Ray Voss, 58, retired TVA lineman with a scar snaking up his left bicep from a 2017 transformer blowout, had avoided Mabel’s Tap’s annual fire department fundraiser for three years running. The only reason he showed up this October was Mabel promised his favorite honey-drizzled hushpuppies were on the menu, and he’d grown tired of eating frozen meatloaf alone on his couch watching grainy 90s Tennessee Vols reruns. His biggest flaw, one he’d never admit out loud to anyone, was holding grudges longer than he held a lineman’s wrench on a 90-foot utility pole in the middle of a winter storm. For 15 years, he’d hated Lila Marlow, his late wife’s younger cousin, convinced she’d spread the rumor he’d stepped out on Carol while she was undergoing chemo.
The bar reeked of fried cod, stale Pabst draft, and peanut shells crushed into the scuffed pine floors under scuffed work boots. A ragtag bluegrass band picked a slow, twangy version of *Folsom Prison Blues* in the corner, and a group of volunteer firemen yelled over each other as they lined up shots of cheap bourbon at the bar. Ray slid into his usual booth in the back, nursing a cold Budweiser, condensation dripping down his wrist, when he spotted her. Lila was leaning against the bar, laughing at something the fire chief said, her dark hair pulled back in a messy braid, a streak of silver at the temple he’d never noticed before. She was 42 now, ran a mobile vet clinic out of a converted white cargo van, had moved back to town two weeks prior. He looked down at his beer label, picking at the edge, hoping she wouldn’t see him, but of course she did.
She slid into the booth across from him before he could pretend to take a fake work call on his beat-up flip phone. The scent of pine sap and lavender hand sanitizer drifted over the table, sharp and sweet, and he noticed a smudge of light brown dog hair on the knee of her worn Carhartt jeans. “You’re still avoiding me,” she said, leaning forward, her elbows on the table, close enough he could see the tiny flecks of gold in her hazel eyes when the neon beer sign hit them just right. He grunted, took a long sip of beer, ready to tell her to get lost, but she held up a calloused hand to cut him off. “I never told anyone you cheated on Carol. That was her bitter sister Linda. I was the one who told her to shut her mouth, for Christ’s sake. I’ve been wanting to tell you that for 12 years, ever since the funeral.”
Ray froze. He’d spent over a decade resenting her, picturing her gossiping with the other women at the church potluck after Carol’s service, and now all that white-hot anger felt like a lead weight in his gut, heavy and useless. He didn’t say anything, and she shifted closer to his side of the booth, the side of her shoulder brushing his when she reached across the table to grab the salt shaker for her plate of fish. Her hand brushed his forearm when she set it back down, warm, rough from hauling dog crates and holding wriggling, nervous cats, and he didn’t flinch away, like he’d expected to. She told him about the vet clinic, about the three-legged hound dog she’d rescued from the side of the highway last month, about how she’d had a dumb, childish crush on him since she was 22, when he’d driven four hours in an ice storm to fix her grandma’s power line so her oxygen machine would stay running.
The fire chief grabbed the mic halfway through her story, yelling over the crowd that it was time for the 50/50 raffle. Ray had bought a ticket on his way in, shoved it in the pocket of his faded gray flannel shirt, and Lila had stuffed one in the breast pocket of her work jacket. They called the number, and Ray fished his crumpled ticket out, blinked, looked at Lila, and she held up her ticket, grinning, same exact number. They’d bought consecutive tickets at the door, split the win. They stood up at the same time to walk to the front, their hands brushing when they reached for the thick envelope of cash at the same time, the crowd whooping and whistling, and his skin tingled where she touched him, warm and bright.
They agreed to split the $1,240 prize evenly, donate both halves, hers to the county no-kill animal shelter, his to the fire department that had responded when Carol had her last heart attack. He walked her out to her van after the band wrapped up their last set, the air crisp enough he could see his breath, crickets chirping loud in the oak woods behind the bar. She was shivering in her thin work jacket, so he pulled his flannel off, handed it to her, and she slipped it on, the sleeves falling past her wrists, and she tugged the cuff lightly, smiling up at him. She asked if he wanted to come see the three-legged hound the next morning, help her feed the dozen rescue cats she kept in her heated garage while she found them homes. He nodded, no lingering grudge left to hold, already mentally clearing his schedule of the trivial yard work he’d planned. She leaned up, pressed a quick, soft kiss to his stubbled cheek, her lips warm against his cold wind-chapped skin, before she climbed into her van and turned the key in the ignition.
