Izzy leans in, her eyes narrowing on me. “That may be, but Jenna is married… to my brother.” She pauses dramatically. “So, unless you’re here to teach her how to use a power drill, tread carefully. She’s family.”
The jab lands with humor and a side warning. I nod. “Got it. Strictly professional.”
Before the moment can spiral further, the bartender from the other bar across the room whistles. “Izzy! Another round for you.”
Jenna nudges her. “Looks like you have a fan club,” she says, nodding toward two guys whose eyes are glued to Izzy. She lifts her glass like she’s toasting to herself. “What can I say? I like free drinks… and being the center of attention even more.”
As she turns away, my focus stays on Jenna. She’s captivating in a way I don’t quite understand yet, pulling me in deeper, despite Izzy’s warning. I’m just restless. Bored lately. That’s all this is. It’ll pass.
The next two hours are a blur of ‘80s music cycling between Michael Jackson, Madonna, and Bon Jovi. A few brave souls, mostly older women, take over the tiny dance floor while the rest of us hang back, watching.
Jenna moves through the crowd, checking in, smoothing things over, making sure everyone’s having a good time. She’s glowing. Like this is what she was made for.
At some point, my buddy Joel, another contractor who tagged along to the party, manages to pull me into the conga line. I’m right behind Jenna, and I don’t mind one bit. Her hips sway to Gloria Estefan, and for a second, I forget she’s not single—not mine to touch the way I want to. My hands rest lightly on her waist, and I catch a whiff of her strawberry shampoo, or maybe it’s her perfume. Whatever it is, it’s distracting as hell.
When the song ends, Joel, tries to spin Debbie from accounting around, and they both crash to the floor laughing. They’re too drunk to get up, so I help haul them to their feet. Just as I’m about to slip away, Joel slings his arm around my neck and steers me toward the bar.
Everyone is extra rowdy, drinking way too much cheap tequila. But I’m sober. Or maybe not. Maybe I’m a little drunk off Jenna, who’s leaning casually against the bar, her eyes sparkling as she watches Joel tease me.
“Nice costume, Dylan,” Joel shouts, nodding toward the ridiculous shell bra Jenna roped me into wearing. I shake my head, laughing it off as he orders another round of shots he absolutely doesn’t need. Somehow, in the middle of all the noise, Jenna and I fall into easy conversation like we’ve done this a thousand times.
“Why construction?” Jenna asks, cradling the same glass of wine she’s been nursing all night.
“Guess I like fixing things, making them better.” I pause, smiling. “And apparently, I'm really good with my hands.”
Her cheeks flush as she squirms in her seat, caught off guard. “What else do you do when you’re not planning these cool events? Shopping sprees? Gourmet brunches?”
She raises a brow, finally taking a sip of her drink. “Actually, I hate shopping. Wish I could hire someone to do it for me.”
I glance down at her high heels. “Could’ve fooled me.” My tone is light, teasing. “Thought you were a city girl… not that there’s anything wrong with that.”
Her smile softens, and I see something deeper in her eyes. Sadness. Maybe longing. Like looking in the mirror. “Sometimes, I wonder if I am. After moving so much as a kid, all I wanted was to stay in one place. Even if it was the city forever,” she says quietly. “But I grew up on a farm. It was a big part of my childhood, and lately… I’ve been missing the quiet open space. You know?”
Her honesty catches me by surprise and impresses me. “A farm girl, huh? Didn’t see that coming. My dad owns a ranch out in Bryden. But I don’t get out there as much as I’d like.”
“Do you live out there too?” she asks, her curiosity genuine. “And why not?”
“Not quite. I'm in Franklin, just outside Nashville. Work keeps me here. And things with my dad are… complicated.”
Her eyes catch mine, and there’s something there—like she gets it. For a second, the tension between us thickens, and I’m not sure I like the strange feeling. Whatever it is.
“Anyway,” I say, switching up the conversation, “your friend Izzy seems like fun.”
“She’s the best,” Jenna says, her eyes sparkling. “And she’s single, if you’re interested.”
Not sure why that lands harder than I expect. If Jenna were single, I wouldn’t be pretending to care about anyone else. I’d already have her in some dark corner, ruining her lipstick and showing her everything she’s been missing.
Get a grip, man.
“Thanks. But I’m not looking for anything.” I smirk. “I have a strict rule—no hooking up with clients or their best friends. But hey, you and Izzy should come riding sometime.”
Her laugh is soft but short-lived. In an instant, her expression goes from warm to cold and distant. “I should get going. My husband’s probably waiting up.”
She grabs her purse, and an unexpected ache creeps in. One minute, we’re laughing like old friends. Now, it's like I’m a stranger again.
“Alright,” I keep my tone casual even though it feels anything but, “it was nice chatting.”
She doesn’t respond, only offers a polite smile before turning and walking away.
