“Once upon a time, I sat in class dreaming I’d work my way into a job like this,” Jeannie Dunway explained—or tried to explain—to her sorority sisters. “But I must have magic or a fairy godmother on my side because, just three rounds of interviews later, look—” Jeannie stopped digging for her new business cards and glanced at her audience. Neither Sami nor Elle were paying the slightest bit of attention to her. The bar at Applejacks was too loud for them to hear Jeannie without leaning her way. Instead, they were both turned toward the other patrons, body language making it clear they had anything other than Jeannie’s professional triumphs on their minds.
“Huh?” Sami asked, flipping the shimmering fall of her glossy black hair over one shoulder. “Is it your round? Get me a cosmo.”
“Margarita,” added Elle keeping her big blue eyes focused on the crowd. It was a couple of weeks before classes at the local university would start up again, so there weren’t as many students in tonight. But Applejacks—everyone’s favorite pub-restaurant—was never short of patrons. Plenty of recent grads like Jeannie, Elle, and Sami stuck around Jackrabbit, Texas, hoping to settle into the idyllic town. And thanks to her new gig as event planner for the local chamber of commerce, Jeannie was well on her way to becoming an established citizen. Her so-called sisters hadn’t congratulated Jeannie on her success. If her accomplishments didn’t serve their needs, Elle and Sami dismissed them as stupid.
Sighing and putting off the talking-to she owed herself about finding new friends, Jeannie swiveled toward the bar. Mr. Winter was down at the end, listening to Nicodemus, who Jeannie guessed was spinning another wild tale for the bar owner’s amusement. Jeannie caught Mr. Winter’s eye and nodded, smiling. The old guy could be a little gruff, but she quite liked him. He’d never treated her like an idiot kid, which Jeannie appreciated after a few weeks at her new job. She’d found several local business owners dismissed anyone her age as a transient student, no matter what her new business cards said to the contrary. But even when she had still been attending Jackrabbit University and had been just another of his young waitstaff, Mr. Winter had treated her with kindness and respect. He’d even picked her as the employee to mentor through getting her bartending license so she could earn the big tips covering shifts when Mr. Winter had meetings to attend. Plus, his laid-back ways hid his sly side. He could cause a lot of trouble if he thought it was worth his time. Dismissive students often called him “Old Man Winter,” and Jeannie wondered if they suspected just how sharp his mind was. And how long his memory.
Leaning forward, she smiled as Mr. Winter ambled over. “Good night, boss?”
“Going fine,” he agreed. “What’ll it be, Jeannie?”
She started to convey their drink orders, but a commotion at the door made it impossible for Mr. Winter to hear her. She glanced over her shoulder but couldn’t make out much more than a bunch of boisterous guys crowded in the entrance. It was a typical scene—men high-spirited about coming in for beers after a long, hot late-summer day. The next step would be Elle, always determined to snag the choicest guy in a crowd, turning up her feminine wiles. Sami was less obvious, but just as focused. Jeannie had given up trying to attract attention when they were around. She’d always been too sensible and understated to draw anyone’s eye away from the glitter-spiked one-two punch of Sami and Elle. With flawless choreography, they pivoted on their stools, leaning their elbows back on the bar and crossing their legs. Jeannie felt herself fade as the women to either side of her put each curve on prominent display for the crowd.
She shook her head and turned back to Mr. Winter. He glanced at her companions and lifted his chin a fraction, a gesture he’d used in the past when advising her to stand up for herself and not let her sorority sisters’ opinions overrule her good sense. She’d taken that lesson to heart, and raised her own chin back at him. She would buy Sami and Elle drinks, but she wouldn’t let them make her feel invisible.
“Two margaritas and a cosmo,” Jeannie said, but the guys in the doorway were just too loud. She stood on the barstool’s rungs and hefted herself half over the polished oak surface to have any hope of Mr. Winter understanding her order.
With identical gasps, Sami and Elle reached out from either side and grasped her upper arms. “No way,” Sami said, her sunset-coral painted fingertips tight on Jeannie’s biceps.
Elle dug into Jeannie’s other arm with her bubblegum-pink claws and hissed, “Hurry up, Dumbway. Get our drinks. We have to get over there!”
Since pledge week, four years earlier, the sorority girls had called her “Dumbway.” It was a play on her last name, and every one of Jeannie’s protests had cemented the nickname in their vocabulary.
Jeannie was left pinned in place—her butt hanging in the air—with no chance to turn and see what had the girls so riled up. She glanced at Mr. Winter for a clue. He, however, was frozen to stillness. His gaze was locked above Jeannie’s head, his vodka bottle poised motionless over the cocktail shaker.
Shifting over as much as she could while still in the tight grip of her sorority sisters, Jeannie angled her head so she could see what was reflected in the mirror behind Mr. Winter. When she saw who had shown up in Jackrabbit, of all places, she was grateful for Elle’s and Sami’s support. Her knees went weak.
No wonder Mr. Winter was staring, and no wonder the girls were so excited.
There, at the entrance of the little country bar and restaurant, way outside what should have been his natural milieu, stood the unmistakable Brendan Brody.
Jeannie’s mouth went dry, and her gaze darted back to the prep area in front of Mr. Winter. No margarita sitting there waiting for her to snag and chug. Damn. She looked back at the mirror, drawn to every beautiful detail of Brendan. His red-blond hair rose in a shock above his darker eyebrows. His long face and square chin would show up in any image search for “chiseled.” His Adam’s apple was sure to be the most famous Adam’s apple in the nation. Jeannie didn’t know if people ever ran metrics on those things, but she was willing to bet two out of three women could pick Brendan Brody’s Adam’s apple out of a lineup. It had been the subject of plenty of close-ups, as it vibrated with the soul-stealing deep notes he sang in front of millions of viewers. Fresh-shaven, stubble-shadowed, sweat-glistened from dancing, or backlit for a publicity shot—Jeannie would know his Adam’s apple anywhere.
And there it was, in the doorway of Applejacks.
Sami hadn’t let up, but Elle’s hand was loose enough now to let Jeannie twist around and look over her shoulder, desperate for a direct view of Brendan Brody.
He wasn’t a trick of the mirror. He was real.
And despite her being bookended by Sami and Elle, Jeannie decided he was looking straight at her.
“Huh?” Sami asked, flipping the shimmering fall of her glossy black hair over one shoulder. “Is it your round? Get me a cosmo.”
“Margarita,” added Elle keeping her big blue eyes focused on the crowd. It was a couple of weeks before classes at the local university would start up again, so there weren’t as many students in tonight. But Applejacks—everyone’s favorite pub-restaurant—was never short of patrons. Plenty of recent grads like Jeannie, Elle, and Sami stuck around Jackrabbit, Texas, hoping to settle into the idyllic town. And thanks to her new gig as event planner for the local chamber of commerce, Jeannie was well on her way to becoming an established citizen. Her so-called sisters hadn’t congratulated Jeannie on her success. If her accomplishments didn’t serve their needs, Elle and Sami dismissed them as stupid.
Sighing and putting off the talking-to she owed herself about finding new friends, Jeannie swiveled toward the bar. Mr. Winter was down at the end, listening to Nicodemus, who Jeannie guessed was spinning another wild tale for the bar owner’s amusement. Jeannie caught Mr. Winter’s eye and nodded, smiling. The old guy could be a little gruff, but she quite liked him. He’d never treated her like an idiot kid, which Jeannie appreciated after a few weeks at her new job. She’d found several local business owners dismissed anyone her age as a transient student, no matter what her new business cards said to the contrary. But even when she had still been attending Jackrabbit University and had been just another of his young waitstaff, Mr. Winter had treated her with kindness and respect. He’d even picked her as the employee to mentor through getting her bartending license so she could earn the big tips covering shifts when Mr. Winter had meetings to attend. Plus, his laid-back ways hid his sly side. He could cause a lot of trouble if he thought it was worth his time. Dismissive students often called him “Old Man Winter,” and Jeannie wondered if they suspected just how sharp his mind was. And how long his memory.
Leaning forward, she smiled as Mr. Winter ambled over. “Good night, boss?”
“Going fine,” he agreed. “What’ll it be, Jeannie?”
She started to convey their drink orders, but a commotion at the door made it impossible for Mr. Winter to hear her. She glanced over her shoulder but couldn’t make out much more than a bunch of boisterous guys crowded in the entrance. It was a typical scene—men high-spirited about coming in for beers after a long, hot late-summer day. The next step would be Elle, always determined to snag the choicest guy in a crowd, turning up her feminine wiles. Sami was less obvious, but just as focused. Jeannie had given up trying to attract attention when they were around. She’d always been too sensible and understated to draw anyone’s eye away from the glitter-spiked one-two punch of Sami and Elle. With flawless choreography, they pivoted on their stools, leaning their elbows back on the bar and crossing their legs. Jeannie felt herself fade as the women to either side of her put each curve on prominent display for the crowd.
She shook her head and turned back to Mr. Winter. He glanced at her companions and lifted his chin a fraction, a gesture he’d used in the past when advising her to stand up for herself and not let her sorority sisters’ opinions overrule her good sense. She’d taken that lesson to heart, and raised her own chin back at him. She would buy Sami and Elle drinks, but she wouldn’t let them make her feel invisible.
“Two margaritas and a cosmo,” Jeannie said, but the guys in the doorway were just too loud. She stood on the barstool’s rungs and hefted herself half over the polished oak surface to have any hope of Mr. Winter understanding her order.
With identical gasps, Sami and Elle reached out from either side and grasped her upper arms. “No way,” Sami said, her sunset-coral painted fingertips tight on Jeannie’s biceps.
Elle dug into Jeannie’s other arm with her bubblegum-pink claws and hissed, “Hurry up, Dumbway. Get our drinks. We have to get over there!”
Since pledge week, four years earlier, the sorority girls had called her “Dumbway.” It was a play on her last name, and every one of Jeannie’s protests had cemented the nickname in their vocabulary.
Jeannie was left pinned in place—her butt hanging in the air—with no chance to turn and see what had the girls so riled up. She glanced at Mr. Winter for a clue. He, however, was frozen to stillness. His gaze was locked above Jeannie’s head, his vodka bottle poised motionless over the cocktail shaker.
Shifting over as much as she could while still in the tight grip of her sorority sisters, Jeannie angled her head so she could see what was reflected in the mirror behind Mr. Winter. When she saw who had shown up in Jackrabbit, of all places, she was grateful for Elle’s and Sami’s support. Her knees went weak.
No wonder Mr. Winter was staring, and no wonder the girls were so excited.
There, at the entrance of the little country bar and restaurant, way outside what should have been his natural milieu, stood the unmistakable Brendan Brody.
Jeannie’s mouth went dry, and her gaze darted back to the prep area in front of Mr. Winter. No margarita sitting there waiting for her to snag and chug. Damn. She looked back at the mirror, drawn to every beautiful detail of Brendan. His red-blond hair rose in a shock above his darker eyebrows. His long face and square chin would show up in any image search for “chiseled.” His Adam’s apple was sure to be the most famous Adam’s apple in the nation. Jeannie didn’t know if people ever ran metrics on those things, but she was willing to bet two out of three women could pick Brendan Brody’s Adam’s apple out of a lineup. It had been the subject of plenty of close-ups, as it vibrated with the soul-stealing deep notes he sang in front of millions of viewers. Fresh-shaven, stubble-shadowed, sweat-glistened from dancing, or backlit for a publicity shot—Jeannie would know his Adam’s apple anywhere.
And there it was, in the doorway of Applejacks.
Sami hadn’t let up, but Elle’s hand was loose enough now to let Jeannie twist around and look over her shoulder, desperate for a direct view of Brendan Brody.
He wasn’t a trick of the mirror. He was real.
And despite her being bookended by Sami and Elle, Jeannie decided he was looking straight at her.