“Congratulate him for me,” Hayden says. “Don’t forget to tell everyone I would have been there if I wasn’t out of town. And be sure to mention I was the one who reminded you that work and success mean nothing without family and friends.”
I roll my eyes, deciding not to explain that he had nothing to do with my decision. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m going. But seriously, you of all people should have been on my side. With the vodka problem and all, work is crazy right now.”
“No business,” Hayden reminds me.
It’s been our one rule since we first started these weekly dinners. We talk business 24/7, but not on Wednesday nights.
I finish my wine and lift my chin to the waitress to bring another drink.
“No business,” I agree, doing my best to shove thoughts of vodka and formulas out of my mind. “I’ll tell them,” I add, looking forward to seeing my family even though I already know I’m in for a tongue-lashing for having stayed away so long. “But if I don’t come back, you know where to find me.”
“At the bottom of Lake Shohola. You Italians scare me sometimes.”
All jokes aside, while I might not be wearing concrete boots by the end of the weekend, there is zero chance I’ll make it out of Bridgewater unscathed.
2
Chari
“Cheers.”
Groaning at my brother’s overly cheerful tone, I clink glasses with him anyway. A blast of cold air hits me from behind, and I curse for the millionth time this winter.
“I heard that,” Devon says.
“I didn’t say a word.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Who’s winning?” the bartender asks my brother. Being one of Devon’s good friends, he knows about our current bet, and probably the dozens that came before. It’s something we do when we’re bored, which apparently happens a lot.
“You seriously have to ask?” I quip.
Mike reaches for an empty beer glass on the bar.
“I don’t know, Devon set himself up pretty good on this one.”
I try, and fail, not to smile. It’s totally true. I might complain about the winter weather every three seconds, but my brother is an infamous man-whore. This is one bet I could win, even if Devon keeps picking the closest seats to the door. Every time it opens, a blast of February air makes me bite my tongue.
My brother’s a man-whore, and a sometimes asshole.
But he’s also one of my best friends.
“So how exactly do you know Devon isn’t having sex?”
That’s the deal. I don’t complain about the weather. Devon doesn’t score a home run with one of his many dates. Whoever breaks first buys the loser a meal. Not very high stakes unless you count bragging rights, which, of course, we do. Of course, it’s hilarious to think of Devon bragging about not getting laid.
“I trust him.”
“Pfft.” Mike clearly doesn’t think that’s such a good idea.
Devon glares at Mike across the bar. “Maybe have my back instead of stabbing it?”
“Maybe have mine and get me a date with your sister.”
Mike makes comments like that pretty often, and given that he has an on-again, off-again girlfriend, I’m pretty sure he just does it to rile Devon up. My brother scowls as Mike takes the glass and heads to the tap.
“You are never dating my sister.”
I’m not. Mike isn’t my type. But that’s beside the point. Devon doesn’t speak for me, and I’m annoyed that he keeps trying.
“What if I suddenly decide I’m into edgy bartenders covered in tats?” I ask when Mike is out of earshot.
“Not funny.”
Dammit. Another blast of cold air hits my back. I should have gone with my gut and stayed home to Netflix instead of dragging myself off the couch a few hours after crashing on it. I love my third graders dearly, but teaching them all week doesn’t lend itself to late nights out on Friday.
“I wasn’t kidding,” I say and then take a sip of my beer.
Devon doesn’t know yet, but it’s going to be an early night for me. One and done. The only reason I agreed to let him drag me out was because he was coming to The Wheelhouse, which feels a lot like hanging out at home. My brother has already informed me this is just the first stop on this rodeo. He has a long night planned with his friends.
“Let’s table that forever,” he says. “New topic. Guess who’s coming in this weekend?”
“Hmmm?” I try to think of any out-of-towner friends who might be visiting. “No idea. Tell me.”
“Hey, Chari. Hey, Devon.”
I spin on my stool. Our doctor, also an old family friend. And only two years older than me. Colleen has always been a prodigy. Homeschooled in high school, she was skipping grades and attending medical school when her classmates were still getting drunk every weekend in college.
“Hey, Coll.”
I’m tempted to pull her aside and ask her about the smoke I’ve been smelling lately—Google suggests it might be a brain tumor—but I hesitate, trying to be mindful of the fact that Colleen has no more desire to work on a Friday night than I do.
“You want to ask her,” Devon says under his breath. And maybe he doesn’t outright laugh, but it’s obvious he wants to.
“Seriously, I’m telling you it’s true. It happened again last night.”
Unlike my brother, I still live at home. But I’ve resisted the urge to tell my mom about the whole smoke thing. Like Devon, she thinks the only health problem I have is an incurable case of hypochondria. I caved and told him about the smell anyway, something I now regret.
“When I’m in the hospital having brain surgery, you can apologize then.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
Devon is too busy looking at Colleen’s backside to listen.
“You know, she’s single again,” I taunt, mindful of our bet. Besides, Colleen has had a thing for Devon since, well, forever. It would be cool to see my brother date someone he actually likes.
“Not gonna work.”
Ugh, would people stop opening the door? I really need to get out of the Northeast. Bridgewater might be adorable, especially in the fall, and lots of people would probably love to live in a small lakeside town, but every winter the weather seems to get colder and colder.
“I’m not going to say anything about the cold, but can we please move down there?” I point to the other end of the bar, turning my back to the door.
Devon ignores me, ordering yet another drink. If he weren’t drinking Angel’s Brew, I’d be giving him a lecture right about now, asking about his designated driver for the night. But not anymore. Not thanks to . . .
“Enzo’s coming in.”
Enzo?
I try not to react. Devon watches me like a hawk, as he always does when his BFF comes up in conversation. And it tends to happen often. The fact that Angel, Inc. was cofounded by someone from our tiny town is basically a daily discussion.
“Wow.”
What else is there to say? I haven’t seen my former crush in years. Except on the news. Or when I social media stalk him. At least I’m not alone. Pretty much everyone wants to know what Enzo DeLuca is up to.