Page 6 of Every Heartbeat After

He finally catches his breath while shaking his head at oncoming traffic. “Come on, as far as pickup lines go, that was an excellent one.”

My skin heats and I drop my hands to my lap. Purse my lips. I’m here for a reason. Seeking out what is quite possibly the last family tie I have this side of the grave. Do I really have time for this man to be trying to pick me up?

No. But it fills my belly with fire all the same.

He glances at me sideways, apprehension pinching his eyes at the corners. It’s a hole in the flirtatious facade, and it makes him all the more enticing. A little self-doubt is good for a man. At least I’ve always thought so.

I decide changing the subject is in both our best interest. “How’d you get roped into being my ride?”

Kit shrugs. “I was available.”

I peruse his uniform. “You didn’t have to work?”

“Not till later. I took an overnight to cover for one of the other guys.”

“Well”—I fold my hands together—“I appreciate you sacrificing your time off for me.”

“Hardly a sacrifice,” he murmurs. I barely catch it beneath the country music that fills the cab as he turns the radio up. “Feel free to take a nap. We’ve got about an hour and a half drive back to Loveless.”

“I’m not even tired,” I say on the tail end of a yawn.

“Mhm.” He reaches into the side panel of his door and retrieves a jacket with the sheriff’s logo on the chest. “Well, just in case.”

He passes it to me, our hands brushing for only a second. I close my eyes, pretending I didn’t feel it all the way to my toes.

He turns up the volume, and I wonder if he’s pretending, too.

* * *

The Horseshoe Inn is two stories with all outdoor entrances that have doors painted turquoise and a small Adirondack chair outside each room. I wash off the flight and the smell of Kit along with it, though I swear I’m still catching whiffs as I walk in the direction of the bar where I’m supposed to meet Gary for dinner.

I shove thoughts of the dark-haired deputy to the back of my brain, where they’ll hopefully remain to gather dust. It was a strange start to an otherwise really important weekend. Maybe I just needed to latch on to a distraction, any distraction, so as not to be riddled with nerves. A misguided coping mechanism. Nothing more.

People shuffle past me as I move closer to what appears to be the heart of all the hubbub. Loveless is nestled in a valley, with massive mountains looming all around the picturesque town. Its main street is pedestrian-friendly, all manicured sidewalks and bustling businesses that have window displays meant to entice shoppers. I spot the Nomads sign—black lettering atop a neon geometric design—just past a coffee shop that’s closed for the evening. I pause at the entrance, steeling myself with a deep breath.

I shouldn’t be nervous. I’ve talked to Gary multiple times since I contacted him about our match. Still, the age-old fears creep through. What if he doesn’t like me? What if my grief sits like a cloud overhead, casting shadows over all the things that used to make me lovable, so dark that he cannot see them?

No. Today is a happy day. And I will be happy, damn it.

Nomads is filled to the brim when I enter, adding myself to the mass of bodies crowding each cocktail table in the center of the room. Booths line the right wall, and a wooden-topped bar mirrors them on the left. I recognize Zoey from her picture. She’s slinging cocktails in front of a mercury-glass wall with shelf after shelf of liquor mounted on its reflective surface. Plants overflow from every nook, cranny, and ceiling beam, giving the place the feel of a warm hug when it would otherwise seem overwhelmingly packed.

“Tess?” I somehow hear over the cacophony of voices.

Gary appears from the fray like a knight on his steed, only my uncle’s horse is actually a sticker-coated scooter. He offers a hand to steady me when a man passing by knocks me sideways. I stumble more than step into my uncle’s waiting embrace. He’s shorter than me, but that’s not altogether unusual at five foot ten inches. He smells of Irish Spring soap and beer. I drink it in as he squeezes me three times fast.

“You made it!” When he pulls back, his eyes are red-rimmed. I imagine mine are, too. The crowd parts to let the man on a scooter pass through as he guides us away from the black-and-white-tiled entrance, closer to the bar, where Zoey glances up and offers me a welcoming smile.

“Of course I made it! I had a police escort.”

He chuckles, the apples of his cheeks turning rosy. His eyes are slate gray, as kind as they are unfamiliar. I search his face for any hint of hers, but my mother never looked much like her father anyway.

The loss still hits me square in the chest. I got my hopes up when I should’ve known better. I’ve never quite figured out how not to do that.

He must see the disappointment in my face, because his grin disappears into the fluff of his beard. “Come on; Santi made us to-go plates. We can find somewhere quieter to catch up.”

“Welcome to town, Tess!” Zoey calls as she passes a tied-off bag full of Styrofoam containers to Gary. “Hope Deputy Get-in-Your-Pants didn’t, well, you know.”

Gary grunts, pinning Zoey with a stare. “My niece would never.”

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