He doesn’t try to stop me. He doesn’t say another word as I turn and exit the hotel room.
I feel like a zombie as I walk toward the elevator. I don’t remember pushing the button. I don’t remember people coming on and off as I bypass the fifth floor and keep heading down.
All I remember is stepping out of the cart and walking through the lobby and outside, right into downtown Nashville.
And then I just run.
4
emmett
You never know who—orwhat—you’re going to see at a downtown Nashville bar. Doesn’t matter the day or time, the people watching is always top notch.
Granted, I don’t come down here often. Too loud. Too many people. I’d much rather be at my quiet house with my dog and a ballgame on in the background. Reading a book. But some days a man just needs a drink and a burger after a long week.
And to say I had the week from hell is an understatement. My business partner and former college roommate, Simon Banks, is on the longest paternity leave in history. And even if he was working, his sister is getting married today, and he insisted he needed to be available for any impending wedding duties. Five of the properties I manage for our business all of a sudden had major repairs that I needed to coordinate to fix. A site we’re building on suddenly had permit issues I had to deal with. And a storm just hit our Florida rentals, which means I have to head down there next week to check the damage.
So yes, a Jim Beam and Coke and a burger was what the doctor ordered.
Luckily it’s still the afternoon, so it’s not crazy yet, but the usual suspects of the Nashville summer bar scene are here.Bachelorettes and their crews whooping it up. Corporate suit guys playing credit card roulette after eighteen holes of golf. Tourists who don’t think they look like tourists but are given away by watching the aspiring country music artist playing on stage and thinking it’s the best thing they’ve ever heard.
And a woman sitting across the bar from me in a wedding gown.
Okay, that one isn’t something you normally see.
“Here’s your burger. Can I get you anything else?”
I don’t even look at the BBQ bacon cheeseburger I ordered or the bartender who’s delivering it. I can’t take my eyes off the woman, who looks slightly familiar but I can’t put my finger on it. “Is she okay?”
“I’m not sure,” he says, looking over to her then back to me. “She got here about an hour before you. Asked for a lemon drop martini then quickly changed to straight shots of tequila. I’ve been trying to pace her out and give her water, but since I have a feeling she’s not wearing that dress because she lost a bet, I’m fighting a losing battle.”
The bartender walks away, but my gaze doesn’t move.
Yes, she’s beautiful. That’s partly why I can’t take my eyes off her. She’s been looking down most of the time, but from the glimpses I’ve gotten, she’s a stunner. Beautiful features. Blonde hair that is pulled up under a rather large veil. I’m not hip to wedding styles—or any fashion styles really—but even I know what she’s wearing on her head is a bit much. Her makeup is a mess from crying, which breaks my heart.
Why is she here? Is she okay? Who did this to her? Who, or what, happened to drive her to a downtown Nashville bar on a Saturday afternoon still wearing her dress? I know it’s none of my business. I don’t know this woman from Eve. But something makes me want to be sure she’s okay.
If my sister Maddie were here, she’d joke that this is my Prince Charming complex coming to the surface. You save one kitten from a tree when you’re thirteen to make your baby sisterstop crying and you’re tagged with the “my hero” persona for life.
I’m no Prince Charming. Far from it. I’m just a country boy from East Tennessee who was raised to hold doors open. To say please and thank you. To help those who need it. I can’t stand by and see people hurt. Or cry.
Or get hit on by douchebags.
Just as I’m about to pick up my burger, I watch as one of the corporate douches walks over to her. What makesanyman think it’s appropriate to hit on a woman wearing a wedding dress at a bar is beyond me. Especially one who’s clearly distressed.
She looks over at him, and I can’t make out what he’s saying, but I know a forced smile when I see one. She’s shaking her head and trying to look away. To look at anything but him.
Which in any universe means “no” and “leave me alone.”
But apparently this motherfucker isn’t from our solar system because he inches closer to her. Her body stiffens. He leans in. She leans back in retreat.
My blood pressure spikes.
That’s it. I can’t watch this anymore. I see her say the word “no” and shake her head even more as I push away from the bar. I feel like I’m running, though it probably looks like a march into battle, as I make my way around to where he’s hovering over her. When I make my way to her side of the bar, I push down the urge to just grab and punch the shit out of him. Instead, I stop and catch her eye, making sure she knows I’m a friendly face. See if she gives me any clues of how to proceed.
Crystal blue eyes meet mine. They’re sad. A little scared. Pleading.
And so fucking gorgeous.
