Epilogue 2

EPILOGUE 2

Britt

"Hey, dad! Is Karli okay?"

I'm sure she is. I can hear fits of laughter in the background.

"She's having a ball. Ava's got her in the pool … It'll be the last weekend before they close it up for the season."

The pool at Ava's condo complex has been a lifesaver. My AC went out last week and the part to fix it still hasn't come in. "You've been awesome. Both of you. Thank Ava for me, will you? I know it can't be easy. Having a hot, new boyfriend who is someone's grandpa!"

"Watch it. I can still bust your ass, if you need it," he says.

I laugh at that. "Well, that'll be the second time in my life."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Go. Do something fun. You're finally off crutches and you don't have a barnacle named Karli hanging around your neck. Have fun. Please. I'm begging you."

I look up at the exterior of El Fuego. Bellehaven's one and only Mexican restaurant. There is a bowl of cheese dip and a margarita in there with my name on them. "On it." It's probably not the kind of fun he had in mind. But bars don't hold any appeal for me. When you dated a musician for as long as I did, you've seen enough of those places to last a lifetime.

Chips and salsa for the win.

I walk in and instantly wish I'd been smart enough to order take out instead. The whole place is full. Because there's a home football game and it's nine o'clock on a Friday night.

Shit.

"How long's the wait for a table?"

The hostess looks at the dry erase chart on the counter. "Forty-five minutes."

I want to be in bed in forty-five minutes. Or at least dressed for it. "Thanks. I'll come back tomorrow."

"No, wait at the bar," she says.

I glance through the arched doorway and see a couple of empty stools. "Can I still get food there?"

"Appetizers."

Chips, salsa, queso and tequila. The four food groups. "That's perfect then."

A few minutes later, I'm dipping my first chip and waiting on that frozen glass of goodness.

"Hey. How are you?"

I look up and see a really cute guy at the bar. No, not cute. Hot. Super freaking hot. Broad shoulders, perfectly imperfect hair, a slightly crooked smile and from what I can see, that man has not been skimping on squats or leg days. And that is why I know he's talking to someone else. My hair is in a messy bun. My clothes are paint splattered from trying to wrangle seven three‐year olds into completing an art project in their daycare class without also destroying it and me. In short, I look like the barely walking disaster that I actually am. So I just stay quiet and keep eating my chips.

He steps closer, turning so that he's facing me directly even as I sit facing the bar. "You don't remember me, do you?"

Okay, so he's definitely talking to me. And immediately my assumption is that this is some kind of joke. His buddies made a bet with him that he had to go to a bar and pick up some woman who looked homeless or he'd have to buy them all expensive bourbon. Or something to that effect. And I'm in no mood. Men, my dad aside, are on my shit list right now. Dakota has more than bailed. A month ago, he informed me that he had another kid. Almost two years old. Which meant this kid was conceived long before he and I ever split. And, the baby mama is about to pop out Karli's second half sibling. That I know of. I'm definitely not looking to be the butt of a frat bro's joke. "Should I?"

"Well, this is embarrassing." He laughs and shakes his head, a sheepish look on his face. He holds his hand over the lower half of his face. "Does this help at all?"

No. "Look, I don't mean to be rude, but we've spent the last three years wearing masks. I don't recognize anyone anymore. "

He blinks in confusion for a second and then starts to laugh. Leaning in close, he almost whispers, "Either I'm not nearly as memorable as I thought or the pain meds I gave you when you broke your leg were a lot stronger than I imagined."

Oh, snap. It's the hot doctor. And he is hot. He's hotter out of his scrubs than he was in them. And, not for nothing, those were very good drugs. "Dr. Blake?"

"Yeah. Dr. Blake. The women in Bellehaven play hell on a man's ego, Brittany Clay."

"Britt. Just Britt. And it's Ranger now. Divorce was final last month," I tell him.

"Oh … I didn't realize you were—well, it was your Dad who came to the hospital so I just assumed there wasn't a husband in the picture."

"Oh, there wasn't. The divorce was a formality only … So, they let you out of the ER every once in a while?"

He grins. "On occasion. I'm off for the next few days for my brother's wedding."

"Around here?"

"Lexington," he says. "It's a short enough drive that I don't see the point of staying in a hotel."

There's more than a spark of interest. Not just his. Mine. For the first time since I finally accepted the fact that Dakota was a worthless piece of trash as a husband, I'm actually interested in a man. And I look like hot ass.

"I'm the direct sort, Dr. Blake, so I'm just going to ask. Are you hitting on me?"

That slow, slightly crooked smile spreads across his face again and he leans closer. "I guess that depends on whether or not you're interested in being hit on, just Britt Ranger."