She almost turned around and left. But she could hear the music, could feel the beat. She heard laughter and singing. So she went inside, heading to the bar. Maybe she’d stay for a drink or two. Maybe she’d dance. Maybe not. And maybe she’d find someone to go home with.

She sighed. Probably not. Six weeks since she’d seen Abby. Six weeks today, actually. Abby had left her standing in the parking lot, left her to watch the taillights fade away. She remembered it as if it were yesterday. She shook that thought away. Maybe she would find someone, take them home. Maybe it was time. Maybe it was time to say goodbye to Abby Carpenter and get on with her life.

She looked around as she went up to the bar. It was barely nine. At one time, she would have thought it was far too early to be out. By ten, the place would be packed. Outlaws was a gay bar that attracted a mixed crowd. It was one of the few clubs that played exclusively country music.

“What can I get ya?”

“Shiner on draft.”

“Blonde or Bock?”

“Blonde, please.” She took a handful of the peanuts in a jar and absently cracked the shell before popping one into her mouth.

He slid a frosty mug her way. “Three-fifty.”

She handed him a five-dollar bill. “Keep it.”

“Thanks.”

She took a sip of her beer, then glanced around, not seeing any familiar faces. Truth was, she hadn’t been out to a bar in more months than she could recall. Last summer, she supposed. She couldn’t for the life of her remember who she’d gone home with. She was blond if she recalled, but the woman’s face was a blur.

She jumped when she felt two hands resting on her shoulders from behind. She turned, her eyes widening. She wouldn’t have been surprised to find that her heart had stopped beating.

“Abby. My god, what are you doing here?”

Abby didn’t say anything for the longest, she simply stared at her, their eyes locked in a tight embrace. Then Abby smiled and came closer, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

“What a nice surprise.”

“Yeah, it is,” Nic said with a nod, then looked past her, wondering if she was alone. Abby seemed to read her mind.

“I’m here with Marcos, a buddy. You?”

She met Abby’s eyes again. “Yeah. I mean, I’m alone.”

“Good.” Abby pointed at the barstool next to her. “Do you mind?”

“Of course not.”

Abby sat down, then leaned closer, their shoulders touching. “How have you been?”

Nic stared at her. Was Abby really here, talking to her? Or was she dreaming? “I’ve…I’ve been okay. You?”

Abby shook her head. “No. Not really.” Abby reached for Nic’s beer and took a swallow. “Let’s dance.”

Nic’s eyebrows shot up. “Dance?”