look, was unstudied, practical, and yet rather extraordinary. Or maybe it wasn’t him at all, she thought, looking back to her bar. Maybe it was the environment, sort of like a mirage or a lifestyle magazine.
As Jeremy continued to ramble about Twisted Tree’s new fume blanc that Sage had already tasted and thought too heavy on the lemongrass, she peppered in the occasional “oh” or “that is so interesting,” all while watching Garrett. Setting out her bitters and laying napkins across one corner of the bar, she recalled a bowl she bought last year from The Fig and Frog, a downtown resale boutique. The bowl was cobalt blue, oversized, and had a red dot of glass in the center. She’d seen it one Saturday and decided she had to have it. It sat front and center in a room the boutique had staged as if it was in the kitschiest house right on the beach. Sage remembered wanting the whole picture. It didn’t matter what the bowl cost that day.
When she’d arrived home and set the bowl on her own table, it wasn’t quite the same. Still beautiful, but not as enchanting as it had been back at the store, in a space she saw as more exciting than her own. Sage knew she tended to project like that; that was all part of why she’d moved to LA. She wanted to start over, change rooms. She remade herself, but as she took in her fill of Garrett Rye, her mind pleaded with her heart to consider he might be like that bowl. Beautiful in his space, but a fantasy that only existed in twelve-dollar magazines.
“Sage? What did you think?”
“Huh? Oh, sorry. Yes, your selections sound perfect.”
Jeremy forced a chuckle as he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek before fading out of view.
Garrett looked over, his clean-shaven jaw and guarded eyes lit by the fire of the grill, and her heart told her mind it didn’t care. She would pay the twelve dollars like all those other suckers to stay right there with him. Taking a pull of his beer, Garrett nodded and tilted the bottle in a toast to her. Eyes still on him, she reached for the closest glass on her bar and gestured back at him. He laughed, so she glanced down and realized she’d toasted him with a jar of olives. Sage was happy for the distance because once again, her cheeks warmed as the first guests arrived and made their way over to her. Showtime. She greeted the guests, handed out drink cards, and was happy to be doing something she was pretty sure she wouldn’t screw up.
Garrett watched as a crowd began to gather around her bar. Her smile was different. Maybe it was the candles, or the evening breeze that mussed with her hair and she had to keep tucking it out of her face. She was even more beautiful in his barn, stirring and mixing in his world. Sage had never spent much time at the farm. She and Kenna were friends, but he always associated her with being in town, behind the bar. She’d been out to his “neck of the woods,” as his father loved to say, two days in a row, and it was messing with his head, or his heart, he wasn’t sure which as he finished off his beer.
Sage moved with that same rhythm she did at The Yard, only this bar was smaller and the laughter, the conversation as she stirred and poured, felt more personal. Kind of like the difference between an intimate acoustic set and a huge arena concert. Garrett moved closer and wondered if she brought that same rhythm to the bedroom.
Whoa, let’s rein that shit in right now.
She was “in love with every piece of him.” That’s what she’d said. They had both dismissed it, agreed that she’d had too much to drink and couldn’t be held responsible, but the words kept playing through his mind along with her legs and her most recent naughty slide up the bar. Her words were so simple, so honest that now, days later, he couldn’t seem to shake them. He remembered vaguely reading Shakespeare in high school, something about the truth being in the wine. She wanted him. Want Garrett could deal with, that
As Jeremy continued to ramble about Twisted Tree’s new fume blanc that Sage had already tasted and thought too heavy on the lemongrass, she peppered in the occasional “oh” or “that is so interesting,” all while watching Garrett. Setting out her bitters and laying napkins across one corner of the bar, she recalled a bowl she bought last year from The Fig and Frog, a downtown resale boutique. The bowl was cobalt blue, oversized, and had a red dot of glass in the center. She’d seen it one Saturday and decided she had to have it. It sat front and center in a room the boutique had staged as if it was in the kitschiest house right on the beach. Sage remembered wanting the whole picture. It didn’t matter what the bowl cost that day.
When she’d arrived home and set the bowl on her own table, it wasn’t quite the same. Still beautiful, but not as enchanting as it had been back at the store, in a space she saw as more exciting than her own. Sage knew she tended to project like that; that was all part of why she’d moved to LA. She wanted to start over, change rooms. She remade herself, but as she took in her fill of Garrett Rye, her mind pleaded with her heart to consider he might be like that bowl. Beautiful in his space, but a fantasy that only existed in twelve-dollar magazines.
“Sage? What did you think?”
“Huh? Oh, sorry. Yes, your selections sound perfect.”
Jeremy forced a chuckle as he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek before fading out of view.
Garrett looked over, his clean-shaven jaw and guarded eyes lit by the fire of the grill, and her heart told her mind it didn’t care. She would pay the twelve dollars like all those other suckers to stay right there with him. Taking a pull of his beer, Garrett nodded and tilted the bottle in a toast to her. Eyes still on him, she reached for the closest glass on her bar and gestured back at him. He laughed, so she glanced down and realized she’d toasted him with a jar of olives. Sage was happy for the distance because once again, her cheeks warmed as the first guests arrived and made their way over to her. Showtime. She greeted the guests, handed out drink cards, and was happy to be doing something she was pretty sure she wouldn’t screw up.
Garrett watched as a crowd began to gather around her bar. Her smile was different. Maybe it was the candles, or the evening breeze that mussed with her hair and she had to keep tucking it out of her face. She was even more beautiful in his barn, stirring and mixing in his world. Sage had never spent much time at the farm. She and Kenna were friends, but he always associated her with being in town, behind the bar. She’d been out to his “neck of the woods,” as his father loved to say, two days in a row, and it was messing with his head, or his heart, he wasn’t sure which as he finished off his beer.
Sage moved with that same rhythm she did at The Yard, only this bar was smaller and the laughter, the conversation as she stirred and poured, felt more personal. Kind of like the difference between an intimate acoustic set and a huge arena concert. Garrett moved closer and wondered if she brought that same rhythm to the bedroom.
Whoa, let’s rein that shit in right now.
She was “in love with every piece of him.” That’s what she’d said. They had both dismissed it, agreed that she’d had too much to drink and couldn’t be held responsible, but the words kept playing through his mind along with her legs and her most recent naughty slide up the bar. Her words were so simple, so honest that now, days later, he couldn’t seem to shake them. He remembered vaguely reading Shakespeare in high school, something about the truth being in the wine. She wanted him. Want Garrett could deal with, that
Similar Books
