Page 26 of What I Should've Said

Surely this is a woman’s name. I mean, a man like Bennett—grumpy, broody, ill-tempered—is most certainly a winter. Not to mention, his tattoo isn’t on just any finger. It’s on his wedding ring finger.

Right then, it hits me. His sullen mood. His “I need a breather.”

I’m such a fool.

“Is your…uh…” I pause and shift a little on my feet. “Is your wife mad about today?”

“My wife?” He jerks his head back as his eyes meet mine again. “I don’t have a wife.”

“Oh. Then your fiancée?” I say, but it’s more of a question, and when he furrows his brow, I add, “Or…your…uh…girlfriend?”

He shakes his head, and his brow line only creases more with confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“I…” My gaze makes its way to my shoes. If he doesn’t have a wife or a fiancée or a girlfriend, then what in the hell is that tattoo for? I have a hard time believing it’s because he has an obsession with flip-flops and beach vacations.

“Is this your way of trying to see if I’m single?” he asks, and I swear one corner of his mouth twitches into a smirk, but it can’t last more than a split second. “Because I’m not interested, sweetheart.”

“What?” My jaw gapes open like a fish that just got yanked from the water.

“I don’t date. Ever.”

“Wait. You think I’m interested in you?” A shocked laugh jolts from my lungs. “Um, no. No thank you. I noticed the tattoo on your finger and figured Summer was—”

“My tattoo is none of your business,” he cuts me off with a gruff snap and pointedly covers that very tattoo with his other hand.

Talk about cryptic.

Like you should talk, Ms. I Came to Red Bridge to Escape My Own Secrets.

Bennett proceeds to avert his attention from me entirely, and I’m left standing there wondering how every interaction I have with this guy ends up here. If we were in his truck right now, this would be the point in the night when he’d hit the brakes and kick me out.

Something inside me wants to find a way to take a detour. To end up at a destination that doesn’t end in a crash on Bad Temper Road.

Maybe you should try not to be so damn nosy? Especially on the same day he ended up in handcuffs because of you…

“Look, I…I really wasn’t trying to pry. I’m sorry. Sometimes curiosity just gets the best of me.”

His eyes peer into mine, searching for what, I’m not sure, until he lifts his glass and says, “Water under the bridge” before finishing off the rest of his drink.

His response is probably the best-case scenario for a man like him. Honestly, I figured I had a less than one percent chance of him answering me with actual words.

“Bennett, I—”

“Norah, we need to go.” Josie startles me with a persistent hand gripping my shoulder, her voice a mix of impatience and annoyance. “Now.”

I glance behind her to see Clay heading straight in our direction—or, should I say, Josie’s direction—fire, once again, licking at his heels.

“By the way, Bennett, I really appreciate what you did for my sister today. Thank you,” Josie interjects on a rush, not even giving Bennett time to respond before quickly turning back to me. “Let’s get out of here.”

“C’mon, Josie,” Clay states as soon as he arrives, his golden-brown eyes locked on my sister. “Just talk to me for a minute.”

“No.” That’s all she says.

“You’re in my bar, babe,” he comments with a little smile. “And you never come into my bar.”

“I’m only here because of my sister. Not you.”

“Are you sure about that?” Clay questions and places two hands to his hips. “If I recall, you said you’d never step foot in this bar again. Not for any fucking reason.”

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