The bar’s low lighting casts a golden glow across her skin, softening every edge and supple curve of her body wrapped up in that tight as sin t-shirt. But those bright blue eyes? They slice through the space like they’ve got a purpose. Like they’ve found what they’re looking for, and I’m both excited and terrified that might be me.
Her hair’s twisted up in a messy, no-effort kind of bun that still looks like it belongs on the cover of a country music album.There’s something about her that feels familiar and entirely disarming. Like warm pie on a porch swing. Like fireflies and bare feet. She’s all charm and ease and that slow, southern sweetness that sneaks up on you if you’re not careful.
And I’m not careful. I already know that if I had a type, she’d be it. And that right there is the problem. Because if fate and destiny, two things I believe in whole-heartedly, keep pushing us together, what does that mean? And if I let myself lean into that thought, the rest of me will unravel. And if I fall for a girl like Regan… there’s no getting back up without scars.
“What are you doing in my bar?” she asks, her lips curving playfully, but not quite into a full smile.
“Nice to see you too,” I reply, grinning. “Hey, we’re not enemies, right?”
She presses her lips together, chewing on that thought for a moment before she nods.
“You’re right. But weareboth bidding for the same property.”
“Rivals, maybe?” I suggest, leaning back in my seat, enjoying the dance of banter.
“To be rivals, both of us has to have a real shot at winning and the way I see it, only one of us does.”
I laugh loudly and she smiles despite herself.
“I came because I had a free night,” I explain. “Rare night off from the hospital, and I was curious to check out this place. I hear your family practically owns this whole town. Feels like no matter where I go, it’s a Marshall business that I’m hearing about.”
Her smile grows, and she leans casually on the bar. “That is true which is why I’m going to get the Mayberry Manor.” Shenods her head to the counter in front of me. “So, what are you drinking, cowboy?”
“What’s good here?”
She narrows her eyes, amused. “That’s a bold thing to ask the owner of the place. Everything’s good, of course, but if you want my recommendation, we’ve got a spring whiskey Colt just released. I helped develop it with Molly.”
“Sold. I’ll take that.”
I watch her as she moves, her hands steady while she pours the dark amber liquid into a pretty, custom designed glass. Her shirt’s tucked neatly into her jeans, and a few stray strands of hair frame her neck, curling just slightly against her skin. I study the fullness of her lips, and the tiny smatter of freckles across her small nose and decide she’s got the prettiest face I’ve ever seen too. She reminds me a lot of the actressBrittany Snowwhich happens to be one of my first crushes as a kid.
When she sets the glass in front of me, I lean forward, catching the scent before taking a sip.
“Damn,” I say, impressed. “That’s good. Now who are Colt and Molly?”
She grins. “Colt’s my twin brother. Molly’s my best friend turned sister-in-law.”
“Sounds like there’s a story there.”
“Oh, there is,” she says, chuckling softly. “But it worked out perfectly for them. They’re solid and I couldn’t be happier to have Molly as family.”
“How many Marshalls are we talking now? Just so I know who to watch out for when I inevitably buy the Mayberry property.”
She rolls her eyes with a laugh. “Five kids total and then my dad.”
“Five? Shit, that’s a lot.”
She laughs. “I think my dad would agree. But it works out when you’ve got a million businesses to run.”
“I bet. So now that I’ve crossedWhitewood Creek Breweryoff my list, what’s next? What’s the must-see Marshall spot?”
She leans against the counter, thinking. “Well, we’ve got a flagship restaurant in Charlotte, there’s the egg farm here where we raise organic, GMO-free, free-range hens, and then the distillery where we brew all our spirits and ship them out across the country.”
“Eggs and booze? That’s… an unexpected combo.”
She nods, grinning. “The egg farm came first. The distillery was Colt’s idea, and the breweries and restaurants, well those grew out of it. Part of Colt’s… post-prison reinvention with my other brothers.”
My glass hits the bar hard, some of the whiskey spilling over the edge. “Uh, Prison?”
