She turned and started toward the fire, then stopped again. “I’m keeping your dog,” she said. “Come on, Waylon.”
I watched a kid that I not only liked, but respected, wander off toward the party with my own damn dog. Naomi greeted Waylay with a one-armed hug, and the two of them turned their backs on me.
To be contrary, I snagged one of the hot dogs off the table and a beer. I gave my grandmother a half-assed salute and then headed back to my place alone.
When I got there, I threw both in the trash.
FORTY-THREE
DAY DRINKING
Naomi
Knox: I owe you an apology about last night at Liza’s. I was out of line.
I took a deep breath, turned off my car, and stared at the side door to Honky Tonk. It was my first shift back since The Break-Up, and I was tied up in knots. It was a weekend lunch shift. The odds of Knox actually being inside were in the negative.
But I still needed a pep talk before getting out of the car.
I’d been okay at my other job all week. The library felt like a fresh start and didn’t have memories of Knox around every corner. But Honky Tonk was different.
“You can do this. Get out of the car. Rake in the tip money and smile until your face hurts.”
Knox had thrown his little hissy fit at the bonfire and had to be escorted out by Lucian. I’d done a half-assed job pumping Sloane for information about Lucian’s chivalry. But inside I was reeling from being that close to Knox again.
He’d looked angry and almost hurt. As if me standing next to his brother had been some sort of betrayal. It was laughable. The man had discarded me like an unwanted receipt and had the nerve to tell me I was moving on too fast when all I’d done was give Nash the list I’d been working on about people or incidents that felt off to me.
I looked in the rearview mirror. “You are an Ice Queen Swan,” I told my reflection. Then I got out of the car and marched inside.
Relief coursed through me when I didn’t see him inside. Milford and another line cook were already firing up the kitchen, prepping for the day. I said my hellos and headed into the bar. It was still dark. The stools were stacked, so I turned on the music and the lights and set about getting the place ready.
I’d flipped all the stools, reassembled the soda machine, and was turning on the soup warmer when the side door opened.
Knox stepped inside, his eyes cutting directly to me.
The breath left my chest, and I suddenly couldn’t remember how to inhale.
Damn it. How could a man who’d hurt me so badly look so good? It wasn’t fair. He was wearing jeans and another long-sleeved Henley. This one in a forest green. There was a fading bruise on his chin that made him look like trouble. The sexy, delicious kind of trouble.
But the New Naomi was smarter than that. I wasn’t going back there.
He nodded at me, but I returned my attention to the soup and tried to pretend he didn’t exist. At least until he came too close to ignore.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” I repeated, putting the metal lid over the warmer and throwing the plastic wrap away.
“I’m on the bar today,” he said after a moment’s hesitation.
“Okay.” I brushed past him to get to the dishwashing station where two divided trays of clean glasses waited. I hefted one, then found it being snatched from my hands. “I’ve got it,” I insisted.
“Now I’ve got it,” Knox said, carting it up to the soda machine and dropping it on the stainless steel counter.
I rolled my eyes and grabbed the second tray. It, too, was promptly removed from my possession. Ignoring him, I flicked on the heat lamps on the expo line and moved to the POS to check the receipt tape.
I could feel him watching me. His gaze had a weight and temperature to it. I hated being so aware of him.
I could practically feel him skimming me from head to toe. I’d worn jeans today instead of one of my denim skirts, feeling like every layer of protection was necessary.
“Naomi.” His voice was a rough rasp around my name, and it made me shiver.
I glanced at him and gave him my best fake smile. “Yeah?”
He shoved his hand through his hair, then crossed his arms.
“I owe you an apology. Last night—”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s forgotten,” I said, making a show of checking my apron for my bank and notebook.
“This doesn’t have to be…you know. Weird.”
“Oh, it’s not weird for me,” I lied. “It’s all in the past. Water under the bridge. We’re both moving on.”