Page 30 of Set It Right
“Yes, Zara. She knows.”
I was firm but as kind as I could have been with her in my office. We weren’t a match. No sense in moving forward with anything, no matter how casual—not when my head was somewhere else.
I wasn’t a man who played games like that.
Thinking about one woman while with another wasn’t me.
And as long as Zara was here, thinking of anyone else would be impossible.
Some things really never changed.
Chapter Twelve
Zara
Thelastclimbershadjust been picked up to head back to the resort, but the sun was nowhere near quitting. My shirt clung to my back, sweat and chalk ground into the fabric, and my forearms trembled as I fed rope through my hands, looping it into neat coils.
I was done guiding for the day, but I still had to organize everything before I could leave. Crash pads were stacked and dragged into place, their vinyl scuffed and warm under my palms. I clipped shoes together, knocked grit from helmets, and put away rope.
I was halfway through looping the last one when Henrik slapped my shoulder.
“We’re going to Joy’s tonight. Are you coming with us?”
“Who’s ‘we’?” I asked.
He ticked off a good portion of the guides. “Martina, Nancy, Gregor, Chitra, Mikey, me,you…and if we’re lucky, Javier will join us.”
I had a feeling he’d asked everyone, but those were the only ones he’d snagged. As tired as I was, I understood those who’dbowed out. If he weren’t looking at me with his big, puppy dog eyes, I would have begged off too. All I wanted to do was shower off this sweat and dirt and curl up on my couch with a fat sandwich.
But Henrik was convincing.
“It sounds like I don’t have a choice.”
He cackled, his sweaty blond hair falling away from his deeply tanned face. “That is right. You do not. We’ll leave at six. Meet at the bunkhouse.”
I tossed the rope at him. “If you finish collecting the rest of the gear, I’ll buy your first drink.”
“You have a deal, buddy.”
Joy’s Elbow Room was fantastic. Rugged and a little beat down, but clearly cared for. Life flowed through the worn floorboards, the scuffed oak tables and chairs—the long stretch of lacquered bar lined with vinyl-topped stools, their seams split from years of elbows, boots, and long nights.
Cowboys and ranch hands crowded the bar, hats tipped back, dust clinging to their jeans. This wasn’t the kind of place you had to change out of your work clothes to patronize, and I loved that. It made it all more real.
Glowing beer signs hummed against wood-paneled walls, casting soft neon halos over couples tucked into corner tables. An old jukebox played country songs I didn’t know all the words to, but recognized anyway. In the back, dartboards bore the scars of questionable aim, and two pool tables sat under hanging lights, felt worn thin but brushed clean.
If I lived in Sugar Brush full time, I would have made this place my haunt. I could picture myself coming here, saying hi to the regulars, picking out a song from the jukebox I’d never heard, learning a few lyrics one verse at a time.
I’d never thought of myself as a bar girl. Jackson and his brothers had regular boys’ nights—and days, if we were being honest and true. They’d go out drinking and watching sports, but that had been his thing. I’d had book clubs and coffee shops. Solo shopping trips and binge-watching shows from twenty years ago.
It had been fine. Okay, even. Sometimes, pretty good. I’d never wanted wild nights out on the town in spangly dresses, spending too much on fancy drinks. That wasn’t me.
But this?
In another life, this could’ve been me.
When I got back to Oregon, I’d make Steven and Zane go with me to some divey bars and see if they fit me better. I wasn’t going to be complacent about my life anymore.
Henrik placed a tray of shots on our table, snapping me out of my thoughts.
