Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
And he turns back to the bar and shakes his head at himself. “Fuck.”
Silence stretches between us for several painfully long moments, and when he doesn’t say anything or look back at me, I reach a point of climax. I have to do something, say something—anything, or I’ll expire right here on the spot.
“The Broken Circle Breakdown,” I blurt out, and his powerful blue gaze returns to me. He has no flipping clue what I’m talking about. “The song they’re playing.” I nod toward the bluegrass band onstage. “It’s from a movie called The Broken Circle Breakdown.”
“Never seen it.”
“You should,” I comment. “It’s the most beautifully heartbreaking thing you’ll ever watch. It will make you feel every possible emotion in the span of two hours.”
He looks at me closely—silently—and I start to feel like the biggest idiot on the planet. What am I even saying right now? He wants nothing to do with me, and I’m trying to give him movie recommendations?
I dig my teeth into my bottom lip and silently wish I could just have a normal conversation with this guy. It feels like I’m either apologizing, trying to navigate his gruff demeanor, snapping at him for something he said, or wading in our deep pool of uncomfortable silence.
My eyes dart around the bar, mentally seeking something to say that would actually encourage normality. But all I come up with are liquor bottles and beer and drunk townspeople. Not exactly great conversation starters. Eventually, my gaze makes its way back over to him where he sits at the bar, eyes forward and mouth set in a firm line.
When he lifts his glass of amber-colored liquor to his lips for a drink, I catch sight of the Sum tattoo on his left hand. But this time, I spot an additional three letters that wrap around his finger.
S-u-m-m-e-r.
Summer.
Summer?
Surely this is a woman’s name. I mean, a man like Bennett—grumpy, broody, ill-tempered—is most certainly a winter. Not to mention, his tattoo isn’t on just any finger. It’s on his wedding ring finger.
Right then, it hits me. His sullen mood. His “I need a breather.”
I’m such a fool.
“Is your…uh…” I pause and shift a little on my feet. “Is your wife mad about today?”
“My wife?” He jerks his head back as his eyes meet mine again. “I don’t have a wife.”
“Oh. Then your fiancée?” I say, but it’s more of a question, and when he furrows his brow, I add, “Or…your…uh…girlfriend?”
He shakes his head, and his brow line only creases more with confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“I…” My gaze makes its way to my shoes. If he doesn’t have a wife or a fiancée or a girlfriend, then what in the hell is that tattoo for? I have a hard time believing it’s because he has an obsession with flip-flops and beach vacations.
“Is this your way of trying to see if I’m single?” he asks, and I swear one corner of his mouth twitches into a smirk, but it can’t last more than a split second. “Because I’m not interested, sweetheart.”
“What?” My jaw gapes open like a fish that just got yanked from the water.
“I don’t date. Ever.”
“Wait. You think I’m interested in you?” A shocked laugh jolts from my lungs. “Um, no. No thank you. I noticed the tattoo on your finger and figured Summer was—”
“My tattoo is none of your business,” he cuts me off with a gruff snap and pointedly covers that very tattoo with his other hand.
Talk about cryptic.
Like you should talk, Ms. I Came to Red Bridge to Escape My Own Secrets.
Bennett proceeds to avert his attention from me entirely, and I’m left standing there wondering how every interaction I have with this guy ends up here. If we were in his truck right now, this would be the point in the night when he’d hit the brakes and kick me out.
Something inside me wants to find a way to take a detour. To end up at a destination that doesn’t end in a crash on Bad Temper Road.
Maybe you should try not to be so damn nosy? Especially on the same day he ended up in handcuffs because of you…
“Look, I…I really wasn’t trying to pry. I’m sorry. Sometimes curiosity just gets the best of me.”
His eyes peer into mine, searching for what, I’m not sure, until he lifts his glass and says, “Water under the bridge” before finishing off the rest of his drink.
His response is probably the best-case scenario for a man like him. Honestly, I figured I had a less than one percent chance of him answering me with actual words.
“Bennett, I—”
“Norah, we need to go.” Josie startles me with a persistent hand gripping my shoulder, her voice a mix of impatience and annoyance. “Now.”
I glance behind her to see Clay heading straight in our direction—or, should I say, Josie’s direction—fire, once again, licking at his heels.