But there were also advantages to being settled: longtime friends and neighbors. People you could count on. Stability. Roots. A place to call home and raise a family. After toying with the idea of having that kind of life with Ryan and then having it all collapse around her, Tori had decided she was tired of running. She might not have the life and family she’d dreamed about with Ryan, but she could have it with someone else if she sat still long enough to have a meaningful relationship.
Cornwall spoke to her. This was where her family had come from and this was where she wanted to stay. But if she was going to build her dream home here, she’d better learn how to tough it out. There was no towing off a house. Being the new girl in a small town was hard enough. Lacking in coping skills wasn’t going to help the situation.
If Wade thought he could bully her into selling by turning the town against her, he was in for a surprise. She wasn’t going to play along with his charade. If he could play dirty, so could she.
“What can I get you?” The bartender had finally made his way over to her end of the bar. He looked like the kind of guy you’d find at a 115-year-old bar named the Wet Hen. Thin, leathery and gray-haired with an ancient, blurry anchor tattooed on his forearm. The tag pinned to his apron said his name was Skippy. She’d never seen anyone less like a Skippy in her life.
“Gin and tonic with lime.” Strong and to the point without stooping to shots. She was tempted to just chug a few big gulps of tequila so she’d no longer care about Wade and his cronies. But she couldn’t lose control of her inhibitions, either. Lord knew what kind of trouble she’d get into.
Skippy placed a bowl of peanuts and a napkin on the counter for the drink he quickly poured. He looked as though he had a solid fifty years of experience mixing drinks. When the lowball glass plopped down in front of her, she took a large, quick sip. Damned if that wasn’t the best gin and tonic she’d ever had.
Go Skippy.
The alcohol surged straight into her veins. She’d been too agitated to eat anything since Wade left, and her empty stomach gladly soaked up the wicked brew. Three sips into her drink, her worries from earlier had dulled into distant concerns that could be drowned out, along with the loud bursts of male laughter coming from the corner. Thank goodness.
It wasn’t until she’d finished her drink and half a bowl of peanuts that she bothered to look in their direction again. Wade was still watching her, although this time the amusement on his face was gone. As the other men around the table chatted, he seemed to have narrowed his focus to her. The expression on his face was quite serious. And openly appreciative of whatever he was seeing.
When their gazes met, Tori felt a jolt of electricity that ran down her spine and prickled across her skin like delicate flames licking at her. It was almost as though his look caressed her physically and drew her into him. It was the same feeling she’d had when he touched her today, handing her the honey jar. Sudden. Unexpected. Powerful.
And totally and completely unwanted.
The clunk of a glass on the bar in front of her startled Tori out of Wade’s tractor beam. When she turned, she saw a fresh glass, courtesy of Skippy.
“This one’s on the oldest Eden boy.”
It took Tori a minute to figure out that probably meant Wade. “You mean the dark-headed one in the green shirt with the smug expression on his face?”
Skippy leaned onto the bar and turned toward the men in the back. “Yep.”
“I thought his last name was Mitchell.”
“It is.”
“Then why’d you call him an Eden boy?”
Skippy shrugged. “’Cause that’s what he is.”
Tori frowned. Wade’s family tree seemed to be a touch more complicated than she’d anticipated. “Tell him I don’t want it.”
Skippy snorted and shook his head. “He’s sitting with the mayor, the sheriff, the best lawyer in town and the city councilman who granted my liquor license. Sorry, kiddo, but I’m not getting involved. You’ll have to tell him that yourself.”
“Fine,” Tori said. The drink was making her feel brave anyway. Scooping up the full glass, she slid off the stool a little too fluidly and made her way across the bar to the table of men in the back.