Page 8 of Peaches

“Hey,” I warn. “Don’t get yourselves all twisted now. You start fighting with each other in my bar and I’ll be the one to finish it, you hear?”

“That a threat, Rhett?” Sunny looks at me like this would be a fair fight.

“That’s a promise,” I confirm before stepping away, inhaling a deep breath through my nose to stem the tingle in my fingers. I shake out my hands and beeline it for Kasey. “Those two idiots are on their last drink.”

He looks in Sunny and Boone’s direction. “Already?”

I nod. “Yep.”

“All right. I’ll give them the good news when they’re done with that round.” He pats my shoulder and gives me a once-over. “You cool?”

“Yeah. Just . . . annoyed.”

“Okay. Well, take it easy and let me handle them. I’m gonna grab some more bourbon from the back—you okay for a minute?”

“Yeah,” I say through a sigh. “I’m good.”

Kasey nods and heads for the back office, and I see City Slicker is headed for the hallway too, likely for the bathroom.

I take the opportunity to plant myself right in front of Olivia.

She straightens, her manicured fingers reaching for the square napkin that rests on the bar between us. “You’re here,” she says, the words slipping through full lips I can’t resist watching.

My own mouth curves into a wide smirk. “You thinkin’ about me, peaches?”

The napkin crumples in her hand and her cheeks flush crimson. It’s a beautiful display of what I can only assume is her discomfort, which leaves me feeling a bit at odds with my ability to have that effect on her. “I didn’t know you worked here,” she says in a hushed whisper.

“It’s my family’s bar,” I say back. She winces, like somehow that’s worse than me just working here. The lingering silence is taut. “You really didn’t know I’d be here?” I ask.

She shakes her head, straightening in the tall barstool. “No. If I’d known . . .” A flare of determination settles over her, a confidence that makes my chest spark. “I knew your family owned the bar, but I guess I didn’t realize you’d actually be working in it. I didn’t know where else in town to meet Tony without anyone noticing.”

“Tony?” I parrot, looking toward the dark hallway he disappeared down. “Who the fuck is Tony?”

“My date,” she says coolly.

I scoff, shaking my head as I stand back to my full height. I don’t have time for this shit.

“What’s so funny?” she asks, defensive.

I take in the ferocity in her eyes, the tight press of her plump lips. God, she’s one hell of a looker. Too bad she wastes it all on guys likeTonyand the greasy douchebag from last night. “Nothing, sweetheart.” I knock my knuckles against the bar’s surface. “Have a good night with your date.”

She looks like she wants to fire back, but Tony comes walking around the corner and stops her from saying another word.

CHAPTERFOUR

OLIVIA

My annoyance spikes as Rhett walks away and Tony sits down. I feel him slide a cold hand down my spine as he settles next to me and resist the instinct to shake him off.You wanted this date, I remind myself—though I’m already having a hard time remembering why.

“You know,” Tony says with an arched brow as he looks at me. “You’re prettier than your profile picture. I almost didn’t swipe.” He smirks and picks up his drink—can’t say anyone’s ordered me a White Russian before—then proceeds to suck down its contents through the small black straw. It suddenly feels like last night all over again—except this time, I don’t have my best friend to act as a buffer.

When I let Charlotte download the dating app to my phone last weekend, I wasn’t sure I was actually going to do anything with it. She’s always been much bolder and braver when it comes to interacting with men, but she’s also lived through her share of dating-related horror stories that, quite frankly, should have been more than enough to keep me away from online dating.

But spending night after night alone in my quiet house has been increasingly depressing. Not even keeping myself busy with work at the diner has staved off this suffocating . . .boredom. I’ve spent the majority of my life in this cramped and dusty town, surrounded by people who care more about spying on their neighbors for a juicy piece of gossip than making lasting and heartfelt connections with each other.

That’s not to say I’ve never dated. But nothing ever lasted more than a few weeks . . . and I certainly didn’t find any ofthosemen online. It’s not even to say I haven’t dabbled in gossip. It’s just . . . I want more. For my life, for myself. And I just don’t care if Jenny hired the latest teen mom at her salon or Ed from the post office is delaying his retirement.

“Oh,” I mumble into my own drink, unsure how to respond to what I’mchoosingto believe was a well-intentioned compliment. “Really?” I take a long sip and almost spit out the foul concoction. Something tastes . . . rotten.

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