Welcome A to Z peeps! I’m Richard, Jayden’s husband. This month, I’ll be joining in on our meet cute theme with first meetings for the characters in my ongoing story Hallmark. I post a chapter most Sundays so it fits in with this being the “off” day for A to Z nicely. You shouldn’t have to read the story for these to make sense, so feel free to hop in.
Today’s snippet is for Mark (the “bad boy” of the traditional male-lead dichotomy) with Hannah (Chelsea, the female lead,’s best friend). Also, loosely based on a true story from when I was in college. Fun!
There are exactly three bars in Bellairsville, catering to three different clientele. The Rusty Knocker is a college meat market with the cheapest, shittiest drinks and the best chance of going home with someone. The decor changes every 10 feet since that’s how far every owner gets before they sell it and someone else starts over. The 49er is a sports bar. It looks like every other sports bar and is a home away from home for everyone too old for The Knocker and not hipster enough for the third bar. I think they still have a picture with me in the background hanging on one wall from when the high school football team went to states. I haven’t been back yet, so I’m not sure.
Instead, I was going to The Enigma, which had been a diner when I left town. Now, it was a hipster bar, and it redecorated even more often than The Knocker, but much more coherently. Their social media said it was line dance night, and I somehow decided that was what I wanted to do on a Friday night. It couldn’t go any worse than running into my ex mid-proposal at the haunted house like I had last weekend.
I headed in, wearing my finest jeans and flannel in an attempt to fit the theme, and sat on a stool. It was early, still pretty empty, they were setting up a dance floor at one end of the bar, and a mechanical bull in the other. The bartender, wearing a vest with a big yellow sheriff star, a ten-gallon hat, and boots with spurs that jingled as he walked, moseyed over.
“What’ll it be?” he asked in a drawl that would’ve made an Italian bounty hunter cringe.
“What does a cowboy who doesn’t want an overpriced theme drink have?” I asked.
“Got some moonshine from a distillery ten miles up the road. Smoother than you’d expect.” The accent was gone.
“Sure. I’ve been making nothing but questionable decisions lately. Let’s kick things off with some moonshine.”
He poured me a shot. I pounded it and grinned. I expected something with the texture of cactus needles and the taste of a flaming boot, but it was smooth and mild.
“You were right. That was good. Mix it with something so I can have a sipper?”
“How do you feel about apple pie?”
“Seasonally appropriate and as American as cowboys,” I passed him my credit card, “keep it open.”
He came back with a lightly fizzing collins glass.
“Club soda, ‘shine, apple cider.”
“Perfect.” I took the drink and did a slow loop. A small crowd had gathered on the dance floor, where a guy wearing boots that cost more than my car was getting ready to give a lesson. I wasn’t drunk enough for that, yet.
A small line was also forming for the mechanical bull, and I decided that was a better plan for mostly sober.
I walked through the stockade they’d set up around it and got in line behind a short curvy girl with an outfit that almost matched mine (shirt tied below her boobs, jeans cut off, and an obnoxious pink blinking cowboy hat). She looked kind of familiar. She glanced over her shoulder at me, smiled, and then her eyes snapped open. She grabbed her phone and started typing frantically.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“Yeah! Sorry, you just look kind of familiar.”
“I went to high school here. You look kind of familiar too.”
“My name’s Hannah…” she said, voice trailing off in a way that made it sound like it was a fake name, but the wince looking more like she had forgotten to. “I just moved in a year or so ago for work. I’m a guide at the state park.”
“That’s exciting. I just moved back in a couple weeks ago. My mom wants to retire, so I’m helping her figure out what to do with her nursery.”
“Oh, the one on 5th? That place is so cute! They did a great native species project with us last year.”
I nodded. Mom had said something about that on the phone. We moved up to the front of the line and nodded towards the bull. She turned around as we watched the guy ahead of her climb on. He made it about five seconds before he flopped into the mini moon bounce underneath.
“I think you can beat that,” I said.
She blushed a little and giggled. “Buy me a drink if I do?”
“Sure. And if you don’t, you can top me off,” I said, waving my drink in her direction.
She stomped out as best she could, the floor bucking almost as much as the bull as she did. There’s a reason they don’t let you on bouncy castles past ten years old. She made it to the bull, its ass at about eye level, and tried to haul herself up. She glanced over at the operator, who shrugged and pointed to a sign. For liability reasons, we cannot help you on or off the bull.
I sighed, put my glass on one of the “corral” posts, and stomped through the bounce pit.
“Want a hand?” I said, holding one out.
She gave me another one of those blushing giggles, making my jeans bulge a little, and took it, levering herself up into the saddle.
“Good luck, little lady,” I said with a wink before stumbling out of the danger zone.
And that’s (sort of) the story of how I hooked up with a girl after I helped her onto the mechanical bull at freshman orientation in undergrad. There’s probably another good post or two here, so I might have to circle back to it at some point.
I originally wanted to do a similarish story for Mark and Chelsea, but it didn’t line up with the (probably already messed up) timeline I made for them. With a few tweaks, I think it works well for these two instead. Besides, I should probably save M&C for the end anyway.
Jayden will be back tomorrow, and I’ll see you all next Sunday!
J R Vincente 