More Than I Could (7)

At least the diesel guy didn’t lie.

I reach the bar beneath a ceiling covered with dollar bills and eighties rock music playing through hidden speakers. A light flickers at the back of the building, and I spot a chalkboard wall. Everything from song lyrics to tic-tac-toe games to a plate lunch menu for the upcoming week is written in different colors.

“I haven’t seen you around before.”

The bartender walks my way as I slide onto a barstool. His full head of sandy-colored hair is mussed up like he gave in and let it do whatever it wanted. His eyes are light, too, and playful—just like his smile.

“Probably because I’ve never been here before,” I say.

He stops in front of me and sets his towel down. His friendly face is instantly likable.

“Where is everyone? Patti said this was the most exciting venue in town,” I say.

“Patti isn’t wrong. But she just must’ve forgotten that the Peachwood County Fair is this week, and everyone who’s anyone is there.”

I smile at him. “I see. So if you’re here, what does that make you?”

“Someone who doesn’t like kids, and all the kids are at the fair.”

I laugh. “Fair enough.”

“So what can I get ya this evening?” He grins. “A drink? Food? Therapy?”

“While I could probably use a little therapy and a drink after the day I’ve had, I was just hoping for a sandwich.”

“I can make that happen.” He digs around under the bar, then presents me with a laminated menu. “Ignore the stuff on the front. We’re on a skeleton crew in the kitchen after dark.”

I quickly skim the offerings. It’s a variation of hamburgers and grilled cheeses.

“I’ll take a cheeseburger and a Sprite, please,” I say, handing him the menu back.

“Run it through the garden?”

“Huh? I have no idea what that means.”

“You know, do you want all the stuff on it? Lettuce, tomato, onion, pickles.”

“Yup. Run it, baby.”

He points at me, laughing, and disappears through a set of swinging doors.

I pull out my phone and find the camera app. My best friend, Calista, always gets a kick out of the things I discover on my adventures. She was adamant that the blueness of Chefchaouen in Morocco was a filter. And when I paddled through an underground river in the Philippines, she thought I was lying. So while the dollars on the ceiling in this small-town bar aren’t that exciting, she’ll like it nonetheless.

As I open the app, a deep voice from the other end of the bar captures my attention.

“You must be the girl who was stuck out by Cotton’s,” Tucker says.

Cotton’s?

“Um, I don’t know,” I say, resting my elbows on the bar. “Is Cotton’s a spot with cornfields on either side of the road?”

His laugh is loud and gruff. “This is Peachwood. Everywhere is a spot with cornfields on either side of the road.”

How did he know that was me?

I turn in my chair, the torn leather biting through my jeans. “How did you know that? How did you know I was out there tonight?”

He grins before taking a long slug of his beer.

“I mean it.” My brain spins, searching for an answer. “Did that guy in the black truck tell you?”

Tucker shrugs and goes back to the baseball game. I stare at the back of his round head, unsure whether to demand an answer. I don’t know these people.

Car problems in a cornfield. Hot guy to bait you. A small town with all-knowing residents waiting for darkness to fall …

I glance out the window.

Darkness has fallen.

The bartender comes back and glances at me. He sets my drink down and then plants his hands on the bar. “What’s wrong?”

Slowly, I slide my gaze from the window to Tucker’s mullet and then back to the bartender.

“Tucker knows I broke down today out by Cotton’s—whoever that is,” I say carefully. “How did he know that? It must have been the guy in the truck because that’s the only person I saw. Unless …” My stomach drops. “You know …”

He snorts. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t freak yourself out.” He thinks before he speaks again, clearly amused. “Guy in the truck. What was his name? I’m Gavin, by the way.”

“I’m Megan.” Since leaving him earlier this evening, I have run through my conversation with Diesel Man a hundred times. This time, I try to remember his name and not just his physical details … and come up empty. “I don’t know. Somehow, he didn’t mention it.”

“What did the truck look like?”

“Big. Black.” I pause. “Loud.”

“And the guy?” he asks, grinning.

“And the guy what?”

“What did he look like?”

I study Gavin.

I like him, and not for the same reason I liked Diesel Man. Gavin is attractive, for sure, but Diesel is different. Gavin is cute. He’s the kind of guy who’s a good friend. The one who makes you laugh. He’s the person you call when you have an extra ticket to a concert and no one to go with you.

He’s not the kind of guy you fantasize about throwing you against the hood of a car and burying his face between your legs.