Page 2 of Cascade

I can feel the bartender giving me the side eye. Tessy, she’d said her name was. She doesn’t yet know that this is a thing I do. I go into bars and order a drink and then spend an hour hyper analyzing what could happen if I actually drank it. So far I haven’t found the nerve.

I spent too many nights cleaning up my father’s vodka vomit.

I’ve had a few sips of wine at parties, drunk a craft beer or two in the past. It just sets off my panic alarms. I don’t think I’ll ever casually sip an alcoholic drink.

I continue to spin the glass and I notice a man walk into the bar. I’ve seen him around town before, and I flush, remembering how I’d stared after him when he was jogging late last evening. I’d been checking on a postpartum patient at home at the end of the day. I stepped outside and nearly collided with this tall, lithe man, running shirtless through the streets of Oak Creek despite the spring chill.

He settles in to the stool nearby and orders a drink. Then, noticing me, he says, “Waiting for an invitation to drink it?”

“Oh,” I tell him, blushing again but turning to meet his gaze. “I’m just trying to decide if I will. Drink it, I mean.” I swallow.God, I sound like a freak.He must think I’m the worst sort of neurotic. I try to cover by holding out my hand for a shake. “I’m Opal.”

He grins—a beautiful, two-dimpled smile that seems so natural on his face—and returns my shake. His hand feels strong, and I let mine linger a second longer than I should before he breaks our grip. “Archer Crawford,” he says, still smiling. I could melt into those brown eyes, and I realize I haven’t had a thought spiral since he started talking to me. “Nice to meet you.”

“I, uh, actually saw you. Yesterday,” I tell him.Idiot, idiot, idiot.

He grins, seemingly pleased by this revelation. “Oh yeah?” He takes a long drink of his beer and I watch his throat move as he swallows. It’s been much too long since I indulged the urge to talk to an attractive man.

“Mm hm,” I tell him, still spinning my glass. “You were out running.”

He squints, seeming to study my face. “Oh yeah,” he says, nodding. “I think I remember you stepping out from the Martins’ house.” He raps his knuckles on the bar. “Yesterday was a better day.”

A laugh escapes my throat. “You can say that again.”

Archer picks up his drink and gestures toward me. “To better days,” he says. I pick up my glass, clink it against his, and say, “To better days.”And then something unprecedented happens.

I open my mouth and down the whiskey like I’ve been doing this my whole life.

Nothing happens.

I feel euphoric, and I actually giggle.

And now I feel…still. I feel stillness sitting next to Archer Crawford, sipping whiskey.

I could get used to this. I lean against the bar, propping my head against one hand, facing Archer. “So tell me about your shitty day, Archer Crawford.”

He nods to Tessy for another drink and she slides him a bottle of beer. “Well, my sister eloped today.” He drinks some of the beer and scowls. “Does it count as eloping if they had it all planned out? Like…she tricked me and one of my brothers into going with her to sign the license as witnesses.”

“What’s so bad about your sister getting married,” I ask, avoiding the question about whether she fit the strict definition of elopement. “Is her partner so terrible?”

“Who, Asa? Nah. He’s great. He’s great forher.”He looks around the nearly empty bar and shifts on his stool so he’s closer to me. “I guess I just feel left out,” he says and shrugs. “Even my cyborg brother is married, and my youngest brother never comes home. So it’s just me. Good ole’ Archer. Flying solo.”

As he talks, I study the corded muscles in his forearms. He wears a flannel shirt with the cuffs rolled up and a tattered old pair of jeans that cling to his body. Between his dark stubble and the thermal undershirt peeking out above his half-unbuttoned shirt, he looks like a sexy lumberjack.

I like how I feel right now, relaxed. Calm. Focused on just one thing: this man. This never happens for me. I’m always planning out what I need to get ready for the morning or else poring through my pregnant patients’ charts, wondering who might go into labor next.

Right now, I’m overwhelmed by the scent of my neighbor. Spicy deodorant. Maleness. I stare so intently I can see his pulse ticking in his throat. And I like it. I like that this is all I’m thinking about right now.

I start to wonder if Archer Crawford is magical.

My body seems controlled by some external force, some sort of confident source, and I watch from afar as my own hand reaches out to lightly stroke his arm.

“Well,” I say in a voice that’s not my own. Who is this goddess hitting on Archer and how can I keep her around? Because she is really leaning in to all the things I wish I did more often. “You don’t have to fly solo tonight, Archer Crawford. If you don’t want to.”

His brows shoot up and I see him adjust his posture. I bite my bottom lip and stare at him anticipating. “What are you trying to say, Opal?” He leans closer still. “I’m going to need you to spell it out for me, because like I said, I’ve had a day.”

I stand up from the stool and place a hand flat on his shoulder. “Let’s get out of here. To your place.”

CHAPTER THREE

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