picked up the bottle and poured them each about two fingers’ worth of the amber liquid and she accepted the glass.
“I didn’t know you were a bourbon drinker.”
She wasn’t. She didn’t drink much and the strong taste of the liquor wasn’t her favorite, but tonight it would do.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
This time his right brow arched. A challenge. He didn’t quite smile, but his eyes lingered on hers long enough to be suggestive. He made a harrumphing noise that seemed as if he was considering possibilities, or, at the very least, sizing her up. The thought of him thinking of her like that was thrilling and frightening, and she loved it.
Flirting with Zane was like a wild roller-coaster ride that twisted her every which way. Sometimes it made her feel as if she was about to tumble out of herself, or shoot straight off the edge of the universe. But when the car that was his attention finally delivered her to the station with a buzzing rush, she was always well aware she’d never been in any real danger of falling. Scratch that—she’d fallen a long time ago, but with Zane she knew she was never at risk of getting hurt. Because he didn’t think of her like that.
“Want some ice?” he asked.
“Straight up is fine.”
He touched his glass to hers. She followed his lead and tossed back the shot. It burned her throat as it went down. She fought the urge to cough. Finally, the fire settled into a gentle warmth that bloomed in her chest and then in her belly.
“Another?” Zane asked.
She nodded, even though she knew she needed to pace herself. She had no illusions of trying to hold her own with Zane, who had been drinking a bit too much since Dorothy died.
After he refilled her glass, she spooned three ice cubes into the bourbon. With ice, he wouldn’t expect her to throw it back in one gulp again. Of course, she could’ve just told him she wanted to sip it straight up. For that matter, she could’ve just told him she’d had enough. He wasn’t the kind of guy who would force her to do anything she didn’t want to do. But she didn’t want to make an issue out of it. Honestly, since Zane had been so closed-off lately, she wanted a little liquid courage—just enough to take the edge off and lubricate the hinges—so that she could open up and draw him out. Icing the bourbon would make it a sipping drink, a prop she could nurse for hours.
Obviously, Zane had no need for a prop. He tossed back another shot the same way he had the first one and went to pour one more.
“Whoa there, Bucky.” She put her hand on his. “We don’t have to polish off the entire bottle in the first five minutes. Why don’t we eat something?”
“All I’ve done the past two weeks is eat,” he said as he finished pouring himself a third drink. “People brought over so much food, I had to start freezing it.”
“Ahh, which explains the pizza box,” she said. “Makes sense. People bring food, you order pizza.”
The right side of his mouth quirked. “Smart-ass.”
Lucy shrugged.
The ladies of Celebration had seized the opportunity to cook for Zane. He was the most deliciously eligible bachelor in town. Every woman in town, young and old, loved Zane. Dorothy’s passing, as sad as it was, was an excuse for them to bring him food and flirt. Lucy wondered if any of them had offered more personal means of comfort. Then she blinked away the thought. But not before pondering the possibility of him accepting said comfort.
No!
“I can only eat so much of Mrs. Radley’s tuna-noodle surprise.”
That’s better. Let’s talk about Mrs. Radley. She’d attended enough church potlucks and picnics to understand what he meant. Mrs. Radley’s tuna-noodle surprise was infamous. The older the woman got, the more suspicious the congregation grew about the surprise mixed in with the tuna and noodles. Popular speculation wondered if she inadvertently used her cat’s food in place of canned tuna. Only the bravest souls dared to try to figure it out.
“Did you actually eat it?”
“Of course. I appreciate her going to the trouble to make it for me.”
Lucy winced. “And what was the verdict? Tuna for humans or fur babies?”
Zane thought about it for a moment as he added a few ice cubes to his drink, like Lucy had. “Hard to tell.”
Lucy made a gagging sound and Zane laughed. Maybe it was the bourbon that was lifting his mood, but she preferred to think it was her company.
“Chinese food sounds really good, Luce. Thanks for bringing it over.”
The ice cubes clinked as he swirled his glass. He took a sip. As he watched her over the rim, she sensed something else in his demeanor shift. It made her senses tingle.
“I’m glad it sounds good. I know you’ve been showered with food gifts lately. I mean, I helped organize the deliveries.”
Ugh. Stop talking. There’s nothing wrong with a little silence.
She clamped her mouth shut so she wouldn’t let it slip that she’d rescued Dorothy’s sketchbook from the trash and ask him why he’d thrown it away. Or babble more inane thoughts about food gifts, like how when people died everyone wanted to feel useful. Help usually came in the form of neighbors dusting off recipes, firing up stoves and cooking way more food than anyone could reasonably consume.
Then after the funeral, life went on. People went back to the day-to-day grind and left the survivors hungry for more than a casserole, leaving them to make emotional decisions that resulted in tossing out beloved belongings that were too painful to look at now.
Tonight was all about showing Zane he wasn’t alone. That he could lean on her. That she would keep him from making mistakes he’d regret later.
Really it sounded a lot more altruistic than it was because there was no place on earth she’d rather be right now than drinking bourbon, eating Chinese takeout and watching ’80s movies with him.
And thank God she hadn’t said that aloud, because it was definitely the bourbon talking.
Sort of.
Bourbon with a healthy chaser of truth.
“I’ll get those plates.” He set his drink on the coffee table and disappeared into the kitchen again. While he was gone, she moved several books about horse training and some industry-related magazines off the sofa, making room for them to sit.
Next, she pressed Play on the DVR remote. The opening scene of Say Anything... appeared on the screen. They didn’t have to watch it now, but at least it would be background noise to fill any awkward silence so that she didn’t feel the need to go on and on about everything that popped into her mind.
“If you don’t want to keep these boxes here, I have room in the storage room in the barn,” she said.
Earlier this year, Lucy had turned a dream into a reality when she’d converted the old abandoned barn on the property she’d inherited from her parents into a wedding venue
