Page 5 of Now and Then
“I’m sorry,” I say as Easton quiets. I know as well as anyone how hard it is when something you want desperately never seems to be a possibility.
“It’s all good,” Easton says. “What about you?”
Joe appears and sets a basket of wings between us. Easton places a plate and napkin in front of me. I don’t know the guy at all, but he seems nice. Hard to believe anyone would stand him up. He places a few wings on my plate, then dives into his own.
“What about me?” I pick up my fork and push the wings from side to side on my plate.
He wipes the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “Well, you’re alone at a bar on a Friday night taking shots of tequila and staring at your phone like it gravely offended you. I’d wager you got bad news?”
“You’d wager correctly,” I blurt. It must be the tequila that has me spilling my guts to some man I don’t know.
“So, tell me, what’s on that phone of yours that’s got you so blue tonight?”
“How about we order another round, and I’ll tell you all about it?” I place my napkin over my plate to hide my uneaten wings.
Easton looks down at my plate and back up at me, eyebrow tweaked up to his hairline. “Do you not like wings?”
“Umm . . . I . . . not really.”
“Let me guess, lifelong people pleaser?”
I nod. “Something like that.”
“What would you like to eat?” He passes me another menu.
“I don’t actually need the menu,” I say. “I knew what I wanted at two o’clock this afternoon.”
His chest bounces with that quiet kind of laughter some people have. “And what is it you want?”
Hunter lets out a laugh from the corner booth, but I resist the urge to look. Instead, I tap on the bar top, signaling Joe, who saunters over.
“Another round, Joe, and an order of pretzel bites.”
Joe gives me that look again, so I give him my petulant I’m not doin’ nothin’ eyes and cross my arms over my chest. Joe reluctantly refills my glass. I know he’d like to refuse my drink order, but I also know he knows I don’t wallow often.
I turn to Easton. “You really want to know what I want?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t,” he says, clinking our empty glasses together.
The low thrum of tequila coursing through my body now simmers uncontrollably, settling under my skin. Just this once, I tell myself, loosening the binds I keep fastened around all the real parts of me, I’ll let someone know something real about me.
“Do you know what the three worst words in the whole wide world are, Easton?”
“Mmm . . . I’m not sure.” He lifts his scotch to his lips and takes a tentative sip.
“I’m. Sorry. But.” Pure disdain punctuates each word.
“Going to need more details than that.” He nudges me with his elbow.
Steeling myself, I gulp down air. “There are lots of phrases in this world that people love, right? I love you, you got the job, you may now kiss the bride. But when people have something bad to tell you, what do they say first?” I nudge his arm with my elbow this time, and his face lights up at my lame teasing attempt. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do this; I’m sorry, but you lost the baby; I’m sorry, but the check bounced; I’m sorry, but . . . the three worst words ever to be strung together. Want to know what version of them are in there?” I nod toward my phone.
“Sutton,” he says, “you don’t have to talk about this.”
I can tell Easton’s trying to let me off the hook, but it’s too late. The thread is loose, and I can’t pull it back even if I tried.
I open my phone and read the email aloud. “Dear Miss Bradley, I’m sorry, but we’ve decided to go with another designer for the Suncrest Valley Police Station remodel. We truly loved your proposal and know what an impact you have on our town. However, we need someone with more interior design experience to tackle such a large project. Good luck with your future endeavors. Sincerely, Police Chief Rhodes.”
I slide my phone across the counter to Easton and lay my shame out for this man I don’t know. I’m shocked when he picks up my phone and reads over the email again.
