Rachel slid off the car and winced when her bare feet hit the pavement. That was the problem with dramatically storming out of a room. There was no dignified way to double back to grab your shoes. She balanced on the balls of her feet as she made her way to a group of empty picnic tables. Tall pergolas covered in string lights were spread around the area. Each table had a ceramic popcorn bucket centerpiece filled with fresh-cut daisies. She dumped the rest of the Dr Pepper into an enormous pot of burnt-orange mums.
A blond woman in a fleece pullover that looked like a poodle devouring her neck paused to stare. “You’re going to murder that poor plant,” she said.
“My husband donated these in my name.” Rachel shook the last few droplets into the soil. “I really don’t think he’ll mind.”
The teenage girl working concessions gave Nathan a sour look when he asked for a fountain drink three minutes before closing. She wore the drive-in’s teal T-shirt uniform over low-rise acid-wash jeans that probably cost a fortune. He put a five-dollar bill in her tip jar, and the sneer disappeared. She shot him a cheerful “Thanks!” as she retrieved the cash and stuffed it into her pocket.
He turned to grab a straw but shuffled back when Rachel Abbott suddenly blocked his path to the condiment table. She set a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle next to the ketchup packets and leaned into the counter with a tipsy wobble that confirmed she’d been upgrading her soda with five-thousand-dollar whiskey.
“I need a refill.”
The girl flicked off the open sign. “We’re closed.”
“But the movie isn’t over yet.”
Rachel seemed oblivious to his hooded presence, even though he stood eavesdropping a few feet away. Grumpy Teen yanked the shade down halfway. “We close at eleven,” she said, with a dismissive attitude that made Rachel bristle.
“It’s two minutes till.”
“Is it?” The girl tilted her head and gave the tip jar a pointed look.
Rachel’s eyes narrowed. “Are you extorting me for a Coke?”
Grumpy Teen sighed. “It’s soda, not revenge porn.”
Nathan waited for the inevitable “Do you have any idea who I am?” that would end the face-off. Anyone who worked retail in Oasis Springs probably heard that song at least once a week. The suburb was filled with professional athletes, Washington power players, and retired tech moguls “consulting” from the golf course. There were also people like Rachel, who managed to be a national celebrity while also being so ingrained into the insular fabric of the town that her last name was etched into bricks on four different buildings.
He was surprised when Rachel placed her hand over her heart, fifth-grade Pledge of Allegiance–style. “I get it. It’s sweet of you to try to protect me from myself. But I promise I’m not drink.” She paused. “Drunk. I have been drinking, but I am not drunk.”
The girl’s blank stare said it all. Nathan smothered a laugh, and Rachel’s eyes briefly shifted in his direction. “I’m not,” she said to both parties. “I just spilled whiskey on my dress. That’s what you smell.” Rachel refocused on the girl. “You know, I used to wait tables when I was your age—”
“In the eighties?”
Nathan laughed out loud this time, but Rachel didn’t seem embarrassed. Her lips trembled as she looked at him, like she was seconds from laughing too.
The concession shade slammed closed. “Try ’03!” Rachel yelled at the ghost of her tormentor. “And those jeans won’t age well!”
Nathan pulled out his wallet. “That wasn’t very nice.”
“Neither was she,” Rachel said, watching him add five more apology dollars to the tip jar. “What about you?”
“Me?”
“Are you nice?”
Something in her voice made him pause. Like she had already decided the answer. Her gaze was a challenge, and he met it for a moment, staring long enough for some of her skepticism to fade. But then her eyes dropped briefly to his mouth, and the moment warmed into something else entirely.
Nathan blinked and said, “I’m just here to get a straw.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” Rachel shuffled backward and rubbed her arms as if she’d just noticed the temperature. It made him feel like a jerk. The woman was clearly distressed. He only knew her from pictures, but in those she was flawless. Sleek hair. Perfect makeup. Now there were dark smudges under her eyes. Smears of something white dotted the bottom of her dress. Seeing her this way, puffy-eyed and vulnerable, was like discovering a knight without his armor.