Page 9 of Snowy Secrets

I sigh and nod at my reflection. Enough with the nostalgic pining. I have places to be.

About an hour later, I’ve reached my destination.

The bar is a familiar haunt, illuminated with an artistic smattering of lights. The air is filled the scents of whiskey and secrets. The bartender, a silver fox with a twinkle in his eye, raises a brow as I saunter up to the counter. "Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. It's been a while, Bells."

I flash him a grin. In the earlier days, this grin signaled I was up to no good. I hope I'm on the same track now. "I'm not Bella tonight."

He quirks a brow at me. "Is that right? Well, what would not-Bella like to drink?"

"Whiskey, make it a double," I reply smoothly.

He slides a tumbler across the worn wood, the amber liquid a siren song. "Strong woman, strong drink," he murmurs, his gaze lingering on my cleavage. I wink, taking a sip and relishing the fire that erupts in the heart of my tummy.

The music, a sultry saxophone solo, pulls me onto the dance floor. I close my eyes, letting the rhythm take over. My hips sway, my hair whips around my face, and for a few glorious moments, I'm one with the music and the world around me.

Then, strong hands grip my waist, pulling me flush against a hard body. I open my eyes to find a man with stormy eyes and a devilish grin looking at me. "Care to share the dance floor?" he asks, his voice a low growl.

"Why not?" I purr, matching his intensity.

We move together, our bodies alive and coiled. His hands roam, igniting sparks wherever they touch. It's been too long since I've felt this alive.

He dips his head, his breath hot against my ear. "You're a mystery," he whispers. "I want to unravel you, piece by piece."

My fingers trail down his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath his shirt. "And you," I say, my voice husky, "are the perfect distraction."

The dance ends, and I slide back to the bar, making sure to keep the swaying rhythm of my body intact. Just like I'd wanted, the man follows me. Something about him is oddly familiar. He has some years on me, but I don't mind that, not when he clearly knows his way around the dance floor and a lady's heart. The anchor tattoo on his exposed chest, that snarky smile.Sinful,I find myself thinking, then want to take the word back in surprise.

Honestly, I hadn't expected I'd meet someone, much less be attracted to them. My failed attachment to River had turned me to stone, and then, after Ginny, there just wasn't enough time. I hadn't realized when the responsibilities had reduced in their acuteness, but I felt curiously light, like I wasn’t shackled to my past any longer.

The handsome stranger drops down on the stool beside me and rotates mine so I face him. The frank intensity in his gaze sends a fresh river of goosebumps up my spine. "Who are you?" he asks, his voice warm like hot honey.

"Freya," I murmur, looking away from him. Somehow, it's hard to lie to this man. I tell myself it's in that "I know how you look naked" gaze of his.

"Freya," he repeats, rolling the name on his tongue. "So, Freya, what say we get out of here?"

"Sure," I fire back, "but only if you let me take charge."

His brows shoot up, but so do his lips. I love his smile. I love feeling this way.

"Lead the way, Freya," he says, his voice a husky invitation, his hand warm on the small of my back.

"One sec," I tell the man, a hand on his chest to keep him from following me out the door. I flash a wink to the bartender, who gives me a knowing nod and an upturned thumb. No doubt, he thinks I've bagged myself a hottie, and he's absolutely right.

"All clear," I say in a sing-song tone, linking my arm through his and pulling him into the night. The streets of Spokane sparkle under the moonlight, the city's pulse thrumming beneath our feet.

"Someone's eager." He chuckles, a low rumble that vibrates against my skin.

"I've got a place in mind," I confess, "and if you don't like it, you can just blame my questionable taste in dive bars." I’m teasing, but I'm confident he'll love it.

"Dive bars, huh? You're full of surprises, Freya," he says, and his grin makes my knees weak. Good thing I've linked our arms together, or I might have stumbled.

A few blocks later, we arrive at a neon sign blinking the words, “The Rusty Nail”. It's not fancy, but it's good. I push open the door, a wave of warmth and the smell of greasy fries washing over us. The regulars look up from their drinks, their eyes widening when they see my companion. I shoot them a playful glare, and they quickly return to their conversations.

"You frequent this place often?" he asks, amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Only when I need a stiff drink and some good company," I reply, leading him to my usual booth tucked away in the back.

In all honesty, I've come here a lot over the last few months when Ginny is staying with a friend or with my parents. I love the nondescript surroundings and how everyone knows me but doesn't feel the dire need to engage me in conversations I'm not ready to have.

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