Cocktails & Curves - a small-town, BBW romance bundle (Whisper Valley Soulwink, Series One)

Swipe for a Cosmo by Megan Wade

Jade

Pulling into an unmarked spot next to a row of cars, I look
up at the building in front of me, double-checking my directions to make sure I
have the right place. Valentine’s Bar and Grill. My eyes lift to the
glowing neon sign that says as much, and I let out a nervous breath. This place
is literally in the middle of nowhere.

Not that it looks creepy. Actually, it’s quite cute with its
wooden exterior set against the backdrop of a forest that seems to be venting
steam as the sun goes down and the earth cools. If I wasn’t here on my own to
meet someone new for the very first time, I’d be loving this log cabin vibe.
But since I am here alone to meet someone, everything seems kind of
freaky. Even the way that bird sitting on the gutter is looking at me seems
kinda freaky…

I shudder and cut the engine, sighing because I just
drove almost two hours for a Tinder hookup. How desperate is that? My
roommate, Charity, thinks I’m mental. She told me that if a guy isn't willing
to come to me, or at least meet me halfway, then he probably isn't worth my
time at all. But it's been so long since I've been on a date—since I've done
anything with a man, really—and I just didn't want to listen to reason. Now
though, sitting in this gravel car park in a town I'm unfamiliar with, I'm
second-guessing myself. Is a bit of dick really worth all this trouble?

Rubbing my sweaty palms on my thighs, I pick up my phone and
scroll back through the messages from my date. We've been flirting back and
forth for a few weeks now, and we've also exchanged a few naughty pictures, so
I at least feel confident that he's interested in me. Or he wouldn't have
wasted all that time and asked me to come out here, right?

I meet my eyes in the rear vision mirror and answer myself
out loud, “Right.” Then I give myself a curt nod that gets me reaching for the
door handle and stepping outside my car.

Before I go inside, I do a quick check of my reflection in
the side mirror, fluffing my blonde hair—that I spent ages curling with my flat
iron this afternoon—and doing a touch up of my lip gloss since I've been
worrying my mouth so much on the drive here that I've practically rubbed it all
off. With a final dab of my pinky fingers beneath my chocolate brown eyes to
ensure I don't have any fallout from my eye makeup, I declare myself ready then
take a deep, fortifying breath and head toward the entry of the bar.

The moment I push it open, warm yellow light and music
spills out. Something country western that’s twanging its way out of a jukebox set
up in front of a small but well-worn dance floor where a handful of people can
be seen kicking up their heels. I'm not at all familiar with the song they’re
dancing to since I’m all about folk rock these days, but they sure look like
they’re having fun. And the country beats suit this place to a T.  

In a word, it’s ‘rustic’ with its long bar that looks carved
out of a fallen tree, tall stools lining the front of it, and booths lining the
wall with a smattering of chairs and tables in the space in between. On this
side of the serving area is the dance floor, and on the far side are a couple
of pool tables already in use by a group of young locals. The place is quite
packed considering the only thing around it is trees.

A wolf whistle cuts across the room, and my eyes snap to the
sound, finding an old man with a red face and a gummy grin leering at me. I
realize very quickly that I'm overdressed for a small-town bar. But how was I
supposed to know that plaid and cowboy boots were the go here?

“All right, Henry, leave her be,” the big bear of a man
behind the bar says when laughter follows the whistle. I offer him a small
smile in gratitude and make my way toward him, wishing I’d opted to wear jeans
and a pretty top instead.

But it’s not like I’m dressed for a wedding or something
over the top like that. I just went a little more ‘smart’ than ‘casual’ by
choosing my favorite dress which is long, black—because it's a slimming color—and
has a cute little tulle flare that starts at my knees and flows to my ankles.
It makes me feel flirty and sexy, which is just what I needed when I’m putting
myself out there, pushing myself out of my comfort zone, like they all
say you should. Well, it seems that this time, maybe they were wrong.

‘They’ of course, are well-meaning friends, relatives, and
coworkers who regularly say that they can’t understand why I’m thirty and still
single when I have ‘such a pretty face and a great personality’. Insert eye
roll here. They say those things to me like they’re being kind. But I don’t
miss the judgment in their tone or the few blatant commenters who suggest that
‘maybe if you lose a few pounds it’ll help?’

Thanks, Monica. Why didn’t I think of that?

Ugh.

Why does the entire world have to be obsessed with my
weight?

Well, probably not the entire world, but it does
certainly feel like that sometimes. It’s like they all think that the solution
to all my problems lies in being slim. And I just don’t believe that’s the
case. Why? Because I have been slim and I didn’t feel any better about myself than
I do now, but at least now I’m not hungry. So that’s a point in the plus column
for me as far as I’m concerned.

Letting out a steady breath, I continue toward the bar and
the hunky bartender.

“What can I get’cha, darlin’,” he asks as he sets a coaster
down in front of me. My eyes lift up…up to his, finding kindness mixed with
interest in their murky green depths.

“Ah, hi. I’m actually here meeting someone. So, I think
maybe I’ll just get a Cosmo? Yeah. A Cosmo. Just to take the edge off a bit. Ah…please.”
I flash him my brightest smile, and he responds with a smirk that produces a
dimple that can be seen despite his full beard. And speaking of full things on
this man, he has an even fuller chest and big, thick arms that tell me he isn’t
afraid of a bit of hard work. And to top all that off, he has tattoos on his
forearms, hands, and fingers, and some serious chunky metal jewelry. In a word,
he’s hot as fuck with a tinge of danger going for him. Wait. That’s eleven
words. But you get my drift…

“First date?”

My brow lifts. “You can tell that based on my order?”

“I can tell you’re not from around here and that you’re
obviously nervous. So, educated guess.”

“Oh. Well, good observation.”

He nods before he reaches into a fridge below the bar and
pulls out a beer, uncapping it and setting it in front of me. “There you go,
darlin’.”

“Oh.” I point at the beer and shake my head. “This isn’t
what I ordered. I asked for a Cosmo.”

He leans on the bar, flexing his muscular, tattooed arms as
he grins in a way that makes my insides flip and my fingers itch to run them
through his too-long, dirty-blond hair. I press my knees together. “Sweetheart,
I have no idea what a Cosmo is. Here in Whisper Valley, we serve beer and hard
liquor. I didn’t take you as the hard liquor type.”

“I see,” I say, fishing inside my purse for my wallet.

He holds his hand up when I produce a bill. “On the house.
Consider it a welcome gift. Small town hospitality and all that.”

“Oh, thanks,” I say, picking up the beer in my left hand.
“I’m Jade.”

He lifts his chin. “Kellen.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Kellen.”

“Likewise.” His eyes do a slow movement up and down my body
before he adds, “Jade,” and I actually think I might self-combust just from
looking at him. I mean, how does one man living in small-town USA have the
right to be so goddamn sexy? He must have every woman in Whisper Valley eating
out of the palm of his hand.

 By the time I've
calmed down enough to even consider responding, Kellen has moved on to serve
another customer. Just as well, because I can't imagine it’d go down well with
my date if he walked in and caught me lusting after the hot bartender.

Thankfully, I'm a little early, so the risk of that is
minimal. This gives me time to find myself an empty booth, go and take a seat
and wait—of course choosing a position where I can watch the door and the
bar equally. No harm in peeking at Kellen occasionally, right?  

Kellen

“What are you looking so pleased about?” my brother, Vaughn,
asks as he brings up a crate of beer from the cellar and starts loading the
fridge.

“New girl. One o’clock,” I say, keeping my eyes on the glass
I’m drying. “Came in and asked for a Cosmo.”

“Isn’t that one of those fruity drinks they make in the
city?”

“I have no fucking clue.”

He lifts his dark, spiky-haired head to find the blonde
woman nursing a beer in a booth slightly diagonal from the bar. “Now I see
what’s got you grinning. She’s all woman, that one.”

“Here on a date, though. So…” I bounce a shoulder and chance
a glance over to where Jade is sitting, looking at her phone before lifting her
eyes back to the front door, a slight crease beginning to make a home in the
center of her brow.

“So? That doesn’t sound like the Kellen I know. You’ve got a
woman sitting over there alone, and you’re just standing here with a
thumb up your ass instead of doing something about it.”

“Thumb up my ass?” I roll my eyes. “Last I checked, I was
standing here workin’ for a living. Which reminds me, where the hell is Otis?
He’s supposed to be in the kitchen getting ready. It’s almost dinner service.”

Finishing with the fridge restock, Vaughn stands and dusts
his hands off on the side of his jeans. “He traded shifts with Remy. I got a
message about thirty minutes ago that he was on his way. Shouldn’t be much
longer,” he says, pulling out his phone and checking the time.

“What the hell is Otis doing?” I ask, nodding at a customer
who just walked in so he knows I’m about to serve him.

Vaughn shrugs. “Nothing he was willing to share. So I reckon
a girl has something to do with it. Speaking of, yours is still all alone over
there. Maybe you should find out how to make that cocktail she wanted and go
cheer her up.”

Looking at the clock above the bar, I frown in concern
because she’s been waiting for a good twenty minutes so far. Who on earth
would let a beauty like that wait so long?

It’s something I can’t wrap my head around, and something
that keeps swirling around in my mind for the next thirty minutes of service. I
watch the excitement that bloomed in her cheeks when she arrived turn into
nervous despair, then utter disappointment as she checks her phone one last
time and sighs before placing it facedown. Seems whoever was supposed to be
meeting her has stood her up. Asshole.

The waitress we have working the dinner rush stops by her
table and asks if she wants any food or another drink. But she waves her off with
a smile before she picks up her phone again and worries her lips.

My heart does this little squeeze thing in my chest because
I feel awful for the girl and angry with whoever’s left her waiting all this
damn time.

After another ten minutes of watching her struggle, I let
out a frustrated growl then look up the Cosmo recipe on my phone.

“Hey, Remy,” I say, leaning into the kitchen as I squint at
the list of ingredients. “Do we have limes and cranberry juice?”

He looks at me and quirks a light-colored brow.
“Ugh…probably.”

“Cool. Because I need them. Now,” I say, pulling down a
tumbler and getting to work.