Bidding On The Bachelor. Kerri Carpenter

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СКАЧАТЬ that explained that. There was a calendar hanging on the wall next to the fridge. She sighed. Just what she needed to see. A visual reminder of what today was.

      Happy birthday to me.

      Happy birthday to me.

      Happy birthday dear recently divorced, almost completely broke twenty-nine-year-old meeeeeee.

      Happy freaking birthday to me.

      As part of her practical nature, Carissa never needed or wanted a big party, lots of presents or any kind of fuss made over her birthday. But even she hated the fact that she’d spent the first day of the last year of her twenties driving hundreds of miles because she’d just gotten divorced. Twenty-nine years old and already she’d been both married and divorced. Not exactly the path she’d envisioned for her life.

      Snagging her car keys and shaking off the morbid mood, Carissa headed out the door toward the grocery store for a few essentials: coffee, milk, bread, peanut butter and alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol. But since there was a nice breeze, she decided to forgo the car and walk to the store instead. After the long drive, she could use the exercise.

      Once at the store, she steered her shopping cart down one aisle after another, unsure of what she was in the mood for. She grabbed cereal and some snacks, a couple bags of fruit and the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies. A little birthday present to herself. But as she perused the different brands of coffee, she couldn’t help but tune in to someone else’s conversation. In fact, a couple different snippets of conversations. All about her.

      I’m not making this up. It was her. Carissa Blackwell.

      Didn’t you read the Bayside Blogger’s tweets today? She already knows about this.

      ...can’t believe she’s back here! Didn’t she swear off Bayside back in high school?

      Strange that no one ever heard from her parents again. It’s like they disappeared into thin air.

      Carissa checked the time on her phone. Two hours. That was all it had taken for her to become the topic of hot gossip. And who was this Bayside Blogger who seemed to know her every move?

      Didn’t matter. Enough of this. She needed to get outside, stat. She pushed her cart to the side, items completely forgotten, and exited the store.

      All she wanted was to escape the gossips and get some air.

      As she walked along the back streets of the neighborhood back toward the cottage, she remembered something. There was a dive bar that used to sit back this way. She could go for a drink. Or two.

      While she headed in the direction of the bar, one of the gossipers’ words reverberated through her head. Can’t believe she’s back here.

      Carissa kicked at an imaginary stone. “Yeah, that makes two of us,” she muttered.

      Then, like a beacon calling her home, she saw the old bar at the end of the street, surrounded by a small parking lot full of stones and overgrown trees. Score. She definitely wouldn’t be recognized here. Double score. Carissa knew if she filled in the gaps on the half–burned out neon sign hanging above the door, she’d read the name, The Rusty Keg.

      True, she’d come out for a snack. But bars had snacks. Even more importantly, bars had alcohol. And nothing was going to make this nightmare of a day better than some good old-fashioned liquor.

      She pushed open the creaky door and was immediately assaulted by a musky smell of cheap beer, fried food and sweat. The place was dark, dank and completely off the beaten path.

      In other words, it was perfect.

      Carissa strolled up to the bar, noticing the scratched-up wood just waiting to give someone a splinter. She reached under the bar, feeling around for a purse hook, then immediately snatched her hand back. Had she just touched someone’s used wad of gum? Yuck. She shook her head. An establishment with a half-lit, crooked sign above the door outside and a rotting bar with mismatched bar stools that probably hadn’t been cleaned since the nineties was definitely not going to have purse hooks. They probably didn’t even have pinot noir. She slid a glance toward the single-stall bathroom and scrunched her nose. Forget about toilet seat covers. That was probably a mere pipe dream.

      “What can I get you?” a burly man with a full Duck Dynasty–worthy beard bellowed from behind the bar.

      “Shot of tequila and the local beer on tap.”

      He nodded, pulled her beer, poured the shot, but otherwise stayed silent. Carissa didn’t waste any time. “Happy birthday to me,” she said to no one in particular before throwing the shot back. The liquid burned her throat and made her eyes water. She turned her head and let out an exasperated “wowza” just in time to see none other than Jasper Dumont sitting right next to her, an unreadable expression on his face.

      “Oh.” It was all she could think to say aloud. On the inside, however, there was a whole vocal party happening. No-freaking-way-it’s-your-ex-boyfriend!

      No, not just an ex-boyfriend. Jasper Dumont was so much more than a simple ex. With some age and perspective, she realized their one-year relationship was such a short period of time in the grand scheme of life. But damn, that one year had been nothing short of amazing. Making out, dances, football games, making out, skipping school occasionally, making out, one epic prom, passing notes in calculus class, wanton looks by the lockers and even more making out. Well, making out that quickly led to much-less-PG versions of mere kissing.

      Now this boy—er, man—whom she hadn’t seen in a decade, but whom, if she was being brutally honest and the tequila was already loosening her up on that score, she’d never stopped thinking about was sitting right next to her. At a dive bar in her hometown.

      “Carissa Blackwell,” he said, his voice smooth and cutting. “Pigs must be flying because here you are. Back in Bayside.”

      Despite the coldness coming off him in waves, he looked amazing. Same blond hair and striking blue eyes. But that lanky boy she used to kiss under the bleachers was now all filled out with broad shoulders and from what she could see, an impressive chest. She leaned back in her chair and took a sip of her beer. More to give herself a moment and to slow down the pulse that Jasper had sent soaring.

      “Miracles can happen,” she said, raising her mug of beer in a toast.

      “Apparently.” His gaze drank her in from the top of her head over her navy blue tank top and down her capri jeans to the toes that desperately needed a pedicure. Toes that curled as he gave an appreciative nod.

      “It’s, um, nice to see you, Jasper.” She pushed her hair over her shoulder. “I wouldn’t expect to find you in a bar like this.”

      “Likewise,” he quickly said. “Actually I wouldn’t expect to find you anywhere in the city limits.”

      She nodded. She probably should have expected that from him. But what was she supposed to say? The truth? I got divorced. I have no money or career and this was the only place I had to go.

      “Touché,” she said instead. “But I’m back in town.”

      “For how long?” he asked quickly, too quickly. In fact, if she wasn’t mistaken, anger laced his question. She must have reacted to it because his features softened. “Sorry, it’s none of my business. СКАЧАТЬ