Page 7 of A Very Merry Enemy
We drink in silence for a few minutes, watching the band. They’re doing a decent cover of a George Strait song. My eyes scan across the room, and then I freeze.
Holiday’s in a corner booth toward the back. And she’s not alone.
Theo Williams is sitting across from her, leaning in close,saying something that makes her laugh. Theo Williams was the star quarterback in high school and class president. The guy every girl wanted, including Holiday. I remember her talking about him back when we were teenagers. How excited she was when he asked her to prom.
She went with him instead of me.
And now, fifteen years later, here they are again.
She’s wearing a black dress that shows cleavage. Her light brown hair is down, falling in soft waves over her shoulders. There’s a gold necklace around her throat that catches the light every time she moves. She looks polished and expensive and like she doesn’t belong in a small-town bar.
She looks like Paris. Like the life she chose over me.
And it makes me want to break something.
“Is that—” Sammy starts.
“Speak of the devil,” I mutter, trying to ignore this.
“Wow. Didn’t know they kept in touch,” he says in a hushed tone. “Fuck that guy.”
“She probably will.”
Sammy gives me a look but doesn’t comment. We both know Holiday’s never single for long. She jumps from one relationship to the next, always looking for something better, never satisfied with what she has.
I try to focus on my drink, on the band, on anything but the corner booth and the way she laughs. But I can’t.
Because she’s home. In Merryville. Taking up space at my hangouts.
“Two shots of tequila,” I tell Mike.
He pours them, and I slide one toward Sammy.
“Don’t you gotta get up early?” Sammy asks.
“Yeah,” I say, lifting the shot to my lips.
That’s when Holiday’s eyes finally find mine across the bar.
Our gazes lock. The music fades. The noise dims. It’s just her looking at me and me looking at her.
That pretty smile on her face fades and her whole body tenses.
Good. I hope I ruin her entire night.
I take the shot, never breaking eye contact, making sure she knows exactly how I feel about her being here.
She is unwelcome and unwanted. A problem I want gone.
“You okay, man?” Sammy asks.
“Perfect.”
I’m not. I’m a few beers and a shot in and watching Holiday squirm under my microscope.
A blonde appears at the bar next to me, flagging down Mike. She’s pretty, in her midtwenties, and dressed like she’s not from around here because she’s not. As soon as the calendar flips to November, tourists come to Merryville. It’s a magical holiday experience that a person can’t get anywhere else in the world.
She glances over at me and smiles. “Oh, aren’t you that guy from the tree farm?”
