Page 10 of Forget Me Not

Forcing the biggest, fakest smile on my face, I grind my teeth together until my lips nearly reach my ears. My eyebrows shoot up to meet my hairline, as I widen my eyes with false sincerity.

“Okay. It’s a start. But maybe less forced.” Her face pulls into a grimace.

My fingers braid through the handle of one mug, then the other. “Forced is all I’ve got today, Taryn. Take it or leave it.”

A grumble climbs out of her mouth. “Fine. I’ll take it. Just try harder. That's all I ask.”

My boss, Taryn, is a twenty-seven-year-old bombshell with curly gold locks and eyes as bright as the sky. Her legs run for days and she towers over me a good three inches, save for the heels that add another three. Her lips always match the shade of eye shadow she’s wearing and her lashes are crow black and as long as her blood-red nails. I still have yet to figure out if they're fake—the lashes, the nails, and her ginormous tits.

Taryn is also the owner of Taryn’s Tavern, no surprise there. From what I’ve heard, she inherited the place when she was only twenty-five after her grandfather, who raised her, passed away. It was in jeopardy of being shut down due to the debt her grandfather accumulated, but the town rallied together and helped save it.

It’s a cute place, no doubt. It’s certainly no Eleven Madison Park, but a restaurant like that would be out of place in this quaint town. It’s got appeal, and the townsfolk are loyal customers. It’s also the only job I could get that pays me enough to rent a room at the bed-and-breakfast next door. Shitty part is, that’s all it pays for.

“Here you are.” I set the Wolverines mug down in front of Mr. Hargrove, opting to give his wife the cute panda one. “And you.” My voice is chipper and I owe myself a pat on the back for trying like Taryn asked. “Are you two ready to order or do you need a minute still?”

“We’re ready,” Mrs. Hargrove replies, her voice gentle and sweet, just as I’d suspected it would be. “I’ll have one egg, scrambled, and a wheat toast.”

“And I’ll have the same,” Mr. Hargrove says gingerly as he closes the menu, setting it on top of his wife’s.

“You got it. If there’s anything else in the meantime, just let me know.”

Mrs. Hargrove raises a shaky finger. “Could I please get my water, dear?”

“Oh, shit!” I blurt out, immediately slapping my hand over my mouth, and speaking into my palm. “I’m so sorry.”

Mr. Hargrove chuckles. “Don’t worry, dear. We don’t give a damn if you curse.”

I drop my hand, revealing a smile that raises up my heat-infused cheeks. Gathering up the menus, I say, “I’ll go grab that ice water.”

On my walk back to the waitress station, Taryn bumps her hip to mine. “Rhea Brooks, is that a real smile on your face?”

That’s right. She said Brooks. Although I was born a Thorn, I opted to use my mom’s birth name just to play it safe. It was a compromise Dexter and I made. I get to be myself while attempting to start a new life in a small town, as I wished, so long as I use a name that doesn’t scream “here I am.”

“I said I’d try, didn’t I?”

“You’ve been saying that since you started here three weeks ago. I’m just happy to see you’re capable of producing more than a sour-ass look on your face.”

“Sour-ass?” I spit out a laugh. “Has anyone ever told you you’re insulting?”

“I’m honest, babe. Big difference.”

“Well, your honesty is insulting,” I mutter under my breath as I flip the hood on the ice machine.

“I heard you,” Taryn raises her voice as she pushes through the hung double doors to the kitchen.

“I wanted you to,” I shout back.

Holding the glass cup to the waterspout on the fountain drink machine, my eyes wander around the room. I’ve never had a place to call home, and I certainly wouldn’t call the bed-and-breakfast next door home, but if there was ever a place to relate the feeling to, it would be here, oddly enough. A run-down tavern in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by mountains and dirt roads. Who would have thought?

Still sweeping the room, taking in the faces—some familiar, some new—my eyes land on one in particular. A strikingly handsome man who seems out of place. Dark, unkempt hair with a provocative allure. It looks like he’s pushed it back with his fingertips, but a few stray strands hang carelessly on his forehead, and he makes no attempt to sweep them away. He’s got a scruffy taut jawline that matches his onyx locks with a dash of salt and pepper mixed in. Clad in a pair of black dress pants and a white button-up shirt, he definitely holds all the sex appeal. His sleeves are rolled up to his forearms, exposing a sheen of black ink, but more importantly, a Cosmograph Daytona Rolex. Even used, those watches are worth thousands. Interest piqued, I keep watching. He’s older, early forties maybe. He’s exactly the type of man I would pursue in my past life—meaning, only a month ago.

Something about him is familiar. Like we’ve crossed paths before, but I credit the familiarity to the small town. I’m sure I’ve run into him a time or two and just never paid him any attention. Then again, I’m certain he would’ve stood out in any crowd. He’s not like the others I’ve met here. Lockhaven is another world, and this man looks like he warped here from another galaxy.

My first couple weeks in Lockhaven are still somewhat of a blur. I was a nervous wreck. My social anxiety was off the charts, considering I’ve never engaged in small talk for reasons that didn’t benefit me. I can’t even count how many awkward hugs I got my first day here as I was being welcomed into town with a population of less than a thousand people. I should’ve known better than to let Gladys bring me to the tavern for dinner. Gladys is the owner of G&C's Guesthouse where I’m staying. G for Gladys, and C for Carlisle, her late husband.I’m learning it’s a pattern in this town to name your businesses after yourself—Taryn’s Tavern, Jimmy’s Quick Stop, Reba’s Book Nook.

When Gladys took me out, she showed me off like I was her child who just returned from college. It was unnerving, to say the least. I spent the next three days holed up in the room I’m renting. I didn’t even eat out of fear of leaving the room and having someone try to hug me again.

Just thinking about it makes me feral. There are a lot of things I struggle with that are normal day-to-day situations for most people, true affection being one of them. I chalk it up to my childhood, or lack thereof.

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