“What’s up, Mom?” Bridget asked.
Evelyn put her fists on her hips. “Is this how you’re going to spend your entire vacation? Squirreling yourselves away in the basement?”
Bridget and Max exchanged a look, then, nodding, turned back to her mom.
“Pretty much,” Bridget said. “It’s our job, after all. Do you want my career to crash and burn because my next album flops?”
“No, but it’s your first night here. You should show Max around town.”
“You mean around the bowling alley, the liquor store, and the closed-down theater?” Bridget’s voice caught on the last word. She cleared her throat to cover it up. Another place with inescapable memories.
Evelyn frowned. One day, and Bridget was driving her to that state of motherhood where worry for her adult children caused wrinkles. “All your friends are still here, Bridge,” she said. “Owen and Jordan and Lu. You should get in touch with them on the Facebook.”
“It’s not the Facebook, Mom. It’s just Facebook.”
“Whatever it is, it doesn’t mask the fact that you’re twenty-eight years old and spending Friday night at your mother’s house.”
Max leaned a hip against the door frame of the studio. “I’m up for bowling or whatever. Is there a place to get a drink around here?”
Evelyn’s expression lightened. “Now, there’s a boy after my own spontaneous heart. You should be more like Max.”
Bridget’s jaw dropped while Max grinned.
“Anyway,” Evelyn said, like she hadn’t just mortally offended her only daughter, “there’s a place called The Pothole. Good beer and good pizza, which is not something you can say for every small-town watering hole. It’s on Main, right next to the café. You can’t miss it.”
Bridget shook off the evening chill as she followed Max into The Pothole, which, as her mom had warned her, was right next to the café. Just inside the door was a plaque proclaiming that the bar had been established in the memory of Calvin Marlowe, Alex’s dad. She didn’t even need to see the door leading to the café to extrapolate that Alex owned both.
She wiped shaky, sweaty palms on the thighs of her jeans. This was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. She could get up on stage in front of sixty thousand people without batting an eye. She could perform on live television broadcasts across the country without an ounce of nerves.
She led Max to a booth against the wall, keeping her head down in case anyone she knew from before was here. If Alex hated her, surely they all did, too. She wasn’t ready for that.
She fidgeted with the placemat as Max went to the bar to order two beers, and when he slid back into the booth with that tense expression, she just knew. Alex was here. Of course. Because she owned the place, which her mom had conveniently forgotten to mention.
“Isn’t—” Max started to ask.
“Yes.”
“And isn’t—”
“Yes.”
“Hmm.” He paused. “Wow. Your mom’s kind of a jerk.”
“I can think of another word for it.” Still, Bridget was a masochistic fuck, so after a long swig of admittedly delicious beer, she asked, “She’s over there?”
Max nodded. “Yeah, she’s over there.”
Bridget risked a glance. Wrong move. Alex was in tight black jeans that showed off her amazing ass. Her black-and-blue plaid shirt was unbuttoned partway, revealing a black tank beneath, and the sleeves were rolled up to expose her forearms. Her very sinewy, fit forearms. Bridget groaned audibly. With regret, with want.
In a blink, her beer was all over the table. Bridget quickly righted the glass and grabbed a wad of napkins to sop up the mess.
“Shit, Bridge,” Max said. “Let me grab something to help.”
He disappeared and returned a minute later with a towel. After soaking up the spill, he gathered all the sopping napkins and took them to the bar.
Bridget let her head fall into her hands. Oh, God. Alex was here. She’d seen that. She knew Bridget was a mess.
“Hey,” Max said when he returned. “No harm done.”
“Lots of harm done, I think.”
Max pushed a fresh glass toward her. “Were you always this nervous around her, or is it just because you haven’t seen her in so long?”
“I haven’t seen her since I broke her heart, Max. I’m allowed to be nervous. Besides, that shirt is just not fair. No one should be allowed to look that good in plaid.”
He chuckled and sipped his drink. “This beer is really good. Maybe if you get yourself another one, it’ll take your mind off how good she looks.”
“I doubt it.”
“So…is that why you came home? To win her back?”
Bridget locked her fingers together to keep herself from fidgeting. Did she? Was that the reason, buried beneath all the others, she refused to acknowledge? “I don’t know.”
“Well, maybe going to say hello would help you figure it out.”
The blood drained from Bridget’s face. “I can’t.”
“Bridget, you performed in front of the president.”
“Oh, I miss him.”
“You can face an ex-girlfriend.”
“An ex-girlfriend who hates me.”
Okay, so she’d go, and then what? If Alex asked how she was, what would she even say? My bed is cold without you? My life is a mere semblance of a life without you? How pathetic was that? She was her own person. She didn’t need Alex to make her whole.
She wanted Alex, though.
There. Now she didn’t have to spend the entirety of this trip lying to herself.
“You’ll regret it if you don’t,” Max said, his focus already on the picture of his beer he was posting.
She forced a smile. He was right. He was always right. So, with a great big sigh, Bridget slid out of the booth and walked toward the bar.
After all this time, Alex felt it like an earthquake. Her world tilted on its axis when Bridget Callahan walked through the door of her bar, walked into her life for the first time in five years. Alex had had four days to brace herself, but four centuries wouldn’t have been enough time to prepare. Her shoulders dropped as she dried out a glass with a rag.
Bridget looked good. Really good. Like, fuck, she didn’t deserve to look that attractive. Her jeans were form-fitting, but not too tight, and her black sweater and red scarf were pleasantly fashionable without trying too hard. Plus, she had the golden glow of the famous, that carefree bearing that didn’t let anything touch them. She walked in with Max Ocampo, whom Alex recognized from television and pictures, and they slid into a booth like they were meant to be here, like this small town was big enough to hold people as recognizable as they were.
Alex turned to a patron, got an order, and poured a drink, all while endeavoring to ignore the blonde in the corner. But Bridget’s presence was magnetic, drawing Alex’s attention repeatedly.
Ten minutes later, after Max cleaned up a spill at their table, Bridget finally looked up and caught Alex staring.
Don’t come over. Don’t come over. Don’t come over.
She came over.
Alex turned away. She slid down to the other end of the bar, busying her hands with wiping down the counter.
A little ways down, Bridget leaned against the bar and cleared her throat.
“What can I do for you?” Hunter asked.
“Um, I don’t know. What’s your best drink?”
Relatively new, Hunter wasn’t the best at recommendations, so of course he said the absolute wrong thing. “Well, we’ve got a pretty banging one called the Callahan.”
“The Callahan?” Bridget asked, voice uncertain. Her gaze flickered to Alex.
Alex stiffened. Build those walls up. Build them up high and strong.
“Fun while it lasts, but you regret it in the morning,” Alex said
, a bite in the words. She and Lu had come up with the drink years ago. It’d been a lark. It’d been a coping mechanism. She’d never expected Bridget to come back, but now that she had, explaining it to her face sent a thrill through Alex.
“Right.” Bridget let out a long breath, tapping her fingertips against the counter. “Okay, could I just get a beer, then?”
“What kind?”
“Whatever kind you give to people who just say ‘a beer’ and don’t specify.”
Hunter’s forehead crinkled.
“Give her the usual, Hunt,” Alex said, biting back a sigh. He could make this easier on all of them if he were a tad brighter.
“Oh. Right.” He filled a stein with the house lager.
Alex turned away again.
“We should talk,” Bridget said.
Alex’s jaw jumped with tension. “I think we’re five years past that point, actually,” she said, and walked away before Bridget could respond.
Then the front door opened, and Benny trotted through, followed closely by Riley, her cheeks flushed from the evening chill. Benny raced over.
To Bridget.
“Benny!” Bridget held open her arms, and Benny jumped into them. She gave him a vigorous petting. “Oh, I’ve missed you, boy.” As Benny licked her face, she laughed and said, “I know. I know. Hello to you, too.”
“Traitor,” Alex muttered.
Riley, who had joined her behind the bar, dug a teasing elbow into her side. “Someone’s sore.”
“She can have everything else,” Alex said. “But she can’t have Benny.”
“Relax,” Riley said. “She’s not going to take him. He missed her. She missed him. But it’s your bed he’ll be sleeping in tonight.”
“Mm.” Alex still couldn’t manage to smooth out the crease in her forehead. This was bad. This was very bad. Hardly thinking, she turned to Riley. “Will you pretend to be my girlfriend?”
Riley barked out a laugh.
“What?”
Riley lifted an eyebrow. “You promised you wouldn’t turn into a hot mess when you saw her.”
Alex crossed her arms. “I’m not a hot mess.”
“Okay, then, you’re a very warm one. And no, I won’t pretend to be your girlfriend because you don’t need to be in a relationship to prove you’ve moved on.” She flitted a hand between Alex and Bridget. “Besides, there’s no way I’m stepping in the middle of that unresolved tension.”
Alex tossed a rag at her. “Shut up.”
Bridget laughed as Benny tried to sit on her lap in the booth. It was a tight squeeze. “Okay, boy, I’m not sure this is going to work.” She stopped laughing when she caught sight of Jordan Chambers approaching their table. Oh, shit.
“Hi,” Jordan said. She stuck her hand out to Max. “I’m Jordan.”
Max smiled and introduced himself.
“Bridget, I thought you and Max might want to join us, catch up a little.”
Oh. Unexpected. Bridget raised her eyebrows at Max in a silent question, and he shrugged. “Okay, that’d be great, actually.”
“Cool. We’re over here.”
Benny hopped down, letting Bridget and Max follow Jordan to a booth where Lu Salazar and Owen Kim were seated. Owen wore a welcoming smile, and with one hand, he gently rocked a baby in a stroller, but Lu had her arms crossed over her chest.
“My mom told me about your wedding, but I have must have missed this development. Congratulations,” Bridget said to Owen and Jordan, indicating the stroller.
“Thanks,” Owen said.
“Her name’s Keiko,” Jordan added.
“Well, she’s adorable,” Max said. “How old?”
“Twenty-one weeks,” Owen said, clearly pleased as punch.
Jordan offered a patient smile. “In adult time, that’s five months.”
“Oh, yeah. Sometimes I forget not everyone speaks the language of childcare.” He unclicked Keiko’s straps. “Want to hold her?”
“Oh, um…sure?” Bridget answered, because this felt like a peace offering of sorts.
She sat in the chair Jordan had pulled over and took the little girl into her arms. Keiko had her dad’s dark hair, but beyond that, Bridget couldn’t tell which parent she took after more. She was definitely a cutie, though.
“Hello, sweets,” she said. “I’m Bridget, and this is Max, and it’s very nice to meet you.”
For a few seconds, Keiko simply stared at her. Then she touched Bridget’s cheek and laughed, a silly baby laugh that made Bridget chuckle, too.
“So, how long are you here?” Owen asked.
“Not sure yet,” Bridget said. “It depends on…things.” She couldn’t help but glance at the bar, where Alex was talking to another bartender, but she quickly reverted her attention to Keiko, who was looking up at her with big brown eyes. Bridget booped her nose.
“Oh, yeah. ‘Things,’” Lu said.
Bridget sipped her beer. Alex hadn’t even wanted to look at her, and Lu, at least, didn’t seem to want her here either. “Look, guys,” she said, “we don’t have to do this if you don’t really want to, but…I am sorry that I lost contact with all of you. What happened between me and Alex was about me and Alex, but I never meant for you to have to choose sides.”
“Well, you made us,” Jordan said gently, “whether you meant to or not.”
“Maybe we can start over,” Bridget said. “I really have missed you.”
“And Bridget’s told me so much about you,” Max added. “I’d love to get to know you all.”
Bridget shot him a grateful smile, but it faded with Lu’s next words.
“You can’t miss people you’ve forgotten about,” she said.
“Lu,” Bridget said, a pleading tone in her voice, “I didn’t forget about you. I thought you didn’t want to speak to me. It seems I was right.”
Jordan frowned. “I think what Lu means is that staying away for all these years made us feel cast aside. It looks like you went off to become this big star and then you forgot all about where you grew up.”
Bridget blushed. She’d never meant to do that. Why couldn’t everyone see that she hadn’t come home because she couldn’t face what she’d done, what she’d left behind?
“Yeah,” Lu said, nodding. “Like, do you even know what’s going on? Do you know that the Weylands’ house burned down a couple years ago? Or that the library had to completely tear down and rebuild because they found asbestos? Do you know that the elementary teachers are close to striking because they haven’t had a raise in a decade?”
Bridget forced her knee to stop jiggling. “Well, okay, I’m obviously not up-to-date on town happenings. What can I do?”
Lu rolled her eyes. “Typical celebrity. She expects us to do all the work for her so she can throw some money around and be done with it.”
“No, Lu, give her a chance. She’s trying,” Jordan said.
“The school building needs a new roof,” Owen said. “We’ve been raising money for almost a year now, and we’re still only halfway to our goal.”
“Okay.” Bridget tightened her hold on her glass. If she suggested paying for the roof, Lu would laugh at her. But she could offer to help with fundraising.
“Actually, if you’re serious about wanting to give back to the community,” Jordan said, lifting a finger, “I have an idea. Riley runs a nonprofit that builds houses for homeless and low-income families.”
“Oh, yeah,” Owen said. “Saturday mornings are big volunteer days, and I know she could use some extra hands tomorrow.”
“That sounds like fun,” Bridget said. “Max?”
He grinned. “Let’s build some houses.”
Chapter Three
Then
Alex rested her hands on Bridget’s waist, the touch settling the tremor in them. Bridget was a brid
esmaid in her brother’s wedding, and the red sari she wore was modestly gorgeous. The whole day, Alex had been on the sidelines, a close friend of the groom’s family but not involved in the ceremony. And the whole day, she’d been longing to touch Bridget, to be close to her, to step into her space, and let the world around them fade into nothing.
Now that she was here, even the feel of fabric-covered hips was enough to set her heart racing. She wanted and wanted and wanted, but forced herself to slow. She pulled Bridget closer, eliminating what little distance separated them. Her heart jumped when Bridget chuckled, breath warm against her neck.
They could have this one day, would have this one day. They’d find a venue in the countryside with a sturdy barn and an overgrown field of wildflowers, and they’d invite all the people they cared about, and they’d pledge to love each other for all eternity.
Bridget smelled like pomegranates and spice. Alex was heady with it.
“Are you all right?” Bridget asked, voice soft against the thumping music and the swirling conversations. Alex felt the question, saw it form on Bridget’s lips, more than she heard it. “You’ve been really quiet.”
Had she? Her mind had been so loud that she hadn’t noticed. In an effort to ground herself, she swiped her thumb along the small of Bridget’s back. “Just thinking.”
Bridget smiled, tongue poking through her teeth. “Always thinking. You ever think about how your head might want a rest? It is a party, after all.”
Smiling, Alex shook her head.
“Then tell me what you’re thinking about.”
In Portuguese, Alex whispered, “I’m thinking about how much I want to marry you.” Her lips slipped against Bridget’s earlobe.
“What language was that?” Bridget asked, giggling. “Italian?”
Alex shook her head. “Portuguese.”
“Ah. And what did you say?”
Alex swallowed thickly. Despite the blood rushing through her like it was rocket fuel, a new tranquility settled over her. She’d always kind of imagined love as a great unstoppable force, something that thrilled you and excited you until you were no longer capable of thinking clearly. But it wasn’t that at all. It was a blanket that settled over you as you were tucked in safely and soundly for a good night’s rest. It was standing in the eye of a hurricane. Maybe nothing around you made sense, but the fullness of your heart sure did.
Always a Love Song Page 3