Back at the house, she slammed the slider shut and locked it, backing away, not unlike the night she had talked to Jason, expecting Mac to attack the glass. After all, she’d become accustomed to having him chase when she ran.
But he hadn’t followed. Then again, hewas occupied, what with his dick in that woman’s mouth and all.
Her reflection showed her she was crying.
Wiping at her cheeks, mystified, she studied the moisture on her hands. “Stress,” she reassured Fred. “It’s just stress.”
He looked as disbelieving as she felt.
Chapter forty
Cassidy / Mac
ANNIVERSARY
CurledupinanAdirondack chair, which she had avoided until the night she’d fallen asleep in it waiting for Fred to return from Mac’s, Cassidy sipped a cup of coffee. She looked out at the drizzly day and fog enshrouding the lake.
The weather was fitting for her mood for the day.
The anniversary.
She’d lost Elijah two years ago today. Mid-May.
Lost. Such a stupid word. She hadn’t misplaced her husband. He wasn’t keys or a pair of sunglasses. Or her rings. (Those she lost.) The man? He died; he left her. He let go of her hand and slipped off this earth.
She’d taken the day off from the bar. The next few days, actually. Her phone was off. She’d assured everyone she would be okay, so she needed to be okay.
Everyone: Marge and Silas, Jason, and Darlene. The ones who knew, the ones who would be blowing up her phone if she hadn’t asked them not to do so. Their constant checking in would spiral her faster than anything. She needed peace, quiet.
The lake.
And so far, the lake was delivering, enveloping her in thick fog, misty arms wrapping around her, providing her with the cocoon to be able to grieve the way she wanted to, without everyone telling her how she should feel. It was her time with Elijah.
It was their anniversary, after all.
Mac entered the bar, and as had become his habit, he swept the space looking for Cassidy. He knew if it was going to be a good night based on her presence. If he saw her, it would be a good night. After all, he had her gorgeous face to look at, her sweet ass to tempt him, and her body to recall to mind as the evening progressed. He could rely on riling her up if he so chose until he left… With or without company.
Sometimes she bit back, occasionally she flirted. He’d take her either way.
Tonight he didn’t see her.
He saw Darlene and Sarah.
Thank fuck it wasn’t Angel, but he was figuring out her schedule and avoided Thursday nights and Sunday afternoons since those seemed to be her regular shifts. He didn’t have anything against the woman or her blatant propositions, but her pours didn’t have the same volume of alcohol, and he wasn’t sure she didn’t eat half the food off the platebeforeshe brought it out.
If she was hungry, he’d gladly buy her a meal, but he didn’t want her eating his.
If she was thirsty, she needed to satisfy that thirst elsewhere.
Sitting at the bar, he tipped his chin to Darlene. She signaled she understood. It was good to have a bartender who knew what he wanted, and he watched as she started to pour out a whiskey even as she kept up her conversation with Sarah.
He perused the clientele via the mirror over the bar. His initial sweep had been for Cassidy; he’d noticed people, but not specifics. Now he was taking stock. Not a busy night, considering the weather was shit—a few couples, a table of women around his age celebrating something; a birthday, maybe.
Slow night. And no Day to entertain him.
She’d nearly choked him last time. Nah, she’d choked him. The beer had filtered out of his nose; she hadn’t seen it. He grinned to himself as he remembered.
It was the first he’d seen her since her voyeuristic visit. He’d mentioned he’d received the clothes, grinning at her knowingly, waiting for her blush, wanting to see her reaction. She’d met his gaze dead on as he’d raised his beer and said saucily, “That wasn’tallyou got that night.”