“What are you wearing?” Kelvin asked.

I glanced down. I’d put on a loose turquoise shirt that I’d modified from an old dress, and my favorite pair of skinny jeans. On a whim, I’d bought a pair of cowboy boots yesterday, and they complemented my outfit perfectly.

“I appear to be wearing clothes.”

“Cowboy boots?” he asked. “Please tell me you’re leaving those here.”

“No way. These boots are fabulous.”

He shook his head and grabbed the keys. “I guess we’re going out. In boots.”

“You want to wear boring shoes, be my guest. I, for one, am going to have some fun in my cute new boots.”

We went out to the car, the evening air fresh and cool. After Jameson had dropped me off, Kelvin had tried to pick a fight. He’d said he’d planned to pick me up. I’d said Jameson had offered, and it was a nice thing for him to do. It was silly of him to be angry.

I couldn’t understand why Kelvin had made such a big deal out of me seeing Jameson today. He’d been working until I’d told him I was meeting an old friend for lunch. Suddenly he’d been very interested in what I was doing. When I’d said it was Jameson Bodine, he’d practically flown out of his chair. He’d insisted on driving me into town, even though five minutes earlier, he’d been griping about being busy.

The whole thing was ridiculous. I was around other men all the time. Men who undressed me, down to nothing, and dressed me up again. Men who waxed my body hair, for Pete’s sake—everywhere. Of course, most of the men in fashion were gay. But still. Kelvin had never been like this.

He’d been grumpy all through dinner, so I’d decided to go out—with or without him. When I’d told him I was heading to the Lookout to have a drink, he’d said he’d go, as if he were doing me a favor.

We drove up the hill to where the bar was perched on a bluff. I’d told him about the bootlegging history of the town, and how the Lookout was where they kept watch while moonshine and hooch were smuggled across the lake into Maryland. He’d seemed bored, then questioned whether the story was true.

I got out and smoothed down my shirt. Glanced at my boots. They were cute, I didn’t care what Kelvin said. He put a hand on the small of my back and led me to the entrance.

Music spilled out into the evening air when Kelvin opened the door. I stepped inside, feeling a little burst of excitement. I’d never been in the Lookout before. The last time I’d been in Bootleg Springs, I’d been too young.

It was everything you’d imagine a small-town West Virginia bar to be—only better. Neon beer signs. Peanut shells on the floor. Gibson Bodine and two other people played music from a tiny stage. Dancers occupied the dance floor in front of them. There were tables of people, more playing pool, and all the denim and cowboy boots you could ever want.

I loved it.

Kelvin seemed less impressed. He glanced around with a grimace, almost like he was afraid to touch anything.

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s not stand by the door.”

He leaned close so I could hear him over the music. “This is what you want to do tonight?”

“Yes. You haven’t done anything except work. Let’s have a drink. Live a little.”

“I’ve lived a little in plenty of places,” he said. “Milan, Paris, London, New York. I don’t think I need to add the backwoods of West Virginia to the list.”

“You’re impossible.”

I looked around, wondering if Jameson was here, but I didn’t see him. I did see Scarlett, at a table with two other women—Cassidy and June Tucker. Scarlett smiled and waved, so I went over to their table.

“Leah Mae,” Cassidy said with a smile. “Scarlett was telling us you were in town. Nice to see you again.”

I introduced everyone to Kelvin. Thankfully, he was polite, despite the fact that he kept looking around with that half-horrified expression on his face.

“Is it true that you had an illicit affair with Brock Winston?” June asked. “Or was that a fabrication designed by the producers to create conflict for the sake of better ratings?”

“Oh, Juney,” Scarlett said.

“It’s okay,” I said. “The show was definitely edited for better ratings.”

“I find it fascinating that the average person believes reality shows are real in any way,” June said.

I wasn’t supposed to admit to the amount of coaching I’d received while filming. I’d been instructed to maintain that everything on the show was completely authentic. I didn’t want to lie to anyone, so I stuck with my standard non-answer. “Filming the show was an interesting experience.”

“Are you contractually obligated to give vague responses?” June asked.

I laughed, and Cassidy cut in. “Well, if she was, then we’ll just leave it be.”

“Well, then,” Scarlett said. “How’d you get on with Mona Lisa McNugget there, Kevin?”

“It’s Kelvin,” he said. “And someone should cook that chicken for dinner.”

Scarlett and Cassidy both gasped.

“Deputy Tucker, I think he just threatened the life of our beloved Mona Lisa McNugget,” Scarlett said. “Surely that’s an offense worthy of an arrest.”

“Mona Lisa McNugget is a fine little hen,” Cassidy said, crossing her arms. “If I were you, I’d be careful about making idle threats against our town chicken.”

I covered my mouth to keep from laughing. June ignored all of us.

“I don’t… what?” Kelvin asked.

“Maybe we should get a drink,” I said, patting his arm.

“I’ll go.” He walked away, shaking his head.

The bar was busy; it would take him a while to get service. Cassidy pushed one of the extra stools out for me and I took a seat.

“I love your shirt,” Cassidy said. “That’s adorable. Where’d you get it?”

“Oh, I made it,” I said. “Well, not from scratch. It used to be a dress, but I modified it.”

“Dang it, I was hoping I could get one,” Cassidy said.

“Same here,” Scarlett said. “I’d wear the shit out of that. Although I swear you’re a foot taller than I am. It’d still be a dress on me.”

“That would barely cover your ass,” Cassidy said.

Scarlett shrugged. “Would still be cute with a pair of boots.”

“Exactly.” I stuck my foot out so we could all ooh and ahh over my cowboy boots.

“So what’s it like, being on TV and all that?” Cassidy asked. “Must be pretty exciting.”

I opened my mouth to answer, but faltered. I wanted to tell her it was amazing. That I was finally so close to living my dream. I wanted to gush about how great my life was. But the words wouldn’t come.

“It’s all right,” I said. “The show wasn’t quite what I thought it would be. But I’m still hopeful that it’ll open some new doors.”

“What’s Brock Winston really like?” Scarlett asked. “He’s such a hunk of man candy. Is he dumb as a rock?”

I laughed. “I’m not really supposed to talk about my castmates. But off the record, kind of, yeah.”

“I knew it,” Scarlett said and took a swig of her beer. “He doesn’t seem like he has much going on upstairs.”

“I was never sure what Maisie Miller saw in him,” Cassidy said. “Did you meet her, too?”

“No,” I said. “She was supposed to be on the show, but she broke her leg and couldn’t be there for filming.”

Scarlett glanced toward the bar, then looked at me. “So, how was lunch with Jameson? We missed y’all at Moonshine.”

My cheeks warmed, and I hoped the light was too dim for anyone to notice. Just the mention of Jameson’s name should not have made me blush. “We decided to take our lunch down to the lake. It was nice.”

“Hmm,” Scarlett said and took another drink.

“Oh, stop hmming,” Cassidy said.

“I think she’s implying that Leah Mae had romantic intentions with regard to Jameson,” June said. “Or possibly the other way around.”

My cheeks flushed hotter.

“I meant nothing of the sort,” Scarlett said with a grin.

“Subtle,” Cassidy said.

“We were just catching up,” I said.

“Good man, Jameson,” Scarlett said. “He may be quiet, but he’s reliable. And have you seen his art? It’s absolutely amazing.”

“I haven’t,” I said. “I was hoping to have time to see his workshop, but I’m not sure if I will.”

“He invited you out to his workshop?” Scarlett asked, her eyes widening.

“Well, sure,” I said. “Is that unusual?”

“I’ve never seen it,” Cassidy said.

“I guess he just likes his privacy,” Scarlett said. “I’ve seen him work, but I hardly count, being his sister and all. You should go visit him, Leah Mae. It’s mighty sweet of him to offer.”

“I’d like to, but—”

I was cut short by a sudden loud commotion near the bar. Scarlett and Cassidy turned around, and I looked over to see what was going on.

“Oh god,” I said and jumped from my seat.

Kelvin was backing away from the bar while two red-faced men in t-shirts that said Bootleg Cock Spurs stalked toward him.

Scarlett gently grabbed my wrist. “Best to let things sort themselves out.”

“What are they going to do?” I asked.

“Depends,” she said.

“On what?”

“On what he did.”

I pulled my arm out of Scarlett’s grasp—she wasn’t holding me very hard—and rushed over to Kelvin.

“Excuse me.” I waved my hand to get the men’s attention. “Whatever happened, I’m sure he’s sorry. Can we just all get along tonight?”

“I’d stay out of the way, ma’am,” one of them grumbled.

I thought I recognized him. “Otto? Otto Holt?”

He glanced at me. “Yeah.”

“I thought that was you,” I said. “I’m Leah Mae Larkin. Remember me? Clay Larkin’s daughter.”

Otto eyed me, and the other man crossed his arms over his thick chest.

“Sure, I remember,” Otto said.

“He’s with me,” I said, patting Kelvin’s arm. “Maybe we could not do… whatever you’re about to do. You two go enjoy your evening, and we’ll stay out of your way.”

The bigger man kept his arms crossed and looked Kelvin up and down, a mean scowl on his scruffy face.

Otto narrowed his eyes. “He ain’t worth the trouble anyway.”

“These people are insane,” Kelvin said.

I leaned closer to Kelvin. “Maybe stop talking.”

Otto turned back toward the bar. His angry friend pretended to lunge at Kelvin, then laughed when Kelvin flinched. But thankfully, he backed away too.

“We’re leaving,” Kelvin said, his voice sharp.

I sighed. Of course we had to leave now. I didn’t know what he’d done to piss those guys off, but I had a feeling they wouldn’t give him a pass a second time. I waved a quick goodbye to Scarlett, Cassidy, and June, then followed Kelvin to the door.

He pushed the door open hard, and Jameson jumped out of the way. Grabbing me by the wrist, Kelvin tugged me toward the car.

“You all right, Leah Mae?” Jameson asked, stepping toward us as Kelvin dragged me into the parking lot.

“Yes, I’m fine,” I said over my shoulder. I twisted out of Kelvin’s grasp and paused. “Just a little trouble inside. We have to go.”

“All right,” he said. “If you’re sure.”

“Get in the car, Leah,” Kelvin said.

“I’m sure,” I said. “He’s just being cranky.”

Kelvin groaned and got in, slamming the car door behind him.

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “I don’t know what happened in there, but it dinged his pride. He’ll calm down.”

“You sure that’s all?” Jameson took another step closer. “Or do you need help?”

“No, I’m fine,” I said. “Promise.”

“Okay,” Jameson said, but he sounded skeptical. “You look nice, by the way. I like your boots.”

I smiled and opened the passenger’s side door. “Thanks. Have a good night.”

“You too.”

“Are you finished?” Kelvin asked as I got in.

“Finished what? He just watched you drag me to the car. Would it have been better if I’d ignored him?”

“This town is fucking crazy.”

“What happened in there?”

“Nothing,” he said. “I tried to order drinks.”

“Well, something happened,” I said. “Did you step on someone’s boot?”

He scowled at me. “No.”

“What did you order?”

He started the car and backed out. “I ordered a Manhattan, and the bartender asked if I was new around here. I said yes, and she asked if I wanted to try the moonshine.”

“And what did you say?”

“I said if I wanted a redneck drink, I would have ordered one.”

I put my hand to my forehead. “Well, that was an asshole thing to say. And those guys heard you? Is that why they were staring you down like they were about to drag you outside?”

“One of them said, ‘There ain’t no rednecks here,’ and I pointed out that he and his buddy were wearing shirts with roosters that said Bootleg Cock Spurs, which would suggest otherwise.”

“Why would you say something like that?”

He shrugged. “It’s true.”

“No, it’s not,” I said. “This is a nice town full of decent people. You’ve spent the entire week acting like you’re better than everyone.”

“I’m not acting like I’m better than anyone,” he said. “I’ve spent the week working my ass off. For you, I might add. I know you needed to come out here and see your dad, and that’s fine. But Jesus, I’ll be glad to get back to the real world.”

I leaned back in my seat and looked out the window. That was as close to an apology as I was going to get out of him—which was no apology at all. I didn’t understand why he had to be such a jerk about Bootleg. So it was a little different. We’d been lots of places that were different, and he’d never acted like such a jerk.

My phone buzzed with a text, so I got it out to check.

Jameson: You sure you’re ok?

Me: Yeah, promise. But thanks for checking.

Jameson: Anytime.

Kelvin didn’t say anything else on the short drive to the cabin. Neither did I. When we got back, the asshole had the nerve to think he could get me naked. I told him I was taking a bath—alone—and locked myself in the bathroom. He could grumble about it all he wanted. He’d ruined my night out, and the last thing I was going to do was sleep with him.

Lying in the warm bathwater, I let my mind wander. I wished I could have stayed at the Lookout. Maybe danced to a few songs. Not that Kelvin would have danced with me, but I bet the girls would have. And Jameson had come, right when we’d been leaving. I could have talked to him for a while, if we’d stayed.

But we hadn’t, and we were leaving town tomorrow. I was going over to see my dad one last time, and then we’d have to drive back to Pittsburgh so we could catch an early flight on Saturday morning back to L.A. To a home I’d never seen in a neighborhood I didn’t know. To an uncertain future.

I stayed up late, long after Kelvin had gone to bed, feeling lost and wondering what exactly I was doing with my life.