4. Dexter

“The usual?” the bartender asks as I plop myself down on a bar stool at the Dusty Boots Bar and Grill. I give him a nod and throw a few bills down on the counter.

He peels them off and slides a coaster and a frothy beer towards me.

The coaster sticks to the bar, and as I pull it off I hit my beer glass, sending amber liquid sloshing over the sides.

“Shit. You got a cloth, Ed?”

The bartender grabs a grimy cloth from the counter behind him, and I hold up the beer and coaster while he smears it into the woodwork. Nice, one more smudge on the dirty bar top.

The door bursts open, and there’s loud talk and laughter as a group of youths jostle each other to get to the bar.

“Keep it down,” I mutter like a grumpy old man. “I hope you’re going to ID them.”

Ed chuckles and raises his eyebrows at me. “They were in last night. They’re in their twenties, old man.”

I harrumph and take a gulp of beer. I was never that loud and obnoxious when I was in my twenties, I’m sure of it.

This place has gone downhill in the last year, too rowdy, too sticky, and too empty.

Without her.

It’s been a year since I met Hope here, a year since I lost her. She never gave me her last name and I thought there’d be time to get her number, but she left before I could find out anything about her.

We talked all night about our life philosophies, our hopes and dreams. I know she was visiting for a craft show and that she does needle work. She wants to travel to Europe, and her biggest fear is spiders.

But I didn’t find out the stuff that matters, like where she lives, her phone number, or her last fucking name.

I scoured the internet searching for all the Hopes in North Carolina. I became a fucking needle work expert trying to find her online shop. But nothing.

I thought about flying out there, but what good would that do? North Carolina’s a big state, and I don’t have a fucking clue how to find someone.

So every Friday for the last twelve months, I’ve come to the Dusty Boots Bar and Grill, the shittiest bar in town, just in case she comes back here.

The guys at work think I’m fucking insane, that I should put her behind me and move on. They’re right. It’s been twelve months, but it’s just hard to let go.

One of the young guys at the bar steps back suddenly and knocks my elbow as I’m taking a sip of beer. It spills over the side and onto my checkered shirt.

“Sorry dude.”

I’m not his fucking dude, but I’m not here to get into a fight.

“No worries.” At least the kid apologized.

I’m mopping up the beer with the grimy cloth when I feel the breeze of the door opening again.

I glance up, and my heart stops beating.

It’s her. It’s Hope.

She’s standing in the doorway chewing on the end of a strand of hair, her uncertain eyes scanning the room.

My gaze travels from her tan ankle boots to the black leggings that hug her hips, to the long tight t-shirt that shows her curves and… holy shit… her breasts. They’re bigger then I remember, full and luscious and bursting out of the ridiculous too tight t-shirt she’s wearing.

My mouth goes dry. My heart remembers to beat again, and I exhale a long slow breath.

She’s here, and she’s fucking hot.

I’m not the only one who’s noticed. The kid who bumped into me gives a low whistle.

I’m off the stool with my hand around his throat before I know what’s come over me. A low growl comes out of my throat.

“Leave the lady alone.”

His eyes bug out with terror. “S…sorry dude,” he stammers as best he can through my chokehold.

“And call me dude one more time and I’ll smash this beer over your head.”

“S…s…sorry…d…”

There’s a gasp from the door, and I turn to find Hope watching me. Her eyes are wide with the same terror I last saw in them. Ah shit. I’m being a thug again, and that’s the last thing I want her to think I am.

I drop my hold on the guy and stride over to her.

“Hope.”

Her eyes are wide, and she scans my face, and I wish I’d trimmed my fucking beard and gotten more sleep and put on a clean shirt. I’m a fucking mess.

I run a hand through my hair, trying to tame it.

“Dexter…”

It comes out as a squeak, and the uncertainty in her eyes shoots a dagger straight to my heart. She looks like she wants to turn and flee, and I’ve got about thirty seconds to convince her otherwise.

“That wasn’t what it looked like.” I indicate the guy at the bar who’s gone back to drinking with his friends, a little quieter I’m pleased to note. “He whistled at you and…”

She licks her lips nervously, and the movement has my eyes darting to her mouth. I forget what I was saying as memories of her lips pressed against mine flood my brain.

“I…um…I was hoping I’d run into you again. You took off last time, and I didn’t get your number.”

I’m rambling, and I’m not cool and in control or saying all the right things like I imagined I would be when I fantasized about this moment every day for the past twelve months.

But if I keep talking, she can’t walk away.

“That’s why I chased after your car. I wanted your number. I’m not an axe murderer or anything...” I chuckle, but her eyes go wide. “I mean, if that’s what you thought, I’m not…”

Oh fuck, this is awkward, and I’m fucking this up so bad. “…do you want to join me? Margarita, right?”

My heart’s hammering in my chest as I wait for her to answer. She looks hesitant, and I pray silently to a god that I haven’t spoken to in years that she doesn’t walk out that door.

A long heartbeat passes, and she’s still staring at me and probably wondering why the fuck I’m rambling.

Then she nods. “No drink though. I can’t stay long.”

My heart sinks. How long have I got to convince her I’m a decent man? That I’m not a brute and not a bumbling idiot.

“How are you? How have you been?”

We walk to the bar and I pull out a bar stool for her on my right, making sure she has my good ear. As she sits down, I pull my stool closer and lean in on the pretense of not being able to hear above the noise, but really all I want to do is be close to her, to smell her and see if she still uses that same shampoo. Which is creepy as fuck even in my own head, but my head is fuzzy right now and I’m not thinking straight.

“I’ve been good. Great actually.”

She smiles brightly, but now that we’re sitting closer I detect dark smudges under her eyes and faint creases on her forehead which weren’t there a year ago.

“Great.” I nod like an idiot. “That’s…great.”

Now that I’ve got her here, I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to tell her I’ve been thinking about her for the last twelve months. That she’s filled my dreams, my every waking moment.

She looks around the bar, taking in the peeling vinyl and young clientele.

“This place has changed, huh?”

“Yeah.” Her gaze rests on the booth where we first met, where I first stared into her laughing green eyes.

“I didn’t know if you’d be here.”

My heart flutters in my chest. “You came looking for me?”

She bites her lower lip, and I resist the urge to kiss her. Now that I’ve gotten over the shock of seeing her again, I’ve got to try to play it cool, or at least not scare her off.

She smiles. “Thought I’d look you up while I was in town.”

“How long you in town for?”

“A couple of days,” she answers quickly.

“What brought you back to Clearwater?”

She looks down at her hands and spins a ring around on her finger. “Another craft fair.”

“I didn’t hear of any this weekend.”

Her gaze snaps to mine with an amused smile. “Since when do you keep track of craft fairs?” A smile plays at her lips, because she thinks I’m joking.

Since I fell in love with a woman who does needle work, I want to say. Since I visited every fucking craft fair in this and the neighboring states looking for her. But I don’t want to scare her with how obsessed I’ve become with her, so I just shrug.

“I like to know what’s going on.”

She laughs, thinking I’m joking. But seriously, I even subscribed to fucking needle work weekly searching for a mention of Hope. I’m in Facebook groups posing as a crafter. Yeah, I’m creepy, but it’s the only lead I had on her.

“Have dinner with me.” I snatch up her hands, no longer able to resist touching her. She’s got small slender fingers that seem like doll fingers in my huge paws.

“Not here. There’s an Italian place in town I’ll take you to.”

She doesn’t pull her hands away, but the sad smile she gives me tells me everything I need to know.

“I can’t,” she says. “My sister’s waiting for me. I said I’d only be fifteen minutes.”

“Bring your sister.” I’m grasping her hands too tightly, but I can’t let her get away again.

“I need to see you again, Hope. I’m not letting you get away this time.”

Her expression goes weird, and I realize what I’ve said. Good one convincing her I’m not a creep.

“I mean, we had a great night together. I’d like to do it again.” Which probably sounds like I just want to fuck her again, which isn’t true. Well, it is, but that’s not the only reason I want to see her. “I mean, I’d like to spend time with you again. You don’t have to come to my place, just dinner.”

She looks undecided but shakes her head.

“I can’t tonight.”

She pulls her hands from mine, and I let them go reluctantly. My chest feels heavy. I’ve finally got Hope in front of me, and she still thinks I’m a rough brute.

“But I’m free tomorrow morning.” She smiles hopefully, and it’s the prettiest sight I’ve ever seen. “I mean, if you are.”

I’ll have to cancel a gym session with Archer, and the grocery shopping can wait.

“Yeah, I’m free. Where can I pick you up?”

A cloud passes across her face. “I’ll meet you somewhere.”

“Okay.” I nod like one of those bobblehead dogs you put on the dashboard of your car. I’ll play this however she wants just as long as I see her again. “What’s your number?”

I’m not letting her go without a way to contact her this time. We exchange numbers, and I tell her an address of where to meet me tomorrow. It’s a little unconventional, but I need to make an impression on this woman.

“It’s good to see you again, Dex.”

She presses her soft lips against my cheek, and I get a whiff of her feminine scent. The shampoo I still can’t identify and something else. There’s a new milky scent to her, and I breathe her in like a strawberry fucking milkshake.

“Good to see you too.”

Then she’s gone, across the floor and out onto the street, the door sliding shut behind her.

I turn back to the bar, and Ed’s watching me with his arms folded.

“I probably won’t be seeing you anymore, Ed.”

I down my beer and leave him a generous tip.

I’ve got to get my beard trimmed, buy a new shirt, and polish my boots. I’ve got to prove to Hope that I’m not just a rough out of control beast. I’ve got to show her I’m the man she needs to be with.

I’ve spent every Friday night for a year in this shitty bar putting up with rowdy youths, drunks trying to pick a fight, and lonely women thinking a man drinking alone is an invitation. But it was all worth it to see Hope again.