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I don’t know where I’m going. I just need some space from my parents and the ever-present reminder that I’m not good enough.

CHAPTER TEN

JOSHUA

When I walk into The Leaky Tap, it’s busier than usual for a Friday night. After the day I’ve had, I’ve earned a beer or two. Since it’s after midnight and The Wicked Hop, Sycamore Falls’ own microbrewery, closed an hour ago, this is the only place in town to grab a drink.

The air is thick with the smell of fried food, spilled beer, and a faint citrusy tang from whatever cleaner the bartender uses. A country song plays in the background, competing with the low hum of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter. Tinsel droops over the bottles behind the bar, and a lone strand of colored lights blinks out of rhythm with the music.

I move toward my usual spot along the counter but falter when a familiar silhouette tucked into the far end of the bar catches my eye.

Wynter Hayes.

The same sweater dress she wore earlier hugs her body, the hem falling just above her knees, the bandage I applied hours ago still visible. A glass of amber liquid sits in front of her, her eyes fixed on it, expression distant.

She doesn’t look like she’s in the mood for company. But I’ve never been the kind of person to ignore someone who’s obviously hurting. And there’s definitely something going on with Wynter.

So instead of sitting in my normal spot, I make my way toward her and slide onto the stool beside her.

“The usual?” the bartender asks, already grabbing a glass and placing it under one of the taps.

I nod and watch as he pours my beer before setting it in front of me.

“It’s still strange to think you’re old enough to order a beer,” Wynter says, her voice slurred slightly.

“I’ve been ordering beers in bars for a while now. The past few years legally.” I flash her a wink, hoping for a smile. Something.

But she just looks straight ahead and takes a small sip of her drink.

“When I was in high school, I always wanted to come here,” she says after a few quiet moments.

“What’s the verdict?” I ask as I bring my beer to my lips.

“I’m not sure why I built this place up in my head. It’s just like any other bar.”

“True. But there’s a sort of excitement about things that are off-limits that makes us want them even more. Don’t you think?”

Her gaze shifts to mine, and for a heartbeat, neither of us says anything, the noise of the bar fading into the background. Her eyes look darker right now. Maybe it’s the lighting. Maybe it’s how close she is. Maybe it’s whatever brought her to sit alone in a dive bar on a Friday night.

Whatever it is, there’s no denying how goddamn beautiful Wynter is. Even more beautiful than I remember from all those years ago.

Which is the last thing I should be thinking about, since she’s married. A fact I’m reminded of when my gaze snags on the rock on her left hand.

I face forward and take a long sip of my beer, unable to shake the feeling that something is off tonight. She may be practically a stranger to me these days, but the way she stares into the distance, her shoulders slightly rounded, fingers loosely wrapped around her glass tells me all I need to know.

Why else would she be in a bar drinking by herself?

“Want to talk about it?” I ask, breaking through the quiet.

She turns to me. “What?”

“The reason you’re here nursing a glass of scotch or bourbon.” I nod toward the rocks glass in front of her. “I could be wrong, but I don’t think you’re here to be social or reconnect with old friends. Not when you chose to sit in the corner so no one would notice you. Or bother you. Or both.”

“And yet you noticed me.”

“I’ve always noticed you, Wynter.” The words leave before I can stop them, and she lifts her eyes to mine, her lips parting.

I brace for her to remind me that I’m just the boy next door, and I shouldn’t be noticing anything about her.