“Gotta go back to work.”
“It’s not like that,” I call after her.
“Okay, fine. Whatever. Just keep it down . . . whatever you’re doing.”
The enchantment I saw in Calypso’s eyes has vanished. She seems annoyed with me now. By the time she’s halfway down the sidewalk, I’m standing in my doorway scratching my brow.
A faint crackle comes through the baby monitor, and I step back inside. Emme’s waking, and I don’t have time to figure out why the hell that hippy Barbie doll took off in such a hurry and why the fuck it bothers me so much.
FOUR
Calypso
“I need a drink, Bryson.” I take a stool at the end of my bar, several seats away from a couple who are very obviously on a first date, and a couple of spots from a handful of middle-aged book club members who meet here each week, same night, same time. “Something strong.”
He pushes his tragically hip, horn-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose and cocks a flaccid hand on his hip.#p#分页标题#e#
“What’d you do now?” His words scold, but his eyes flash with salacious delight.
“Did Presley tell you about the guy who came in today?” I ask.
Bryson’s manicured brows arch. “The guy who looks like Liam Hemsworth?”
I laugh, slicking my hand along the polished wood bevel of the bar top. Of course Presley would compare him to Liam Hemsworth. She hooked up with him once, before he got super famous, and she talks about that night at least once a week anytime she finds a way to work it into a conversation.
“Yeah,” I say. “Anyway, it turns out he’s my neighbor.”
“The Jackhammer?” Bryson gasps, his hand flying to his chest. “Did you tell him off like you’ve always wanted?”
He grabs a bottle and a martini shaker from the top shelf and gets to work.
“He bought some books today and needed them dropped off.” I rest my head in my hand as I watch him pour two cocktails, one for him and one for me. He throws a cardboard coaster in front of me and deposits a martini glass before me with some kind of fruity, muddled mixture floating in the bottom. I don’t care how terrible it looks, Bryson makes the best cocktails I’ve ever tasted.
“Bottoms up, darling,” he says, lifting his glass and pointing to mine with his free hand.
I take a sip, my face puckering. This may be his strongest creation yet.
“Anyway, we were having a nice conversation,” I said. “And then I made a comment about how he has a baby and yet he screws all these women all the time and how I didn’t understand it.”
Bryson cringes from head to toe, the veins in his thin neck straining as he shrinks down.
“Calypso, why?” He drags his words until they fade out. “All you had to do was ask him to keep his noise down and strut off like the adorable Little House on the Prairie sweetheart you are.”
My cheeks burn. I wish I had an answer, something better than, “I was nervous” or “The way he stared at me made my thoughts jumble and I couldn’t think straight.” He was so cute, standing there in his doorway with messy hair like he’d just taken a nap. And when I saw him carry the baby to her room, he was so tender and sweet with her and she was so tiny in his tatted arms.
All the anger and resentment I’d been harboring toward my faceless neighbor boiled to the surface the second I found myself entertaining the notion that I might be wildly attracted to this Vegas playboy.
“We were chatting and everything was going well,” I say. “And then the image of him fucking some Vegas dancer popped into my head, and suddenly I remembered how tired I was, and it all went out the window.”
His eyes drag the length of me as he pulls in another sip. “Such a sweet little fireball you are. You’re not sure if you want to be angry or peaceful half the time, and I love it. Never a dull moment with you, doll.”
Bryson wags a finger in the air and places his glass on the ledge before strutting off to help the couple at the end of the bar.
We weren’t allowed to be angry in Shiloh Springs. We weren’t allowed to question authority or confront anyone on their unsavory behaviors. Instead, we were encouraged to talk to Father Nathaniel about it and let him deal. He’d sweep it all under the rug in his own special way, and we were supposed to be grateful for that.
“So what now?” Bryson returns, swiping what’s left in the martini shaker and topping off my drink. “He’s your neighbor, right? You’ll run into him again. Going to apologize?”
“I’m going to avoid him,” I announce, sitting up straight.#p#分页标题#e#