Page 6 of A Fowl Match

Violet

Thebarisextremelypacked for a Friday night. It must be because of the new set the Thornwood Heartbreakers are playing.

I recognize almost every face I see. All small-town folks. Farmers finished from a long day of work, the small business owners from the strip of town, blue collar workers, and almost everyone else that lives in the surrounding properties. A few tourists are here also. When the weather gets a little warmer more of them start rolling in for hiking trips, camping, and fishing. So, we all try to enjoy the time the town is empty when we can relax before the influx of people.

As we make our way closer to the bar, there are only two empty seats left. And they are not directly next to each other. A man sits in the middle. So, Olive and I will most likely be split up. All of the round oak tables that line the center between the bar and stage are filled. Once the night goes on some townies dance in front of the stage and tables.

The bar is decorated in a rustic theme. A live edge counter coated in epoxy follows the left wall. Recessed lighting shades the inside in a warm glow. Assorted bottles of alcohol are neatly arranged on a few shelves behind the counter. Vintage tin signs hang all over the establishment, some with coca cola, betty boop, and corona. Adorning the walls with accents of color that pop against the dark wood paneled walls. Glasses clink and drip with condensation. The faint aroma of smoke and beer lingers in the air.

“Well, this sucks,” Olive says as we make it to the black leather stools. The man sitting in the center is someone I don’t think I’ve met before. He is tall, that much I can tell even though he’s sitting. His boots hit the floor, where mine normally dangle high above the stone, tiled floor when sitting on the stools. His hair is short and brown with streaks of natural dirty blonde. He's dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a forest green and white striped flannel. I’m not sure who he is because I can’t see his face.

“Who’s that?” I whisper in Olive’s ear.

“Who? Him?” she shouts over the chatter and points directly at him.

I tug on her arm, pressing my pointer finger against my lips. “Shhhh. Yes, I don’t recognize him.”

“Oh, I have no clue who that is.” She giggles, whispering this time, “Isn’t he dreamy?”

I don’t know if he's dreamy. How would she know? He hasn’t turned around yet.

“Are you already drunk?” I ask. “You are too giggly, and you haven’t even had a sip yet.”

“I may have prepared before we came.” She winks.

Oh no. Here we go again.

She makes bad decisions when drinking. Normally involving guys. Hopefully Chad isn’t here. He’s her ex-boyfriend. And he is notorious for breaking her heart.

“Okay, I’m gonna ask if he will move down a stool so that we can sit together,” I say as I grab her arm, “Stay here, okay?”

“Yes ma'am.” She hiccups.

I roll my eyes and approach the mystery man. I tap him on the shoulder, and he looks at me. And that’s when it clicks. I've met him before. A memory flashes in my mind of a few days earlier.

Mr. Grumpy.

Olive was right, he is dreamy. I understand all too well. I am utterly speechless again.

“Yes?—you again,” he grumbles, his husky voice laced with annoyance once he recognizes me.

Boy, do I regret touching him. I think I poked a bear. He scowls, eyebrows furrowed in a disapproving glare. And the instant attraction I felt towards him fades away—yet again. As for my willingness to be friendly and swoon.

“Who’s been peeing in his wheaties?”I think to myself but whisper out loud without control.

“Excuse me?” He crosses his strong arms over his chest, looking even more annoyed.

Oh!I cover my mouth with my hand.

“Oh crap. Did I say that out loud?”

“Yep. Indeed, you did. What do you want?”

Hmmm. Okay. I get it. He’s not a happy camper.

I didn’t mean to go blurting my inner thoughts. I meant to keep that thought shoved away. Deep in the confines of my mind.

But it’s too late now to take it back. Maybe I should roll with it?

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