Page 100 of Whiskey Proposal

“You’ll get used to it. Soon it’ll be every other day you wake up and wonder if they’ll all realize how uncool you are. But for the record, you’re really cool.”

I’m really not. “Thank you. Your job is way cooler than mine.”

“I’d like to say it’s me, but cat videos get the most views, and the only thing that competes with those is when Haven’s in a shot.”

“Fair enough.” I smile. “Cats and men do steal the spotlight. I keep warning Lane I’m bringing turkeys home.”

Her smile grows. “So you’re staying in Huckleberry Springs?” Shock must’ve been written across my face. Her eyes fly wide and she presses her fingers to her lips. “I’m sorry. So not my business.”

“No, it’s fine.” I pick a beer from the lineup and position my glass. As it fills, I mull over what I should say. In the end, I don’t have an answer. “I don’t know. I guess we’re still figuring it all out . . . even though we’re married.”

Her expression turns sympathetic. “Doing it all backward.”

“Yeah.”

Clem comes to the bar and plops her mug on the counter.

Prescott takes it. “Blue Moon?”

“No, I’ll get it.” Clem frowns. “You’re not waiting on me during your own party.”

“Trust me, you’re helping me by drinking it down so Papa knows that having more than Busch, Bud Light, and Coors helps the bottom line.”

“But I’m not paying,” Clem argues.

“You’re famous. You don’t have to.” Prescott fills her glass.

“I’m not.” Clem turns a pleading look to me. “I’m not. I published a spicy romance earlier this year and it took off way more than my thrillers.”

“Congrats! What’s it about?”

“It’s about acceptance.” Prescott slides Clem’s beer to her and turns to me. “And a rugged, burly guy who bangs the shit out of the nerdy girl.”

Crimson fills Clem’s face. “It’s, uh . . . That’s pretty accurate, actually.”

“I should read it,” I say.

“You can borrow my copy,” Prescott offers.

Clem squeaks. “Just don’t tell me if you do.” She presses her hands to her cheeks. “And don’t tell anyone else. The rest of the town doesn’t know about my other pen name.”

“My lips are sealed.”

Prescott digs a camera out of a bag sitting on the edge of the counter. “Lane’s going to thank you if you read it. Do you mind getting your photo taken?” Prescott flips the camera on and taps at the display screen. “I’ll keep you out if you’d like.”

“Oh, uh, it’s fine.” It’s not a decision I’ve had to make before. Gatherings like this were always for work, and I signed a waiver. I don’t have large groups of friends.

“I edit them and send everyone a link to grab any copies.” She takes a picture of me and I don’t have time to smile.

Campbell appears at the bar with her own empty mug and reaches around to fill it. “She won’t take money for it either.”

“This is for fun.” Prescott snaps a shot of Campbell, but Campbell reacts in time to smile sweetly. I don’t have to see the final image to know it’s stunning.

“No glass castles in this bar.” Clem holds her beer in the air and Prescott photographs her.

“Glass castles?”

Prescott flips the camera strap over her head. “It’s an analogy I used once,” she tells me. “I went from doing portraits to working weddings, but it just felt like I was always on the outside looking in.”