A moment passed. She took another sip, just to avoid having to look at him.

  “You going to hit the festival, then?” Dave asked.

  Audrey nodded. “I filed the paperwork to be in the running for Asparagus Queen.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “Is that surprising?”

  “No, not at all. Not that I want that hunky boyfriend of yours glaring at me for saying so.”

  Audrey shook her head. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  “Huh. The way the two of you were going at it on the dance floor the other night, I just assumed—”

  “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  Another moment passed. “Is that possibly the reason you’re in here drinking before noon on a Friday?”

  “No.”

  Dave lifted a brow.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Audrey said, exasperated. She swallowed down more beer. “I feel like I don’t even know what’s even going on anymore.”

  But of course that wasn’t exactly true. She certainly knew that what she wanted—desperately—was to take a chance on Kieran again. But he’d put her in an impossible situation. If he was lying about Casey, then he was just a no-good fibber and gambler, same as he’d always been. But if he was telling the truth, then it meant he and Casey had plotted behind her back and conspired against her five years ago. And to turn the other cheek for them both would require a level of forgiveness she wasn’t sure she could reach.

  Dave set down his towel and joined her. His strong, lean frame sat on the barstool in one easy motion.

  “I don’t normally do this,” Dave said. “Fraternizing with the customers, I mean.”

  “But you’ll make an exception for me?” Audrey asked, taking in his tight black T-shirt, his black hair, and his brown eyes. Up this close, she could see they were such a rich, golden color they were almost amber.

  “We go back,” Dave said, shrugging.

  Audrey tried to conjure the spine tingles from the other night, when Dave had flirted with her. Here is an attractive man, she thought, and we’re alone. But the idea went nowhere. Whatever sparks Dave had started to ignite, Kieran had made sure they’d gone out. Kieran was so large in her mind and her heart, there just wasn’t room for anyone else. Possibly ever.

  Audrey barely held back a groan at the thought. The only silver lining in the situation was that there seemed to be a platonic easiness between her and Dave. Possibly he’d also come to the conclusion they’d make better friends.

  “I remember in middle school,” Dave was saying, “when our English teacher had us write about the person we want to be most like when we grow up. And all the other kids said basketball players or rock stars or actresses, and yo
u said—who was it again? Some kind of veterinarian?”

  “James Herriot,” Audrey replied, blushing at the memory. “A British author and vet.” She stared at Dave’s boyish face. “You remember that?”

  “I do. It was just so different. At the time, I probably thought nerd—”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “No, but now, when I think back on it, it’s really amazing. You had the most individual idea of any of us. You were doing your own thing before it was cool. I admire that. Especially since, well, here I am, tending a bar and the most individual thing I get to do is make asparagus beer once a year.”

  “But it’s so good,” Audrey said, draining the rest of her glass.

  “I just wish I could do it more often. Make craft beer, I mean. I’d make all kinds of seasonal ales. A White Pine winter ale with nutmeg and cloves, for example. Or a summer shandy with lemons and maybe a hint of lavender from Cleve Ferber’s farm. That is, if the lavender worked. I’m not sure it would.”

  Audrey smiled at Dave’s excitement. Even in the dimly lit space, she could see warm color on his cheeks and happiness crinkling the corners of his eyes.

  “All I’m saying,” Dave continued, “is that I went with the crowds, partied my ass off, barely graduated high school, and now look at me. Bartender at the Wheelhouse. But you figured out how to go your own way early on. Or, at least, you stayed true to you.”

  Audrey caught a glimpse of herself in the bar’s mirror. “I don’t know if that’s exactly right. I think maybe I’m evolving. Like maybe I was one thing for a while, and now I’m ready to try something different.”

  Dave got up and went back around the bar to pour Audrey another glass. He set it in front of her.

  “You have the guts to try and figure it out, Audrey. And that’s what’s so amazing. How many people in this town would have the courage to even attempt something like a gig at a Harley dealership after their career imploded? That’s what I noticed when you came in the other night. It wasn’t just that you looked good—I mean, you did, you do—but the more impressive thing was that you’d been brave enough to try something new, to do your own thing yet again. It’s admirable.”

  Audrey stared at the bubbles in her beer. “Thank you,” she said, feeling completely overwhelmed by Dave’s words.

  “I’m saying all this hoping we can be friends,” Dave said, wiping the bar distractedly. “I know you like that guy you were with the other night. Obviously you do, or you wouldn’t be in here. I just didn’t want you thinking any of what I was saying was connected to an ulterior motive. It’s not.”

  “I appreciate that,” Audrey replied. “I could use more friends.” She said it thinking about Casey, and what she’d do if her sister had been lying to her for the past five years. Would she still want Casey in her life? And if not, how would she fill the gap? Her head ached at the thought.

  “For what it’s worth,” she pressed on, lifting her beer and staring at the glass, “I think this town could use a craft brewery. This stuff is good, Dave. Really good. Betty Sondheim could help you if you wanted to talk about a possible business plan. She’s really amazing with that kind of thing.”

  “Isn’t that Betty Lindholm, from high school?” When Audrey nodded, Dave shuddered. “No way. She scares me.”

  Audrey laughed. “She scares all of us a little. But she’s solid. A real friend.”

  Just then, the door to the bar opened, letting in a sliver of light and a blast of fresh air. A cluster of well-dressed men entered, seating themselves in a booth by the jukebox.

  “Ah, the lunch rush,” Dave said, grabbing a handful of menus. “And by rush I mean trickle. More of a drip, really.”

  Audrey giggled. Dave placed one of the menus in front of her. “You eat something, too,” he said. “And when you’re ready, I’ll call you a cab.”

  “But—”

  “It’s nonnegotiable. Sorry. I can’t have my asparagus beer get you in any trouble.”

  Audrey thought about Kieran, about Casey, about tomorrow’s Asparagus Queen pageant. “I feel like I’m already in trouble.”

  “More trouble, then,” Dave said, winking. He walked over to wait on the lunch table while Audrey studied the menu. She decided on cheese curds and another beer.

  She fully expected her pants to pop wide open before the end of it, and she barely even cared.

  * * *

  She was dying.

  No, Audrey realized, she was dead. She was deceased and this was hell, and for all of eternity she’d be punished with this sour taste in her mouth and this sound of six fire trucks blaring through her head.

  Where were all these engines coming from, anyway? She struggled to think, struggled to remember where she was. Her brain was sludge-filled and her whole body was rejecting every single movement.

  She unstuck one eye. Daylight scorched her vision and she groaned. Slowly, she tried again, opening her eyes a millimeter at a time, until she could see without so much pain. Eventually, she began to glimpse her own curtains. Which meant the engine noises reverberating everywhere were probably her alarm clock.

  She reached out, fumbling for the damn thing, trying to find the snooze button. When silence fell, she sighed, relieved.

  Until her eyes were fully open and she grasped what time it was.

  She sat bolt upright. Cripes, how many times had she hit snooze?

  It was after eleven o’clock, and she was due at the Paul Bunyan Diner by noon. And she still had to get ready for the pageant.

  “Shit,” Audrey muttered, stumbling out of bed to the bathroom. Aspirin first. Water second.

  I will never drink asparagus beer again, she thought as she uncapped her bottle of aspirin and tapped out three. Dimly she could remember hanging out at the Wheelhouse for hours—drinking, eating cheese curds, talking with Dave, and chatting with random folks, some strangers, some acquaintances, who peppered the bar throughout the day.

  Sometime in the evening, Dave had called her a taxi (or the taxi, more accurately, since White Pine only had one) and she’d been shuttled home. She figured she went to bed at that point, and had sunk into a drunken oblivion.

  Audrey padded from her bathroom to her kitchen, then stopped short. There was an empty wine bottle on the counter and one glass. She closed her eyes.

  She hadn’t gone to bed. She’d kept drinking.

  She cringed when she noticed there were cookbooks scattered everywhere, open to random pages. She could dimly recall wanting to help Dave find new beer recipes. She flushed with embarrassment as she realized she’d scribbled down new ale ideas. They were scrawled on a notepad next to the empty wine bottle:

  APpLe CHesTNuT

  CUcuMbeR TUrMeriC oAtMeAL

  FrIEd OrEo cHeDDaR

  Audrey swallowed back both nausea and mortification. Fried Oreo cheddar? For a beer? Good God, she had been hammered.

  Suddenly, her body flushed with adrenaline and her mind sharpened to an uncomfortable point. Had she texted Dave any of this? Her head still pounding, she groped for her phone, eventually finding it in the bottom of her purse. It had been shut off, thankfully.

  Dave, she thought. He’d saved her from herself.

  He really was a friend.

  She turned the phone back on, swallowed the aspirin, and began the painful process of getting ready for the pageant with a massive hangover. At eleven fifty-five, she had squeezed her bloated, aching self into Willa’s dress, donned her shabby (albeit recently repaired) heels, and teetered down her sidewalk wearing sunglasses that barely helped dim the glare in her eyes and head. She pulled out the keys to her car, only to stop short.

  She had no car. It was still at the Wheelhouse.

  “Shit!” she cried. Then she clasped her hand over her mouth. The neighbor’s kids were out in their front yard. They’d stopped playing to gape at her, their eyes round with surprise.

  She didn’t even bother saying sorry. Reaching into her purse, she grabbed her phone yet again and dialed the othe
r person she knew was headed exactly where she was going.

  Kieran answered on the third ring.

  “Can you pick me up?” Audrey asked. “I need a ride to the diner.”

  Ten minutes later, with chaps on under her dress (it was the only thing Audrey could think of to satisfy Kieran’s demand that she wear long pants) and Kieran’s helmet crushing what little volume she’d been able to tease into her hair, the two roared over the Birch River and down Main Street, on their way to meet Casey.

  * * *

  “Wait, Audrey—please,” Kieran begged as they walked from the parking lot to the front entrance of the Paul Bunyan Diner. Kieran reached out and grabbed Audrey’s arm, even though the last thing she looked like she wanted was for anyone, especially him, to touch her. “Just…take a second.”

  To his relief, Audrey stopped. Kieran wanted to straighten the crumpled, sparkling dress clinging to her body at odd angles. He wanted to wipe away the errant mascara underneath her eyes, and smooth the ends of her wind-blown hair. She’d taken off her sunglasses and now her brown eyes were roving with a manic exhaustion.

  She was hungover, there was no doubt. But there was something else, too. Kieran’s jaw clenched with the realization that Audrey Tanner was afraid. The strongest woman he knew was barely holding it together as she prepared to face her sister—and him. Together.

  He wanted to pull her to him and kiss away her fears. He wanted to reassure her that it would be all right, that he would always be there for her. It was of no comfort to him that the woman he cared for most in the world was about to find out the truth about what he and her sister had done. It would hardly acquit him, and it might crush Audrey.

  Frankly, she looked half crushed already.

  He saw Audrey take a deep breath. She smoothed down her dress, which helped a bit, but not much. “All right,” she said, and more light came into her eyes. Kieran was relieved to see it, even if it was a small victory. “We’re already late. Let’s go.”

  She walked ahead of him and he followed, clenching his fists. He felt like he was going into the ring and this was going to be the fight of his life.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE