Page 38 of Sparrow

THE MINUTE SHEopened the door this evening, when I came to pick her up, I could tell something was off. I don’t know what, and I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s there.

“Are you all right?” I ask, as I make the turn onto the main road that leads back down into Savannah.

“I am now.” She smiles, but it doesn’t meet her eyes.

“You know you can tell me, right? Anything.” I reach across to take her hand.

She looks down at our hands and laces her fingers with mine, keeping her eyes there when she speaks. “My husband—ex-husband—called me yesterday. He was an asshole. Always is.”

“Is he making the divorce difficult?” I ask.

“You could say that. He doesn’t want it at all, so he’s fighting me at every turn.” She still hasn’t raised her eyes from our linked hands.

“Are you telling me the whole truth, Amelia?” I can sense she isn’t, and the thoughts my brain is conjuring are too much for me to handle.

“My marriage wasn’t and isn’t an easy thing to discuss, Gray.” She finally looks my way. “I just want to leave it behind and live my life the way I want to, okay? I’ll tell you all about it one day, I promise, but for now...I just want to enjoy this. Us. Everything.”

“I can live with that.” I bring her hand to my lips and kiss her knuckles.

***

We walk into The Warehouse, a small bar on River Street, arm in arm, and my chest puffs out in pride. All eyes are on her. She stands out like a neon light in the sky.

She wore dark, skintight jeans and a soft pink, flowy tank top. She left her hair down, but it’s straight instead of wild and wavy. She’s the most stunning woman in this city, and she’s not even trying.

“This place is great. I love the vibe already,” she shouts over the music pumping from the jukebox.

“It’s my favorite spot in town. Tourists tend to skip it because it doesn’t have the cliché ‘Savannah’ vibe, so it’s generally just locals.” I park us at a small table in the back.

“Got a thing against tourists?”

“Not particularly. They’re just very drunk and very loud. What’s your poison, milady?” I ask. “I’ll go get us something from the bar.”

“Beer. Local. Dark.”

Christ, I’m in love.

“My kind of woman.”

I leave her at the table and make my way back to the bar, tapping on it to get the attention of Lydia, the bartender here. She reminds me of an Amazonian badass—tall and blonde—she could kick my ass then drink me under the table.

“There’s my favorite customer. I thought you’d given up on us,” she says when she sees me.

“It’s only been a couple of weeks. Cut me some slack,” I chuckle. “I need two bottles of Carver.”

“Flavor of the week is actually a beer drinker? I’m impressed.” She places two opened bottles in front of me, and I slide her a bill.

“This one is more than that, Lyd. Way more.”

“I hope she has a thick skin.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Because Carissa is talking her up.”

“Christ’s sake.” I rise from the barstool, taking both beers with me. “I’ll go diffuse.”

“You’re the one that stuck your cock in her. You created your own misery.”

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