Page 79 of Fragile Heart

…I think so. Let me check her location.

The dots disappear.

I grab a new shirt from my closet and my favorite cowboy hat. By the time I grab my phone from my bed, Melissa’s texted me back.

Yes, she’s still there.

She says she’s going to dance a bit and then head home in an hour or two when her drink has worn off.

Why? Are you going? Did something happen with Caleb?

I ignore her questions.

Thanks. I’ll check out Chesapeake tomorrow.

I shove my phone into my pocket and slip my boots back on. I stare at the packet still on the passenger seat like it might just bite me.

And then I throw the truck into gear and head out toward Main before I lose my goddamn nerve.

BRIELLE

The Outpost isn’t nearly as fun once Melissa leaves, but I slowly sip my Cape Cod and try to relax anyway. I didn’t get dressed up—first for Caleb and then for Melissa—just to end up heading home not an hour into being here. Besides, it’s not like I’m about to drink and drive, so I have to wait a bit no matter what.

Devynn watches me from where she helms the bar. She cocks an eyebrow, and I shake my head. I’m fine enough here. A man sits down in the lone open chair, and she turns to him, her gaze going guarded like that time I first met her. I go back to sipping the mixed drink and watching the small group of women trying to line dance in the center of the dance floor.

I’m not an expert, but I’d swear they’re tourists that somehow managed to skip both bars along Main Street that cater specifically to people traveling through Creek Falls on their way north to the national parks. There’s just a way that the girl on the left moves in the black cowboy boots, like she’s not used to their weight and size and shape. I adjust my own boot-clad feet, crossing them under the barstool’s foot rest. It feels criminal to be out on a Friday night in jeans. But at least I’m not sticking out here—mostly. A couple of the men gave me odd looks when Melissa and I first showed up, their gazes catching on the mostly see-through top I’d opted for, the same black one I’d worn out with Caleb a month ago.

Someone leans against the tall table, pulling me from my musings. He’s an attractive man with a close-trim beard and tan cowboy hat. His blue button-up shirt is left undone, exposing a plain white tee underneath. If I’d just seen him from the side, I’d risk assuming it’s Ethan—minus the tattoos. His eyes, though, aren’t as friendly. He feels vaguely familiar, but I can’t place a name.

“Hey, Brielle,” he says.

I offer a tight smile and cover the top of my cocktail.

He leans on his elbow as he smiles back. His eyes skate down my shirt, and it takes every ounce of self-control to not cross my arms. I don’t want this man to look at me at all—and certainly not like he’s already imagining me undressed.

“I saw you were here alone and thought you might want someone to cheer you up,” he says when I don’t offer any more of a greeting. “No one wants to spend Friday night alone.”

I do.

Well, not technically. But I’d rather spend it alone than with this man that makes all my alarm bells go off.

“Do I know you?” I ask, pulling my corporate no-nonsense voice from its dusty shelf. He feels vaguely familiar, but I’mnearly positive I haven’t seen him since being back in Creek Falls this summer.

His grin is wider this time—and still doesn’t touch his eyes. “Not yet, but you’ll be screaming for me by the end of the night.”

Ugh. Gross.

I lean away from him, trying to get as much distance between us without actually standing up from the table. He follows me, not allowing me to retreat.

“I bet I can guess your scent,” he whispers. “Something so delicate as you probably has something that matches. A flower or maybe a fruit.”

He covers my hand with his.

Oh, fuck me. Of course the one night I decide to go out on my own is the night some bastard of a creep decides I’m the perfect prize instead of the tourists still hobbling along on the dance floor.

And how in the hell does he know who I am?

“If I guess it, what will you give me?” His voice drops suggestively.

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