“You’re not drinking,” Elle snaps.
I shake my head and point to the one time love of my life. “That’s her name.”
“Sorry, my name’s Jamie. I’ll send your waitress over in a minute to get your order.” Whiskey storms off, giving me an opportunity to watch her until she disappears behind a door. She looks the same, except for the time lapse that comes with aging. Her breasts are fuller, and she has curves. Curves I’ve never seen on her. My Whiskey girl grew up and I wasn’t here to see her transform from a teenager into a fully-fledged, smoking hot woman.
“Who names their daughter Whiskey?” Elle asks as she looks at the menu.
“Her name’s actually Jameson, named after her dad. Sheriff Jameson Foster.”
Elle drops her menu and slowly turns to look over her shoulder and back at me. “That’s the Sheriff’s daughter?”
I don’t say anything.
Elle reaches across the table and smacks me upside my head. I deserve it. “What is wrong with you? Didn’t your father ever teach you not to mess around with the Sheriff’s daughter?”
I crack half a smile. Aside from everyone in Bailey who knows me, Quinn is the only person I’ve told about my parents. It’s not something I like talking about. The only people who ever made me feel like I belong were the Fosters, and I turned my back on them without another thought. I avoid answering Elle’s question. My life story is for another time and any other place.
“Did you ever perform here? I like the ambience.” There’s a dance floor, currently covered by tables. In the side room, there used to be an arcade and dart machines. Bailey’s used to hold some serious dart competitions when I lived here. Makes me wonder if they still do or if things have changed.
“No, I was too young or not good enough. I tried a couple of times, but the guys who played here just shooed me away. Our prom was here though, the house band played. It was quite the party,” I laugh. Nothing like having a dry prom in a bar. Good thing for Whiskey and me, I always had the right provisions.
“Small towns, I get it,” she says. “Our prom was held in our gym.”
“Who’d you go with?”
“Ben. Noah came home and took Peyton. We had a good time.” She studies the menu instead of looking at me. I like her boyfriend, Ben. He seems like a good guy and completely in love with Elle, which seems to make her happy.
“What’s good here?” she asks.
Shrugging, I pull the menu from the condiment stand and look it over. “It’s been a while since I’ve eaten here.”
“I suppose pub food is all the same,” she sighs. I’m waiting for her to deliver the blow, to give me the kiss off. I figure this is my last meal for a bit so I might as well enjoy it. When the waitress appears, I’m saddened to see that it’s not Whiskey even though I knew it wouldn’t be. Honestly, I was hoping she’d come back and poison me, put me out of my misery.
“Hi y’all, I’m Mary and I’ll be your waitress. Can I start you off with something to drink?”
“We’ll have waters, please,” Elle says for the both us. Mary looks from me to her and back to me with a bit of confusion on her face. I know for a fact not many women order for men around these parts, and I have a feeling if things were a bit different Elle wouldn’t have taken it upon herself to speak for me either.
“We have a full bar and ten—”
“We’re okay, but thanks,” Elle says, smiling at Mary. She nods and heads toward the bar. I can’t take my eyes off her, even though I’m not really staring at her. I’m waiting for Whiskey to reappear so I can see her, so I can refresh every memory of her. She’s always been my weakness. The one person who knew every single secret, never judged me for where I came from, and who could bring me to my knees with one look. One, single solitary look that could reduce me to mush.
“Ex of yours?”
“Wife,” I say without thinking.
Elle’s eyes are sharp and boring into me when I look to see why she didn’t respond.
“You’re married? Anything else you want to tell me while I’m sitting here? I really don’t like surprises, Ajay, and ever since we left Wilmington you’ve inadvertently dropped a few on all of us.”
Mary comes toward us with two glasses of water, setting each one in front of us. “Are you ready to order?”
“I’m going to have the turkey club,” Elle requests.
“Fries or chips?”
“Is it possible for me to get a side salad?”
Mary nods. “Of course.” She lists the dressings and Elle chooses Italian.