Page 17 of Exile

That was a step in the direction I wanted. “Great. I’ll just come knock on your door again around noon. Thanks for the tea, Grandpa.”

“Don’t call me that,” he muttered, his eyes still on me.

“But you are—” I stopped myself. “Never mind. Thank you, Caspian.”

The weight of his stare followed me as I walked to the door, my heart pounding for reasons I couldn’t explain.

“Close the door on your way out,” he said, his voice rough.

I nodded and stepped out onto the porch. As I closed the door behind me, I stood there for a little while, unable to get rid of that feeling that pulled me to him.

There was something about Caspian.

Even when he pushed me away, I felt…attracted to his being.

***

The bar was exactly what I’d imagined.

The place was dimly lit, with dark wooden floors and the faint smell of stale beer lingering in the air. A jukebox in one corner hummed out old rock songs, and a group of locals stood around the pool table, talking loudly.

I glanced around and decided to sit at the bar. I ordered some fries and a large Pepsi.

As I sipped my drink, I let myself relax, leaning back to take in the scene. The bartender, a cheerful woman in her fifties, had been polite but not overly chatty, leaving me to observe the peace.

Though, that peace didn’t last long.

“Well, well, look who decided to stop by,” a male voice said.

I turned to see Henry, the general store owner. He leaned casually against the bar, giving me a charming smile. He wore a flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows, his brown hair slightly ruffled like he’d been working all day. There was a playful gleam in his blue eyes, sparkling with mischief.

“Hey, Henry,” I said, offering a polite smile.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, sliding onto the stool beside mine without an invitation. “Thought you’d be hiding in that little house, writing poetry or whatever the city girls do when they come out here.”

I wanted to frown at him.

Men who assumed things about me annoyed me.

But I was just a guest in this tiny village filled with people who probably knew each other very well and talked to each other about any outsider, and I didn’t want to make a bad name for myself.

I smiled tightly. “Not much of a poet, I’m afraid. Besides, I wanted to see what the locals here do on a Friday night.”

He chuckled. “Good choice. This place may not look like much, but it grows on you.” He waved at the bartender, who nodded and started pouring him a beer.

“You come here often, then?” I asked, putting another fry in my mouth.

“Often enough,” he said with a shrug. “Most Fridays, for sure.”

“Cool.”

He got his beer and tipped his chin at me. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” I watched him take a few sips, then he grinned at me again.

“So, how are you liking our little slice of nowhere?”

I liked that description. “It’s nice. Quieter than I’m used to. But I like it a lot.”

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