An Optimist's Guide to Heartbreak (Heartsong #1)(61)

“Yeah,” Cal says, shifting in his chair as he pulls a piece of gum from his coat pocket. “My dad owned it first. I took over.”

“Family business. I like that.”

Alyssa nods to the glass of wine sitting in front of me. “Riesling is for you. No note this time.”

That’s not surprising. While Nash has been nothing but nice to me, his napkin notes stopped right around the time Cal told him about all of the aggressive sex we weren’t having. I blush. “Great.” I turn to Cal. “Did you want a drink? I can grab something for you.”

“I’ll go with you.”

He’s out of his seat before I even make a move to stand, and I’m met with Alyssa’s wiggling implication eyebrows. The blush travels to my ears as I tuck my hair behind them. “I’ll be right back.” Cal is already at the bar, trying to get the attention of the second bartender who is not Nash. “Sorry to throw you to the wolves like that. I know you’re not much of an extrovert.”

“It’s fine.”

“I really appreciate you coming out tonight,” I continue. “Thank you.”

After ordering a bourbon on the rocks, he flicks his attention to me. “You don’t need to thank me for supporting you. We’re friends.”

The word friends sounds less like friends and more like regrettably not sleeping together. I swallow down a lump in my throat and repress the urge to order something stronger than wine. When Nash catches my eyes from behind the bar, the urge heightens.

“Hey, Lucy. Great show tonight,” he says, refraining from Cal eye contact. “Can I get you something?”

“I have my wine. Thank you for that, by the way. I feel like I owe you for all the complimentary glasses over the past year.”

“Nah. It’s the least I can do for all the business you bring in.” He winks.

For a moment, he seems to forget that Cal is standing beside me like a hulking bodyguard with a murderous gleam in his eyes.

I’ll break a man’s face if he even looks at my woman.

I’m not his woman, not even close, and yet it still looks like he wants to break Nash’s face.

I pull my hair over one shoulder and play with the split ends. “This is my favorite night of the week. I’m happy to be invited.”

Rapping his knuckles on the counter, he quirks a smile before spinning away to tend to more customers. Cal grumbles.

“What?” I glance up.

“Nothing.”

“You growled or something.”

“I didn’t growl. He’s just not my favorite person.”

My nose crinkles. “You don’t know him.”

“I know enough. Come on.” Scooping up his glass, he takes a sip before turning back toward the table and sliding into his chair that looks to have magically scooted closer to Alyssa’s chair.

When I plop down into my own, Alyssa chirps, “Gemma was just telling us about her wedding next month. I still don’t have a date. Does that make me pathetic?” She twirls a strand of sunny hair around her finger, deep in thought.

“If you’re pathetic, I’m pathetic. I don’t have a date either,” I shrug.

Her eyes squint. “Yes, you do.”

“I do?”

She elbows Cal right in the bicep, but he doesn’t flinch. He never flinches. I squirm in my seat, reaching for my wine glass.

“You’re more than welcome to come,” Gemma adds, glancing at Cal, sensing the evident invitation. “I put Lucy down for two just in case she wanted to bring a friend.”

I look up at him through my lashes, but he’s staring down into his floating ice cubes. “Did you want to go?” I wonder, cursing the timidity in my voice. It’s not like it’s a date or anything. Friends go to weddings together all the time. Probably. “It’s December tenth.”

His lips twitch. “Yeah, I’ll go.”

Somehow, all I hear is “no that sounds awful please never speak to me again and you’re also fired,” so I keep rambling. “I’m sure you have plans, or want to relax after a long work week, so it’s totally fine that you don’t want to—”

“Lucy. I said I’ll be your date.”

I blink.

Gemma perks up, reaching for Knox’s hand atop the table. “Oh, that’s great! We’d love to have you there. It’s sort of a country-Christmas theme, if you can picture it. Knox grew up in Lexington, so we wanted to integrate his southern roots, and I’m sort of obsessed with the Christmas season. Lucy and I are already crocheting little holiday sweaters for the animals at the sanctuary, and…” She trails off, her head tilting to the side as she studies Cal. “Wait, is that where I’ve seen you? Have you stopped by the shelter?”

A gulp of wine gets stuck in my throat at her question, and I force it down, shaking my head. “No, no…I haven’t really told him much about it.” I turn toward him, watching as he twirls his glass between his fingers. “You should come by sometime, though—it’s an amazing place. It’s right off Richardson Street, near the train tracks. All the pets are older. Seniors. It’s a great cause.”

“Hm,” he says. “Sounds nice.”

Alyssa smiles up at Nash when he stops by to refill her wine, her fingernails matching the deep Merlot. “Speaking of senior pets,” she sighs, filling her cheeks with air. “Thanksgiving is in less than two weeks. This year is flying by.”