Page 83 of Every Thought Taken

She looks happy.

But from everything I’ve witnessed, when friends aren’t around, some of her happiness is a mirage.

Sitting back on her stool, she scans the crowd. It takes her seconds to spot me less than fifteen feet away. Her green irises lock on to me as I slowly weave through the tables. She swallows but otherwise doesn’t move. Doesn’t take her eyes off me as I step closer.

I take the only vacant seat, which is next to her, and nudge her leg with my knee. “Didn’t know you’d be here.”

She audibly exhales. “I can go.”

Without thinking, I rest my hand on her thigh. “No. Please don’t.” Then I rip my hand away and shove it between my thighs. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

Is it, though?

Touching an arm or hand is one thing. But my hand on her thigh is wholly different. It opens doors I closed years ago. Doors to memories of how soft her skin was and the way she shivered as my fingers ghosted her flesh.

Before I go off on a mental tangent, the server stops at the table and we order enough greasy food to feed twice the people at the table. The bar owner jogs to the small stage and jumps up to the mic.

“Good evening, Lake Lavender. How is everyone?”

A roar echoes in the space and I slap my hands over my ears.Too much damn noise.

“Thanks for coming out tonight. Remember the rules. Spend at least ten to avoid the cover charge. And be kind to the staff, they’re busting ass tonight.”

Another booming roar from the patrons.

“Let’s welcome back our favorite Stone Bay rockers, Hailey’s Fire.”

A deep thud reverberates through the bar as the drummer thumps the bass. Then the simmer of the cymbals hits the air a moment before the lead singer strums his guitar. The song starts off slow and melodic before picking up momentum and gusto.

They’re good.

Stone Bay. I visited the small town years ago, but don’t remember much other than nearby forestry and mountain trails. Maybe the town deserves a second trip. Maybe there are hidden gems in the businesses, like kick-ass local rock bands.

“So…” Helena says, barely over the music. “About that dare.”

I snort and shake my head. Of course, she would remember the goofy blended name I came up with on the fly for Ales and Braydon. Lesdon. It’s stupid but funny. And Ales will hate it.

Cocking a brow, I shift my attention to my sister. “Ales,” I holler over the music.

Ales stops talking about some older woman in a crocheted dress that came in for a blueberry muffin yesterday, her hair a foot high and unmoving, and twists on her stool. “What’s up, Baby A?”

That nickname… I love it but wish she’d retire it already.Ding, ding, ding.Light bulb moment.

“I want to strike a deal.”

Blue eyes similar to mine narrow. “A deal?”

“Yep.”

She shrugs. “Okay. What kind of deal?”

“You stop calling me Baby A—which was cute when we were kids—and I won’t use my new name for you two.” I gesture to her and Braydon with a finger.

Her eyes drift toward the ceiling in contemplation. “Depends on the name,” she says, leveling me with a stare.

I bite the inside of my cheek, doing my damnedest to keep a straight face as the word rolls off my tongue. “Lesdon.”

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