Like Whiskey in a Teacup

A scene from chapter 6 of my novel in progress, Land of Canaan . . .

The Kind of Girl Your Mama Warned You About
~6~

My husband, Hunter, had other ideas – from the first moment we met. And here we are. He was the softest place to land, this mountain man of mine. I don’t know what I believe about a damn thing. But somewhere, somehow I must have done something right to have happened upon this man. From behind the bar, I look up and catch him as he finishes wiping down the last table, as our first customers of homecoming weekend make their way inside. He greets his best friend Ben with a bear hug and back slaps – as if they hadn’t seen each other this morning. They’d fished, since Ben is off for a few days. I smile at him. He’s the happiest son of a gun. While they talk, Hunter must realize I’m watching him because he turns around. His smile lights up his face. His gaze holds mine and my stomach does a flip. How did I get so lucky? He winks from across the room and waves like the dork he is. I laugh and wave back. “Get back to work,” I say.

                        “Yes, ma’am,” he calls out, saying his see you later to Ben. Ben makes his way through the bar and sits on his favorite barstool, close to the kitchen – where he insists no one bothers him so close to the clanking of the pots and pans.

                        “Hey there big guy,” I say to my husband’s oldest and best friend.

                        “Hey back. Makers on the rocks, please.”

                        “Phew. Straight to the big guns, eh? You alright?” I ask.

                        “I’m fine. It has been a day.”                   

                        “Let me guess. Kate?”

                        “Yeah,” he says closing his eyes and sighing. “This is exhausting.”

                        “I know, my friend. Just keep going. Don’t give in,” I say, as the door to FSBs opens again.

                        “My god,” Ben says when we both realize Arden Stewart has walked through the door. “Didn’t think she could be any hotter than the night I met her, but here she is. She’s like whiskey in a teacup this one.”

                        “I didn’t know you’d met,” I say flatly.

                        “At Miss Pearl’s,” Ben says. I watch him, watch her – and I know our Big Ben is forever lost. I’m not sure how long it will take for him to realize it. But I know it. “Hey Miss Arden,” he calls out. She’s stunning. It’s not hard to understand why Ben and every other man in here had the same reaction to her arrival. She is blindingly beautiful in a black lace camisole, under what I’m guessing is a Cynthia Rowley blazer and the tightest pair of black velvet jeans I have ever seen. Before she gets to us, Ben says, very uncharacteristically under his breath, “I don’t know if those pants are the right size for those curves.”

                        I laugh. “Oh my, Ben. You got it bad, already.”

                        “I do not,” he says, smiling slyly. She reaches the bar, and I expect to see her slide onto a stool anywhere but where she does. But no. She sits down smack dab next to Ben.

                        “You do not, what?” she asks, smiling. “And it’s nice to see you again, Ben. Thankfully I’m fully clothed this time.”

                        I raise an eyebrow. “That you are,” he says. “It’s good to see you, too. And don’t mind me or Jade, she’s just giving me shit as per the usual.”

                        “What’s this about fully clothed?” Jade asks.

                        “Long story,” Arden says. “Short version is – I got caught in a rainstorm in front of A Likely Story. Miss Pearl said she had clean clothes in her back room, and I could throw mine in the dryer. All she had was . . . granny nighties. So yeah, there I was, sitting smack dab on Front Street without a stitch of undergarments, in a granny nightie, when Ben here walked in.”

                        “Well, I could see how that would be an interesting way to meet. I’m glad you’re fully clothed tonight, Arden. Cynthia Rowley?” I ask.

                        “You’re good. And yes – Cynthia Rowley’s “Dripping in Gold.” You like?”

                        “I like. But we gotta work on the mountain town fashion.”

                        “I know. I’m fully aware. I unpacked my closet today and made a list of what I need to buy. This will have to do until I can get some shopping done.”

                        “What can I get you to drink, Arden?” I ask, as she sets her small clutch on the bar.

                        “What are you drinking, Ben?” she asks.

                        “Bourbon on the rocks,” Ben says, as I hand him his glass.

                        “Sold,” Arden says. Ben smiles and looks into his drink. Poor man. He is definitely not her type. But he’s no longer thinking with his . . . brain.

Written by: E.M. Morgan