“Still no word?”

Grayson slides onto the barstool beside me at Warner’s.

I shake my head and toy with my cell phone on the roughhewn bar top. “Nope.”

“Damn.” He exhales. “Really thought it would work.”

I lift a shoulder in a half shrug. “I ruined things.” I huff out a breath in self-recrimination. “It’s what I deserve.”

“Your last package gets delivered today, doesn’t it?” At my nod, he says, “Then it still might work out.”

I stare down at the dregs of beer in my glass. “Not really holding my breath.”

“Well, I came to show you this.” Grayson withdraws his cell phone, then swipes and taps the screen before sliding it over to me. My eyes flick up to meet his in question. He merely lifts his chin, silently gesturing for me to look.

I scan the entire graphic twice before it sinks in, and I know I can’t blame my single beer for me getting emotional over this.

“Gray.” I swallow, my eyes still trained on the typed words. “It’s…”

“Perfect, right?” he finishes.

I can only nod slowly. The logo sketch and business name are exactly that: perfect.

It hurts like hell to go this alone, but this way, I’ll always have a part of her with me.

He clasps a hand on my shoulder. “Congrats, man. Figured you’d need a good logo design since Lovestruck Beer and Wine has been approved for the bank loan.”

Thank God for that. I have a considerable amount saved up, but that loan will help to ensure this place starts off on solid footing.

“Thanks, man.” I meet his eyes. “I really appreciate it.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” He gives me a pointed look. “Now it’s time to celebrate.”

Immediately, I shake my head. “I don’t know…” Actually, what I mean is hell no. That’s the last thing I feel like doing.

Grayson’s look is severe. “I’m sorry. I phrased that wrong.” At my look of confusion, he arches an eyebrow. “I wasn’t asking you. I’m telling you. We.” He leans in to punctuate. “Are. Celebrating.”

Shit.

* * *

My face is slightly numb, and a small part of my still-functioning brain is screaming at me that I’ll regret this tomorrow, but I ignore it.

For the first time in weeks, that unyielding tightness in my chest has eased. My heart doesn’t feel like it’s splintered into shards.

“Congrats, Reid!” Another person at Warner’s pats me on the back. It’s been like this ever since Wanda announced my news to the entire bar.

“I’m proud of you, kid,” Bert says. He claps a hand on my back and takes a swig of beer. “And hurry up because this beer tastes like shit. I need my old bartender back.”

I chuckle. “Couldn’t have done it without you. Thank you.” I hope he gets the meaning behind this. That he’s given me new hope.

“When I look at you, I see a younger version of myself.” He gives his signature uneven denture grin. “I’m just paying it forward. Everyone deserves that, Reid. You’re going to do great things.”

“Here’s to hoping.” I clink my pint glass to his.

Three pints later and most of the bar has cleared out. I’m to the point where I can’t even feel my face anymore, which means I should probably close out my tab and get a ride home. Instead, I stumble to the jukebox in the far corner and flip through some of the song selections. When I stumble upon the same Spice Girls song Callie and I sang that one night, I don’t think. I just act.

Swiping my debit card, I select that song. Once it begins playing through the surrounding speakers in the bar, I lean my back against the nearby wall. Some patrons chat while others sing along.

And I miss the hell out of her.

A spontaneous idea hits me. I move and duck into the narrow hallway where the music won’t be as loud. I withdraw my phone from my back pocket and clumsily swipe the screen.

I press the call button, fully expecting to get her voicemail.

“Why are you calling me at two in the freaking morning?” Her tone is a cross between groggy and irritated. It’s only now that I realize how late—or early—it is.

“Shit.” I scrub a hand over my jaw and feel the beginning of stubble softly scraping against my palm. “I’m sorry. I just…” Damn. My words even sound slurred to my own ears.

“Have you been drinking?”

“A…little.” A lot.

“Reid.” She says my name on a long exhale tinged with exasperation. “I’m going back to bed. You’re obviously drunk and don’t know what you’re doing or saying.”

“No, wait!” My body goes rigid, tensing in fear of her hanging up. “Please, wait. I just…” I tip my head back against the wall and close my eyes. “I just miss you. And I’m sorry. And I”—I swallow hard—“love you. I sent you all those bottles of wine, and I know they don’t mean shit to you, but I’m trying, Rainbow. I’m trying so damn hard.”

“Reid.” Her voice sounds thick with emotion as if she’s on the verge of tears. “You’re drunk.”

“I love you.” I repeat this again before I rush on, speaking my words hurriedly. “And I’m naming the place Lovestruck because that’s what I am. For you.”

She offers me no response aside from her silence.

I clench my fist tightly and turn to face the wall, resting my forehead against it. My eyes pinch closed, and I fight the rush of panic in the center of my chest. The emptiness.

“I’m sorry I bothered you.” My voice is low, barely audible to my own ears. But it’s so fucking hard to get the words out past the enormous lump in my throat. “I won’t bother you again.” After a millisecond of a pause, I force my final words out. “I love you, Callie.”

Quickly, I end the call. I slam the phone, sandwiching it between my palm and the wall. I brace myself with my other hand splayed flat against the surface.

And I’m fucking glad to be alone in the darkened hallway where no one can witness the faintest trickle of moisture from my eyes.

* * *

“I’m sorry, Grandma.”

She pats my hand comfortingly. “Now, Reid. You know I understand. Everyone deserves a day off.”

While I’m grateful for her understanding, I still feel like an ass for calling off from my usual bingo announcing. Even worse, I wanted to beg off the entire night. I’m not great company, and that’s putting it lightly.

But Grandma insisted I come along and keep her company. Said she was worried about me. And if there’s one thing I can’t do, it’s say no to my grandma.

She links my arm through the crook of her elbow, gives my hand a pat, and grips her walker. As we approach the entrance of the senior center building, she says, “Have you heard anything?”

“No, ma’am.” Hurriedly, I scramble to change the subject. “So how much you wanna bet Edna grabs my ass at least twice?” I flash a grin that’s lackluster at best.

Grandma shuffles through the door, cackling softly. “Oh, sweetie. I’d bank on a half a dozen times.”

* * *

“Ouch!” I grumble and shoot a glare of warning at Edna. Damn, that last pinch actually hurt. I gingerly rub at the spot on my ass before I reclaim my seat next to Grandma.

“Here you go.” I carefully slide the cup of coffee to her. “Two creams, four Splendas, just the way you like it.”

“Thank you, sweetie pie.” Grandma smiles at me before narrowing her eyes on Edna. The other woman widens her eyes innocently before focusing her attention on her bingo cards, avoiding eye contact with us.

I lean over to whisper in her ear. “Myrtle’s doing a great job announcing tonight. But”—I glance around, trying to spot the older woman at the little concession area and come up empty—“I didn’t think there would be such a long intermission.”

Grandma concentrates on lining up the various colors of her liquid bingo markers. “I think Myrtle was slated to only call the first half.”

My brows pinch together in confusion. “Who’s calling the second half?”

She slides me a look full of mischief that confuses me even more.

That’s when I hear the voice. Her voice.

Holy shit.

“Get your cards set, folks! Who’s ready to play some bingo?” There’s a smattering of applause and some whoops.

That evidently doesn’t satisfy Callie because she cups her hand to her ear and places her mouth closer to the microphone sitting on the announcer’s table. “I can’t hear you. Surely, that’s not the best you can do! Let’s try this again.” Her voice turns dramatic, booming much like a game show host. “Who’s ready to play some binnnnngoooooo?”

The seniors cheer and clap in response, enjoying Callie’s enthusiasm.

I nudge Grandma’s shoulder. “Did you know about this?”

Wearing a pleased expression on her face, she bats her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Shh!” Edna has the nerve to shush us as Callie makes the first call.

“I forty-nine.” She calls six more before someone yells, “Bingo!” There are some typical, playful boos, and the person reads back their card. Callie confirms their bingo win and quickly tells everyone to continue, that we still have a few more to go on this card.

Many seniors exchange odd looks before shrugging and refocusing on their cards.

I look down at my card, doubtful I’ll be winning, which is fine since I’m more interested in why Callie’s here in the first place.

“Focus on your card, Reid,” my grandmother says in a whisper-hiss.

I flash her an odd look. Because she’s never been strict about this before.

“Fine,” I mutter. I stamp my card with the brown marker I chose earlier simply because it reminded me of Callie’s eyes.

Hell, she’s probably not here for me anyway. God knows she and my grandmother hit it off so well, and…

My thoughts immediately skid to a halt as I stare down at my bingo card. I’m baffled because it almost appears I’ve marked spots on my bingo card in the shape of a…heart?

“And the final call… B fifty-two...” Dazed, I mark the final spot on my card.

No doubt about it, my markings are in the shape of a heart.

“B fifty-two, Reid Morgan, I love you.”