He listed some of Cloverleigh’s varietals.
“Are they all from Michigan?” Alison asked, turning up her nose.
It made me angry, but rather than defend the merits of Michigan wine, I bit my tongue. While the bartender went through additional choices, I snuck a glance at Chloe over Alison’s shoulder. She was still smiling, and her dimples made my pulse quicken. Goddammit, why wasn’t it me making her laugh?
“Oliver?”
I looked at Alison and blinked. “What?”
“What do you want to drink?” She pointed her nose at the bartender, who had clearly been waiting for my order.
“Oh, sorry.” Scanning the shelves behind the bar—I wasn’t surprised to note they held no Brown Eyed Girl spirits—I ordered a Kentucky bourbon and told myself not to look at Chloe again.
But the moment Alison started glancing around and listing all the reasons why she wouldn’t hold a wedding here—too small, too dark, too rustic—I found it impossible not to let my eyes wander over her shoulder again.
This time, Chloe spotted me. I knew the moment it happened, because the grin slid right off her face, and her entire demeanor changed. Her posture went stiff. Her eyes narrowed. She pressed her lips together. Tension hummed in the air between us, and beneath my suit, gooseflesh prickled over my skin.
She looked back at the person she’d been talking to, and I attempted to refocus on Alison. But even after our drinks arrived and I took a few big swallows to steady my nerves, I could not keep my eyes where they were supposed to be.
Alison finally complained. “You’re not listening to a word I’m saying. And who on earth do you keep looking at behind me?”
“No one.”
She glanced over her shoulder, and I swear to God she used some kind of black-magic, sixth-sense bullshit to zero right in on Chloe. “Who is she?”
I played dumb. “Who?”
She focused on me with laser-like intensity. “That girl you were looking at with the dark hair in the short black dress.”
I pretended to look for the woman in question. “You mean Chloe?”
“I don’t know, Oliver,” she snapped. “Do I mean Chloe?”
“I think so. She’s one of the Sawyer sisters.”
She looked over her shoulder again, and unfortunately it was at the exact same second Chloe’s eyes shifted to me once more.
A tense moment followed, then Chloe gave me the finger.
I’d have laughed if I wasn’t so on edge.
Alison, who was too cool to make a scene, turned to face me again. “What’s that all about?”
I swallowed some bourbon. “It’s nothing. Childhood grudge—she and I used to be really competitive. I beat her at everything.”
“And now she flips you the bird at parties.” Alison took another sip of wine. “Classy.”
“She’s just—” I stopped, unsure how to describe Chloe. It wasn’t that she lacked class, she simply didn’t tolerate bullshit. You had to respect her for it. “We just have a certain kind of history is all.”
“Did you sleep with her?”
“What? No.” I ran a hand over my hair. “Of course not. We’ve known each other since birth.”
“You better not be lying to me, Oliver.”
“I’m not,” I lied.
“Either way, she’s not coming to the wedding.” She said it like that was the worst punishment she could mete out to someone.
For fuck’s sake, I wish I didn’t have to come to the wedding. The thought of spending the rest of my life with Alison was stifling, and that ring had set me back a fuck ton. It wasn’t even the original one I’d presented—when we’d taken it to get fitted, she’d requested a bigger rock.
Alison set her empty wine glass on the bar. “Could you order me another glass, please? And bring it out to the other room with the fireplace? I’m going to find Lisa and Hughie.”
“Fine.”
Alison walked out of the bar with her nose in the air, barely giving Chloe another glance. Part of me wanted to run and hide. But I knew if I didn’t face her now, I’d never be able to look her in the eye. Fuck that.
Straightening my tie, I puffed up my chest and walked her way. “Chloe.”
“Oliver.” She didn’t introduce me to her friends.
“Can I speak to you for a minute?”
“Why?”
“To catch up. We haven’t seen each other in a while.”
“Whose fault is that?”
I frowned. “Could we please have this conversation in private?”
“I never want to have another conversation with you again, in private or anywhere else.”
My temper flared at being put in my place in front of strangers. “You’re being a little juvenile about this, aren’t you?”
She coughed, putting a hand on her chest. “I’m being juvenile?”
This argument was going to embarrass us both, so I grabbed her by the arm and dragged her over to a dark corner of the restaurant that wasn’t being used.
“Let go of me.” She shook me off. “Asshole.”
“Fine. I’m an asshole. But you can at least hear me out.”
She crossed her arms. “You have ten seconds.”
“I take it you’re mad about Brown Eyed Girl.”
“Yes, I’m mad about Brown Eyed Girl.” Her eyes narrowed and glittered in the dark. “That was my idea and you stole it.”
“Chloe, be fair. I didn’t steal the idea—we both wanted to start a distillery, and we talked about doing it together. But when I got home from Europe, you weren’t even speaking to me.”
“With good reason.”
“I tried texting you. You told me to fuck off.”
“That’s because your text said hey, how are you! Not I’m sorry or please forgive me or any of the things you should have told me.”
“I was going to get around to that. You didn’t give me a chance!”
She shook her head. “How could you have taken off on me like that?”
“I don’t know,” I said lamely. “It was an asshole move. I admit it.”
“Gee, that’s big of you.”
“Look, that weekend was crazy. Neither of us was thinking straight.”
“At least we agree on something. I don’t know what possessed me to believe you were serious.” She put a hand on her chest. “I quit my job, Oliver. I was ready to move to Detroit. I followed through, and you fucking blew me off.”
“Okay, but it’s been four years, Chloe. When are you going to get over it?”
“When I can look at your face and not want to hit you.”
“You want to hit me? Do it. I dare you.”
We faced off, and I could see the fury in her eyes. Still, I was as shocked as I’d ever been when I felt her palm strike my cheek—hard.
Then she gasped, clasping her hand to her chest, as if it had stunned her too.
I moved my jaw right and left, satisfied she hadn’t done any real damage, although it stung like a motherfucker. “Feel better?”
“A little.” She paused. “Did it hurt?”
“Nah. You hit like a girl.”