Put in actual effort.
I like the idea of that.
DMC GROUP CHAT
Orson:You guys know Ford, right? On a scale of one to ten, how likely is he to kill me?
Art:Easy nine.
Orson:What?
Payne:Jfc don’t listen to him. He’d be lucky to be a one.
Griff:He’s a total ten … in hotness.
Art:Yeah, but your opinion doesn’t count when you’d say that about anyone.
Griff:No way. Beau’s a twelve ;)
Payne:Can I leave this chat yet?
Art:You pretend to be exasperated by us, but we all remember the Night of The Drunken Jealousy that you put us through.
Payne:please don’t give it capitals.
Griff:Art’s right, it was a real event.
Orson:… I’m sure none of this is what I opened my phone to talk about.
3
Orson
I pacefrom one side of the room, spin on my heel, and pace back again. Art chuckles from behind the bar and slides a drink my way. Ginger ale, I’m guessing, since I don’t touch alcohol. Haven’t for a long time, which Art knows better than anyone.
At first, he wasn’t sure about us always hanging out here at Killer Brew, thinking I’d slip back into that place where alcohol was my crutch, but I was never addicted, and I’m actually reasonably happy with the way my life is now. Going back to how I was holds no appeal.
“You’re awfully nervous, considering this isn’t a date.”
I shake my head, ignoring the drink. “I’m not nervous.”
“Eh, Ford has that effect on people.”
My lips twitch when I think of Ford. Sure, he’s big, but my nervousness doesn’t stem fromthat. And like I said, I’mnotnervous, more … unsettled.
Outside of my friends with the DMC, I don’t have a life. I work at the shop, hang out with Art or Griff or Keller, and … that’s it. Adding another friend into the mix, one who I haven’t met through Art, feels like a big thing.
I first moved to Kilborough when I was … twenty-seven? Twenty-eight? I made a few friends in that time, but other than Art, most of them were tied to Tara, and when she died, none of them knew how to handle me. I stuck around in town for a few months, but on what should have been her thirty-fifth birthday, I up and left with no plans to return.
If it wasn’t for Art, I probably wouldn’t have.
“Looking deep in thought over there,” Art says.
“What am Idoing?”
“What do you mean?”
I run both hands roughly over my stubble. “You’re right. I’m basically taking him on a date.”