Page 10 of Forever To Me

I may be thirty next week, but I’m still figuring out my life. I guess I’m a late bloomer. I’ve spent the past decade playing music, making music, and that’s been my life along with a few bartender jobs to get by when I wasn’t making enough with music.

Her phone rings, and she answers it, smiling when she sees the caller, “Hello, sugar,” she says with her thick country accent. She’s probably talking to one of the many friends she has here in Bridger Falls.

She puts a hand to her hip and laughs. “Oh, you will do so good. I’m so proud of you, sweetie.”

She carries on her conversation for a few minutes while I stock the cleaning cart with everything I’ll need for the day.

“Alright now, sugar. Text me when you get done. Bye now.”

I stock the linen cart and push it all to the back door, ready to get going for the day. If I’m being honest, it’s not my favorite job I’ve ever had, but it’s been good for my soul in ways I can’t explain. I clean, I think about my life, I work songs out in my head, I get tired, and I sleep solid as a rock at night. Something I wasn’t doing back in Nashville. Before I left, I was never able to sleep. Wyoming has somehow fixed that. I sleep like a baby here. Maybe it’s all the fresh country air.

Cleaning has given me time to think about what I want now and what I don’t want. So far, I know what I don’t want. I haven’t gotten to what I want yet. And that’s why I’m staying in Bridger Falls until I figure it out. But what I do know is that I will never let another man lie to me or make me feel less than I am ever again. I know who I am. And last night was proof of that. I didn’t go out looking for fun, but I found it all the same. My whiskey-eyed cowboy didn’t make false promises of forever but gave me mind-blowing orgasms. That’s all I needed.

“Sugar, how do you feel about dogs?” Maggie asks as she joins me in the back.

“I love dogs,” I smile. “Why?”

“Well, good. Me personally, I don’t trust anyone who says they don’t like dogs. Like something’s wrong with ‘em or something. Dogs are good for the soul.”

“Okay?” I shrug, confused at where she’s going with this conversation. But that’s just Maggie. She’ll have random conversations that sometimes I never end up figuring out, and our time together is never boring, that’s for sure.And I agree with her. I love dogs. You know why? I’ve never met a narcissist dog. They’re just good. People on the other hand, are not always so good.

“Well, it’s a good thing you like ‘em because I need you to watch one for a day or so. I’ve been looking after one, and I need you to help me take over.”

“Okay,” I agree. Bet. I’ll take a dog to snuggle any day. And let’s just be honest. If Maggie asks me to do something, I’m doing it. I’d do anything for her.And if it involves animals, it’s an automatic yes.

“Good, good. I’ll bring her by later,” she says as she picks up her purse and slings it over her shoulder. Pink leather that matches her boots with cowboy leather fringe. Of course, she has a matching bag. I’d expect nothing less from Maggie.

“Can’t wait,” I say as I watch her.

“Now I need to run a few errands. You got the rooms; I’ll check in later, and we’ll do lunch.” She waves as she heads out.

“Alright,” I call as I take off to clean as quickly as I can. I’ve got a song brewing in my head that I want to write down. I work out the melody while I clean. I’ve been struggling to write for the past week. My heart hasn’t been in the place. I was in fight-or-flight mode back in Nashville. And it was more fight until I finally left and decided I was done being a puppet and being manipulated and taken advantage of by my mentor and friend.

A few hours later, I’m done for the day. I’ve showered and I’m sitting in the chair in my room, scripting out lyrics that are pouring out of me. Maybe my sexy bartender really was my lucky charm because right now I can’t stop writing, and the creative streak is flowing.

A knock jolts me back to reality, and I look out the window to see Maggie juggling a wiggling black fur ball trying to kiss her face.

No freaking way.

I snatch open the door and squeal as I take the dog from her, who turns and proceeds to profusely lick my face. “Who is this cutie?”

“Pickles,” she says and rolls her eyes. “And before you say anything, I didn’t name her that ridiculous name.”

“Aww,” I laugh. “She’s so sweet.”

“She’s a puppy and gets into everything, so good luck,” she adds as she comes in and sets down a small bag of groceries. Maggie shows her love by bringing you food and taking care of you. And Maggie wants to be loved in return with acts of service. That is probably why we go together like peas and carrots. I like to be fed, and she likes me to help her with the motel.It’s a win-win if you ask me.

“I just love her,” I coo, scratching her ears.

Maggie glances over at my notebook and guitar propped against the table. “Oh good, you’re getting some writing done.”

“Yeah, a song came to me that I’m trying to work out,” I admit as I kiss the dog’s head and stroke her super soft jet-black puppy fur.

“Whose dog is this?” I ask.

She waves her hand. “A friend. I’m just lookin’ after her for a few days. Or you are now, I guess.” She cocks her brow.

“I could never turn down puppy snuggles,” I say as I hug her to me as her mouth stretches in a big yawn and her puppy breath has me chuckling and kissing her head again.

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