Page 11 of Breaking Point

No, this isn’t what I was expecting at all.Not just because it’s not the kind of scene I would normally be caught dead in… It’s not the place I pictured Harvey or Olivia in either.

Peanut shells litter the floor, and the crowd is a wave of denim and cowboy boots. I almost don’t recognize Harvey when he strolls through the swinging entry doors, thumbs hooked in the loop of his enormous silver belt buckle. That paired with his brown boots, plaid shirt, and denim jeans, and he fits right in with the place.

He spots me immediately. I’m the only one not wearing a cowboy hat, and from my view from the bar, I stand out like a sore thumb. I dip my chin in greeting as he leans against the bartop.

“Mr. Hughes.”

“What’re you drinking?”

“I’m fine, Sir. Thank you.”

He orders a soda before plopping down in a seat and looking around with a pleasant smile. “I haven’t been to a honky tonk in ages. Ever been?” he asks just as the singer at center-stage belts a high note.

“Can’t say I have, Sir.”

A laugh barrels out of him. “This used to be the thing to do years ago. My wife- my late wife, I mean- she used to love a good slow dance.” I crack a small smile at that as the bartender drops a drink down. Harvey surveys the club over the rim of it. “Does tomorrow at Aspen House work for dinner? Maybe 7? Figure it’s as good a time as any to talk about the new living arrangement.”

I nod. “I’m sure Taylor and I can swing that.” I notice a group of men holler from the corner, and Harvey waves in greeting. Likely some work colleagues from the look of them.

“The work never stops,” he comments casually, squeezing a lime wedge into his drink. “Have you seen my daughter yet?”

As he says the words, I see a flash of gold by the doors. I notice lots of things when I take in a room. But tonight, I notice her first. Olivia Hughes is like sunshine on a cloudy day. In a dark room full of people humming to the band, her golden hair and light eyes make everything feel like it’s burning. I’ve always noticed her. It’s impossible not to, but something about that casual bravado still feels forced to me.

Her eyes bounce over the crowd, and when they land on her father, her face lights up. She hops down the steps leading to the dance floor, disappearing into the swarm of bodies. It’s several moments before she pops up between Harvey and I.

“Good to see you.” Harvey kisses her cheek, and her blonde ponytail falls over her shoulder as she leans across the bar.

“Have anything good?” she asks the bartender.

The man- probably around her age- melts like butter on a hot day, dropping everything to tend to her. “Tell me what you like, and I’ll make you a double.”

I know an interested man when I see one. Yet she’s completely oblivious to the effect she has on him, glancing toward her dad in question. “What are you having?”

“Just club soda,” Harvey takes a slow sip, and Olivia’s eyes float to me, body twisting as she acknowledges me for the first time tonight.

“And you?” she asks, eyes narrowing slightly.

It’s the only indication that the tension between us isn’t imagined. Thereistension. Maybe because one of the last things I did the last time we met was call her a liar. Maybe it’s that every time she lays eyes on me, she stifles a frown. She smiles for everyone else. But her frowns are reserved for me.

“Nothing for me.”

“Soda with lime then, please.” She slaps a couple of bills on the counter.

The bartender deflates. “Alrighty then.”

She turns, leaving the man lingering after her, but her attention quickly finds Harvey again. “I’m glad you came tonight. Even if it is for work.”

Harvey pinches her cheek. “I didn’t come for work. This-” he motions to the noise and chaos around us. “This is all for you.”

“You flatter me, Dad but… You should probably let them know. For clarity’s sake.” She waves at Harvey’s colleagues across the bar.

He swallows off the last of his drink before squeezing Olivia’s shoulder. “You’re right. Just a few minutes.”

He disappears, and despite the music, he leaves a wide gap of silence behind. I’m not uncomfortable with it. Silence and I are close friends.

People usually tell me what I need to know about them. Everyone has a tell. But something about the way she’s looking at me right now has me wondering if I’ve gotten too cocky. There’s this gentle curiosity in her eye. Not a challenge. Just the slightest gleam, telling me she doesn’t quite know what to make of me either.

It rubs me wrong-not knowing her tells.

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