Page 127 of Stone

The bar predominantly stunk of cigarettes and cheap whisky, so when the fresh scent of flowers and laundry hit me, I inhaled good and deep because it smelled clean, and God help me, I needed some clean in my soul.

Slowly, my head swiveled right, and the second thing I noticed was bright blue eyes dancing with mischief, and I knew, there and then, she was trouble with a capital damned T.

She popped a hip and jerked her thumb toward a table of giggling girls. “My friends and I made a bet. They say you’re from New Mexico, but I feel like you’re an out-of-towner, and my feelings are never wrong. I’ve told them you’re from somewhere further north, and ten bucks is riding on it. So, tell me, handsome, where are you from?”

That was when I noticed her voice, which was soft and husky. It put me in mind of Stevie Nicks, and the times she sang with a smooth, growly catch in her voice as she told us of past heartbreak.

Despite myself, I smiled.

My stare slid from her eyes to her friends, then back again. I dipped my chin. “You just won yourself ten bucks, sweetheart.”

She did a cute little shoulder shimmy before whirling back to her friends and singing, “I win, bitches.”

Groans and giggles went up, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, I threw my head back and laughed.

Her face lit up like the stars, her eyes dancing in the glow of the bar lights. “You have a splendiferous laugh.”

I choked back a chuckle. “Splendiferous?”

“Yeah,” she tossed her long, black hair, “splendiferous. Every day, I like to use an unusual word. Language is so beautiful, and some of the most splendiferous words aren’t used enough, don’t you think?”

Something inside me sparked, not back to life, but it sparked, nonetheless. “How old are you?” I asked.

She looked around and said loudly, “Twenty-one,” before leaning forward and whispering, “Twenty,” and shooting me an exaggerated wink.

“You’re a fuckin’ trip,” I announced.

She looked up, grinning. “Good. At least I’m interesting.”

“That you are, sweetheart,” I muttered, holding my hand out. “I’m John Stone.”

She grasped it, and I noticed how soft her hands were. My skin didn’t set fire, like it did when I touched Elise, but it was nice all the same.

“Nice to meet you, John Stone. I’m Adele. Adele Whitlock.”

I nodded to the stool next to me. “Wanna drink, Adele?”

Her gaze slashed to her friend’s table, and she shook her head. “Sorry. My friend Laurie’s getting married on Saturday. We’re doing a bar crawl in celebration of her last days of freedom. It was splendiferous of you to ask, but we’re heading out soon.”

Another chuckle bubbled up my throat, and I turned back to the beer on the bar in front of me. “No problem, Adele. Another time.”

Warmth hit my back as she brushed her fingertips across my shoulders. “Yeah, John Stone. Another time.”

The fading sound of heels against tile signaled her exit, and I hung my head, a smile still playing around my lips.

It was weird, but Adele was the first person I’d had a decent conversation with for weeks. In the last month, I’d only spoken to gas station attendants, waitresses, shopkeepers, and motel receptionists. I’d gotten on my old bike and left Hambleton in my rearview. I needed to heal, and I couldn’t do that in the same town asherandhim. I rode over the border to Colorado and explored some towns and cities I always wanted to visit. Then, a few days ago, I rode over the border to New Mexico.

I knew I’d have to head back soon. Abe was doing a stand-up job with the club cleanup and organizing the work on the new warehouse, but somehow, I couldn’t seem to summon up the energy. Time had scabbed over the deepest wound, though I knew I wasn’t back to being me. Though I wondered if maybe I wasn’t meant to be me, without her. Perhaps after all the military bullshit and heartache, I was meant to be a different me.

With a sigh, I dug into my pocket for some notes when the scent enveloped me again: flowers and clean laundry.

“I’ve decided it’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind,” a Stevie Nicks tone declared. “Is the invitation still good?”

A grin stole across my face. “Yeah, sweetheart. It’s all good.”

And for the first time in months, it was.

We talked about everything, and when the bar closed, we went to an all-night diner and talked some more.

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