Page 40 of What I Should've Said

Unfortunately, since this is the only bar in town, I’ll also have a nosy-ass Clay getting in my business. But since I don’t keep booze in my house anymore, if I want a drink, this is what I have to do.

Hawkeyes engaged, the busybody spots me the second I step through his door and makes a dramatic showing of stepping away from the customer and setting his hands on his hips.

“My God. What in the world’s going on? Bennett Bishop in my bar on a Wednesday evening? Must be the apocalypse.”

I roll my eyes and take my seat on a stool at the far end of the bar where no one else is sitting, and Clay doesn’t waste any time trotting over to me.

I swear, he is such a pain in the ass sometimes.

“Well, howdy there, good buddy. What brings you in this time? Get in another shootout with some out-of-towner and spend the day in holding?”

“Give me a glass of bourbon, Clay,” I reply rather than dignifying his stupid shit.

“Wowee, okay, then. Not in the mood for teasing, I see.”

I breathe deeply, and he stands there, waiting.

“Clay. Bourbon, please. Then I’ll consider talking.”

Finally motivated, he obliges, setting a glass in front of me and filling it nearly to the brim with ice and amber liquid. I take one sip, and then another, and that gives me a reason to blame the burn in my throat on something other than Norah Ellis.

Clay is uncharacteristically quiet as I indulge some more, and for some reason, the new strategy proves effective. I start to talk.

“Breezy’s been on my ass about finding an assistant again. Says the bills are piling up, and I need to start selling shit so I can keep Summer at home and give her the care she needs.”

Clay nods just once.

“So I put that old ad up at Earl’s again, and someone actually found the damn thing and came to paint the barn yesterday. Summer and I took a ride down there to see it, and for once, someone actually did something worthwhile.”

“Great.”

“Yeah,” I scoff. “Except the someone is Norah fucking Ellis.”

“And?”

“And? We’ve had a lot of shit between us in the short time she’s been here, Clay, and not one piece of it is good. You think it’s a good idea I hire her, make her a permanent fixture in my life? In Summer’s?” I shake my head. It’s the worst fucking idea I’ve ever heard, especially because there was something good—something explosive—in that stupid-as-shit kiss I have no intention of sharing with Clay if the town hasn’t been yapping about it already.

He considers me for long moments that cross into minutes, and I consider nothing but my glass—the condensation that was quick to form on the outside and the taste of the liquor inside.

Visuals of that stupid barn wall and the way Summer’s face lit up when she first saw it dance inside my head. She begged me to keep it forever, and I felt like my heart was cracked in two because of what it symbolized for me.

There’s nothing I want more than to give her everything she wants, and there’s nothing I want less than to feel like I have to because time is running out.

Truth is, some days, I can barely breathe.

“You’re afraid Summer is going to like her, aren’t you?” Clay finally asks, cutting me so deep it bleeds.

I roll my eyes before admitting, “Are you kidding? All that fanciness? She’ll fall in love.”

“Maybe…I don’t know, Ben,” Clay says as softly and as gently as he can in a loud bar. “Maybe that’s not a bad thing, you know? Maybe a little Norah Ellis in your lives is exactly what you need.”

My stomach burns, and my throat feels like it’s closing in on itself.

Maybe a little Norah Ellis in your lives is exactly what you need.

That’s what I’m afraid of.

Tuesday, August 17th

---