Tethered

Twenty || Sweet Spot

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The Starry Sister is a sweet little corner of a bar, with a few pool tables and a few regulars. There's a makeshift dance floor and a family of bar staff who all give Beau a warm hello as he enters with me behind him. He gives them a winning smile before pointing out a quiet little booth in some lower light for me to grab while he gets us some drinks.

I go to tell him just to get me a lemonade, when he already speaks it aloud to the barman, giving me a calming wink as if to say 'I got it, don't worry' and I am already at ease.

Before I know it, I have slid into the forest green leather booth seat with an ice-cold lemonade rattling with ice, and Beau takes off his hat before sitting across from me. I take in the crisp white of his shirt and the gentle scent of his aftershave.

"I hope I didn't take you away from anything too important," I tell him, my brows furrowing slightly.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd have called you a guardian angel, sent to rescue me," he laughs.

"What do you mean?" I ask. "Bad date?"

He takes a drink of his whisky, wincing slightly as it goes down, his finger tracing the rim of the glass.

"Date?" He laughs. "No, no, no..."

"Then--" I begin.

"Family reunion," he groans slightly, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, I see," I laugh. "That's rough."

"Every couple of years I get the message that the relatives want to have a big cookout, or someone's pregnant, getting married, or dead, and we've got to all pretend that we're anything but people with the same last name," he tells me. "I guess we're just not one of those families that are close, not like you and yours."

I almost choke on my lemonade.

"You're kidding, right?" I guffaw. "Me and my family aren't very kumbaya, if that's what you're getting at."

"Well, no, but Mr Taylor would clearly do anything for you and, I have only seen the person he is and was with his old lady, Mrs Taylor, may she rest," he lowers his eyes slightly when he mentions my Aunt Rita. "I didn't mean to make any assumptions."

"You're fine," I settle him, reaching my hand out to touch his arm, casually.

His eyes look down at my hand, his breathing pausing and I instinctively pull back, but he simply smiles as we catch each other's gaze.

"Well," he continues, "I was ready to make some excuse to the relatives when you called and I was out of there as soon as I could be."

"Was it that bad?" I ask him.

"My family aren't bad people, but they're barely acquaintances," he tells me. "All extended family who don't know how to look me in the eyes about any of the truths of how imperfect families can be."

"Are you the only one of your close family to go to the reunions?"

"Well, yeah," he half-laughs. "I'm the only one there is."