Page 9 of Forever To Me

Disappointment fills me that he left before I could even learn his name. Maybe he’s a Luke. Or maybe a Ryan. Nah, he doesn’t look like either of those. I consider asking Aunt Maggie later. But I don’t want to give away that I was with him; he didn’t want her knowing, and I won’t give up our secret. And we both agreed that it would only be one night.

And it was freaking amazing. Glorious.

My first one-night stand was a night I’ll never forget for the rest of my life. My mind roams back to the possessiveness of hishands, his lips all over me, and my hand instinctively goes to my neck where the scruff of his dark, neatly trimmed beard still leaves me tingling, remembering where his mouth was on my neck.

I remember the way his eyes met mine, and I almost felt sadness or loneliness a few times like there’s a deepness there I wanted to explore. The way our bodies seemed to fit together, our chemistry was off the charts. I’ve never met anyone like him before and I don’t even know his name. A cowboy bartender who works at The Black Dog in Bridger Falls, Wyoming. I hadn’t planned on going out last night. But I’m glad that I did. I realize I left my car there and I’m going to have to ask Maggie for a ride to go get it.

Nice, Violet. You don’t even know his name.

I get up and reluctantly take a shower, my body still feeling him from last night. I wonder what time he left. I really wish he’d stayed. Then I think about how he parked in the back even though he knew my room was in the front.My stomach drops with dread, my eyes squeezing shut in horror as I bury my face in my hands.

What if he’s married? Oh my god.

I don’t think he’s married. He didn’t strike me as the type to do something like that. There was a quiet honesty about him, something solid that made me believe he’s a good man. I didn’t see a ring, and his truck was spotless, no evidence of a family. I didn’t think to ask, but now I wish I had, just to be sure. I’m not that kind of woman. I don’t cheat, and I can’t stand cheaters. After what my ex puts me through, the thought makes my stomach turn.

Shaking off the feeling of uneasiness, I finish getting ready and head to the motel office. The moment I step through the Dogwood’s small front room, Maggie looks up, her expression softening with relief.

“You’re here,” she says, her voice warm and comforting.

I’ve been here just a few days now, and Maggie and I have settled into an easy rhythm together. She’s my favorite aunt, my mom's older sister. And after everything I went through the past year, coming here to lick my wounds and figure out my next move with Maggie just made sense. It's been far too long since I've been back here.

“I got worried when I didn’t see your car,” she says as she pours me a cup of coffee from the coffee pot. She’s got faded denim wranglers on, a bright pink shirt, and a denim vest with pink and blue flowers embroidered on it. Her feet wear hot pink cowboy boots. Maggie’s pushing seventy and is eclectic and unique, and I just adore her. Staying here with her is healing me in ways I couldn’t begin to describe.

“I left it at the bar last night,” I admit sheepishly. “Can you give me a ride later to pick it up?”

She chuckles and raises a brow. “Do I want to know?”

“Probably not.” I shake my head and grin. “Let’s just say that the whiskey at the Black Dog was good.”

And a lot of other things were very good. Like the hot cowboy bartender who cannot be named. But of course, I keep that to myself with a smile.

“Glad to see that you’re getting out and doing young people stuff,” she smirks as she stacks a few papers on her desk.

“Yeah, well I like hanging out with you, too,” I say. “You can come with me next time to the Black Dog.”

“I’d be down for supper some night,” she shrugs.

Maggie and I have always been close, but one thing about her is that she isn’t a gossip. She loves the people of this town and pours into them, but she’s not offering up information on people that isn’t relevant, and I respect her for that. In fact, that’s one of the reasons why I trust her and chose to stay herefor a while. Maggie is a good person deep down to her core and always has been. That’s why she’s my favorite aunt.

“You up for helping me with some rooms today?” she asks over her mug as she interrupts my thoughts. She looks tired again today. But then again, before I got here, she’d been running this place on her own and cleaning all the rooms by herself. And for a motel in the small town of Bridger Falls, she stays surprisingly busy. I have no idea how she was doing everything on her own.

“Of course,” I say with a nod. “I’m ready. What’s the plan?”

“Lots of checkouts. It’s a busy day,” she says as she lays out the set of master keys and a note of the rooms and special instructions next to their numbers.

When I left Nashville, I knew staying with Maggie would be the best option for me. I needed a break from my life.I love my parents, but I needed to go where I could figure things out without my parents trying to do it for me. I needed my Maggie.

Where’s the best place to do that? In Bridger Falls, according to Maggie Pines, the proud owner of the Dogwood. I wouldn’t necessarily say I’m hiding out, but I don’t want to go home. I don’t have a home to go back to anymore. Maggie seemed to find that amusing and murmured something about someone else she knew. Whatever that means. I have a feeling that the people of Bridger Falls look out for each other, and that’s something I need in my life right now. I haven’t had anyone in my corner for a while. And I’ll admit that it feels good to have a soft place to land around someone I can trust. Maggie doesn’t pry and hasn’t asked me what happened back in Nashville, and I’m grateful for that. I just need time to figure everything out.

After I had been here a few days, Maggie made me a deal. If I help her out at the motel, I can stay here as long as I need to and have a job, as long as I give her plenty of notice beforetaking off again. I think she loves having someone here with her. The feeling is mutual.

I took her deal. And I am thankful for her every day.

We’ve had our routine for the past few days. I clean all her rooms for her, and then we play canasta or gin rummy until bedtime on the back porch of the Dogwood. I do all the heavy lifting for her. And we have lots of laughs, and she’s full of hilarious stories that never get old. She and my mother are alike, and I think it's comforting to be near her.

I’m not sure whose soul is getting rehabbed more here, hers or mine. And despite being seventy years old, she’s a freaking hoot. She comes and goes, sometimes asking me to sit at the desk and keep an eye on things. She does a lot for people around town and calls upon them when she needs something done as well. She’s like the grandmother to all. She knows everything and everyone.

She’s normally clad in mostly denim, and a different bright color accentuates her accessories and clothing daily with her matching cowboy boots that she must have in every color. Her hair is white and styled in a neat bob that hangs just above her shoulders. She’s got class, style, and sass. I wouldn’t mind being just like Aunt Maggie when I grow up.

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