Happy Hour

by Piper Rayne

  Roarke shakes his hand, a smile on his lips. “Wyatt.”

  They drop hands and my breakfast stays untouched as I watch the unfolding of a young lover’s quarrel in front of me.

  “Look at me, Allie.” Wyatt’s words bite out of his mouth.

  She turns the jam container and starts on marmalade.

  “Allie, look at the boy.” Roarke elbows her, but her eyes focus in on the different flavors of jelly like she’s doing a jigsaw puzzle looking for a specific piece.

  “Stay out of it,” she grumbles.

  “You know I love you. I’ve loved you since the third grade when you kneed me in the nuts.”

  I press my lips together to keep from smiling and Roarke’s eyes find mine, sharing a similar expression.

  “You never understood the word no,” Wyatt goes on.

  Allie shrugs. “I wanted you to play with me.”

  “I didn’t want to play. You pushed the topic and then everyone laughed when I fucked up and lost the game.”

  “Let’s move on to the present,” Roarke interjects like the lawyer he is.

  “Wyatt?” The police officer at the counter circles his stool around to face us.

  “Hey, Grandpa,” he says, waving his hand but never looking in his direction. “I’ll be there in a second.”

  “What’s going on?” His big feet land on the floor and he slowly steps over.

  Roarke’s back grows straighter with each stride.

  “Nothing. I’m talking to Allie.” He points across the table to his fiancé.

  “Didn’t even see Allie here,” he says.

  Should this man be a police officer if he can’t even take in his surroundings when he walks into a diner? Isn’t that like protocol or something?

  “You have to listen to me.” Wyatt’s eyes are lasered in on Allie’s. “Do you really believe I want Kylie?”

  “Kylie?” his grandpa questions.

  Seriously what is it with this town and one-word questions?

  “Grandpa, please go back and finish your breakfast,” Wyatt says in an exasperated tone.

  “Roarke.” The sheriff shifts his attention, his thumbs resting on the belt under his straining stomach.

  “Sheriff.” Roarke nods at the man.

  “Back for the wedding. Nice of you to walk Allie down the aisle.”

  “Well, she is my sister.”

  “And as everyone in this town is aware, I don’t have a dad,” Allie bites back and Roarke nudges her with his elbow.

  “I would have fought him to walk you myself even if you did.”

  Allie glances up and she and Roarke share a look. A ‘you’re my hero’ smile lands on her face.

  “Suck up.” Allie disregards his comment, staring at me. “He’s being soft because you’re here.”

  “Who are you?” the Sheriff asks me, finally concerned about the stranger at the table.

  I extend my hand, ready to introduce myself.

  “Hannah Crowley, Sheriff,” Roarke answers for me.

  The Sheriff’s calloused hand wraps around mine. “Sheriff Wiltaker. I knew you were from out of town. Should have figured you came in with Roarke.”

  Roarke rolls his eyes.

  “I’m Wyatt.” The young kid gives me a fleeting glance. “Allie’s soon to be husband.”

  “So you think,” Allie spits.

  “You two kids. Stop all the fighting. You’re getting hitched tomorrow and you’re going to make me a great-granddaddy.”

  Allie’s cold stare stays on Wyatt.

  “I told you, Grandpa, we’re not ready for kids yet.” Wyatt holds Allie’s gaze, not sparing a glance at his grandpa.

  “You’re being foolish. Once you raise your kids, you’ll have time to yourselves.”

  “Allie, can I please talk to you in private,” Wyatt pleads.

  “Go talk to him,” Roarke says.

  “Give me one reason why,” Allie says, finally pushing the jam container away.

  “Because you love me.” Wyatt stands and holds out his hand.

  The start of a smile forms on her lips. Roarke slides out of the booth, secure in the fact that Allie will give in.

  She stubbornly stays in her spot on the vinyl for a few seconds. “You have five minutes, Wyatt Wiltaker.” She slides out and exits the diner with Wyatt behind her.

  “Young love. I remember once upon a time...” The Sheriff glances over his shoulder to Liv cleaning off a table. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Crowley. Roarke, welcome home. I’ll see you two tonight at the rehearsal.”

  “Have a good day, Sheriff,” Roarke says, and the Sheriff ventures to the back of the diner to chat with four men in the corner.

  “Your breakfast is cold.” He raises his hand for Liv’s attention.

  “It’s fine. I’m not that hungry anyway.”

  “Good.” He slides out, pulling out his money clip and dropping well over the cost of the meal on the table. “I have somewhere I want to take you.”

  He offers his hand and I accept, leaving the diner without a goodbye to Liv.

  Once we’re on the street by Roarke’s Range Rover, I spot Allie straddled around Wyatt’s waist on a park bench in the middle of the square, lips locked, hands exploring.

  “That didn’t take long to work out,” I say.

  “She has no shame,” Roarke remarks as he opens up the passenger door for me.

  “She’s young and in love,” I say, sliding in.

  “She’s going to make his life hell.” He shuts the door and I say nothing else because coming from someone who was in a lukewarm relationship most of my adult life, a passionate relationship filled with fire and ice, doesn’t sound all that bad.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Roarke parks in front of a long building with a sign that says Woods Parlor High School, Home of the Spartans. An American flag flies off the flagpole and a bench sits underneath that reads, “Donated by Class of 2016.”

  The parking lot has a sparse few cars in it. I’m guessing it must be the administrative staff that’s here for a few hours during summer break.

  “I have to stop here really quick.” He exits the truck and by the time I open my door he’s pulling it the rest of the way open. “Wait for me next time.”

  “Yeah, okay, whatever.”

  “Should I reprimand you about your word choices now? You sound like Allie.”

  I roll my eyes and say nothing as I walk alongside him toward the building. “You went to high school here?”

  “I did.” There’s pride in his tone that I haven’t heard since we arrived in Woods Parlor. “Sorry, we don’t have ivy-covered walls and valet parking.”

  “You know how I feel about assumptions, counselor.”

  “Am I wrong?” he quirks an eyebrow while opening the door for me.

  “No.” I chuckle and he joins me.

  “So my assumption didn’t make me an ass.” He follows me into the building where we’re met with a big mural in red, white and blue, a Spartan helmet the main focus.

  Taking my hand in his, he leads me to the left and then down a hall.

  “How many people are here right now?” I ask.

  “Are you afraid to be alone with me?”

  “No. I’m just curious.”

  “Probably just the athletic coaches and few janitorial staff. Summer school just ended.” He talks like he’s on the up and up about his school and I’m left wondering how involved he still is in this town.

  “I thought you said you don’t stay up on the gossip.”

  “Summer school dates aren’t gossip,” he quips.

  Embarrassment pinkens my cheeks over the fact that he’s right.

  His hand grips mine tighter. “I shouldn’t have said it like that. Let’s just have a nice day, okay?”

  “Play nice, Mr. Bald…” His head snaps my way. “Roarke.”

  A smile replaces his clenched jaw. “Better.”

  “Roarke!” A man’s voice booms from down the hall. He’s standing
at the end of the hallway in grey athletic shorts and a polo shirt. His hair is thinning, but he appears in great shape.

  “Hey, Sean. I’m glad you’re here,” Roarke says with genuine affection.

  We walk up to him and the two men shake hands. “This is Hannah Crowley.” Roarke’s hand lands on the small of my back and a tingle lets loose in my stomach. “Hannah, this is Sean, the head coach of the Spartan football team.”

  The man’s eyes dip up and down, faster than most and I wonder if it’s because he doesn’t want Roarke to notice. Am I really that much of an anomaly in this town? “Pleasure.” We shake hands and Roarke’s hand never leaves my back.

  “If you’ve got the time, the team is practicing right now.” Sean turns around and my eye catches a trophy case right before the back doors.

  “You played?” I ask, seeing his picture with a team in the glass case next to a trophy.

  “Yeah.” His word aren’t the proud ones I loved in the car. He sounds contrite. “We’ll be right out, Sean.”

  The man nods and heads out the doors.

  I inspect the other pictures seeing graduation class of nineteen ninety-four. Mentally, I do the math. So he’s forty-one or maybe forty-two depending on when his birthday is. While my head is busy calculating the difference between our ages, I notice a picture that has a much younger Liv in a cheerleading uniform in Roarke’s arms. He’s sweaty and there’s no silver in his dark hair.

  “So what happened between you and Liv?” I ask, my nose still pressed to the glass, wanting to learn everything about this man who I thought I hated.

  “You know the song ‘Jack and Diane’ by John Mellencamp?”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  “Well, turns out Diane wanted Jack’s best friend, Evan.”

  I turn my head to look at him. His hands are stuffed in the pockets of his shorts again, his eyes averted from the glass case.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, a frown on my face.

  “Don’t be. I wouldn’t be who I am without that experience. I’d probably be like Sean and be coaching right now. Not that that’s a bad thing, I’m just happier where I am.” I picture the strong, capable, powerful man in front of me suffering a heartbreak when he was younger. It’s hard to merge those two visions of him into one whole person.

  “But you’d have the girl,” I say, pressing despite not being sure if I should. If I even really want to.

  He shakes his head. “She wasn’t the right one. If she was, I wouldn’t have lost her.” He sounds so certain.

  “But don’t you think that…”

  “If you’re trying to compare Liv to what happened with you and Todd, don’t. It’s very different. Liv and I were young, I didn’t know there was a whole other world out there.”

  I step closer, reaching for his hands and entwining our fingers together. “You have so many layers, Roarke. Peel just one back for me.”

  Why am I asking for trouble by begging him to show me his heart?

  “I am showing you. Bringing you to Woods Parlor is showing you a part of me almost no one knows about. It’s putting on full display why I don’t do relationships.”

  My heart cracks for this man. I squeeze his hands.

  “And you haven’t even met my mother yet.”

  “So the question is, do you believe in true love? In fate?”

  At some point, one of us must have moved in because our chests are pressed against one another’s.

  His gaze falls down to me. “Truth?”

  I nod, swallowing down my expectations. He might surprise me.

  “No.”

  I step back, but his hands grip in mine, not letting me pull away.

  “That doesn’t mean I don’t want to be proven wrong. I’m a lawyer, Hannah.” He steps forward, and my breasts pebble at our proximity. “I see logic, facts. My day is spent dealing with the aftermath of relationships that people thought would be until death do they part but have transformed a couple into conniving and manipulative people wanting harm to the person they once swore they loved the most. But I want a woman to come home to. A woman to warm my bed at night. A woman who doesn’t need me but wants me.”

  To my utter horror, tears threaten to spill down my cheeks from his declaration. “And you think I’m that woman?”

  He releases one hand, raising it to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “I want you to be her, but first I’d like you to let me in by forgiving me for representing Todd. I want to put that behind us and start fresh.”

  I lean into the strength of his palm. “I’m not sure.”

  He nods, his eyes falling shut. “Well, good thing I have two more favors.”

  My heart is screaming at me. My vagina is flailing on the floor in a huge tantrum. My lips are begging for just one kiss. In a sick way I want him to use a favor to kiss me, but instead, he pulls back, takes my hand again and leads me out the doors without another word.

  My mind is in a daze as I stand on the edge of the grass field watching boys hit each other. Roarke is talking to Sean in the corner, inspecting some helmets.

  “Water break!” the assistant next to me screams and I smack at a bug sucking on my neck.

  “Being near these woods sucks,” one of the boys who raced over to the sidelines says. “I guess that’s why they call us Woods Parlor.” A young kid squirts a stream of water into his mouth and then over his face.

  Big blue eyes, sandy blonde hair. He’s a heartbreaker in the making I’m sure.

  “I guess so.”

  His eyes feast on me and I’m afraid I’ll be the cougar fantasy in his spank bank later tonight. “You’re Mr. Baldwin’s girl?”

  Two more boys join him, more interested in the cheerleading practice going on behind me than speaking with me.

  “I’m not his girl,” I say.

  His lips quirk up. “Why not? He’s got to be a catch what with how rich he is.”

  I shrug. “Money’s not everything.”

  “It is when you have nothing.” The kid squirts more water in his mouth and swishes it around for a second before spitting it out in front of him. His two teammates nearby are practically drooling over the girls behind me.

  The kid’s words ring out in my head and a new stream of questions to ask Roarke form in my head. Why did he ever choose to become a divorce attorney?

  “If it wasn’t for Mr. Baldwin, we wouldn’t have the new concussion helmets.” He nods and I look over to see Roarke placing one on top of a player’s head. “We’d be playing with uniforms from when he played fifty years ago.”

  “Fifty seems a little drastic, no?” I chuckle. Oh to be young again.

  The kid’s eyebrows crinkle.

  “Did he pay you to tell me what a great guy he is?” I ask, half serious.

  Again with the crinkled brows. “I never do what I’m asked.”

  “True story,” one of the friends who I thought was paying no attention says.

  “Just ask Principal Montgomery,” the other friend chimes in.

  “He’s the most successful person to come out of Woods Parlor and never abandoned us.”

  “Water break over.” The assistant coach smacks their backs and the boys squirt more water into their mouths and drop the bottles to the ground before running back to the field.

  My gaze ventures to Roarke and Sean again, they’re shaking hands.

  As I watch Roarke across the field, my gut churns because if he wanted me here to prove that he wasn’t the person I assumed he was, it’s working. He’s so much more and so much better than I ever thought.

  Damn it all to hell…I’m falling for him.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Roarke and I arrive at the church for the rehearsal that evening. For some reason, after meeting her, I didn’t picture Allie marrying in a church.

  This time it’s not Allie barreling toward me, but a woman with dark loose hair hanging down around her face. She’s wearing a dress probably one size too small, her feet fighting against the straps of h
er sandals.

  “Roarke, baby,” she coos like he’s a five-year-old.

  Please tell me this isn’t Edie.

  “Hi, Mom,” Roarke says not giving her a full hug, but more of the acquaintance version of one.

  Edie pulls back, her hands gripping his like she’s looking him over.

  Her judgment should end in an A-plus. It was all I could do not to jump him when I stepped out of the bathroom at the motel. Dark charcoal slacks, a simple white button-down with the top two buttons undone, the usual silver watch adorning his wrist. He’s a more casual version of his usual self, but still as edible as ever, let me tell you.

  “Always too dressed up. You’re in Woods Parlor for heaven’s sake.” She waves him off with her hand. “You could have worn jeans.”

  I briefly appraise my own outfit. I’m wearing a wine colored dress that ends above my knee and a pair of sandals with a heel that would usually challenge the height of a man. Not Roarke though, thank goodness.

  Edie’s gaze shifts to me and my mouth suddenly dries.

  “Hannah, right?” she asks.

  She doesn’t pull me in for a hug or even smile for that matter. Instead, her hand extends regally, like she’s meeting the queen. Except it’s almost as if I should kiss her hand. I’m understanding Roarke’s hesitancy with me meeting her.

  “Hi, Mrs… Edie.”

  I awkwardly go to shake her hand, unsure of what to do but then a loud laugh erupts from her, echoing through the tall ceilings and wooden beams of the old church.

  “I’m kidding. Come here you!” She wraps herself around my middle, her face literally between my breasts since she’s so much shorter than me. She rocks our bodies back and forth in a swaying motion.

  “Mom,” Roarke bites out.

  “You’re the first girl I’ve met since Liv, but who cares about that hussy.”

  “Mom,” Roarke says to his mother once more.

  “You’re so much more beautiful than her. You’re so elegant, look at you.” She pulls my arms away from my body much like she did with Roarke, inspecting me. “Damn kid, I’m baffled as to why she’s here with you.” Her smile says she doesn’t really mean it.