Christmas. Shit. Schmaltzy Christmas music. Grady made a mental note to avoid Jack’s until the New Year. Still, he forced himself to be polite and conversational because that’s what people did when sitting in bars. “Any holiday plans?”

Tucker’s eyes narrowed. He leaned forward slightly and clicked his fingers in front of Grady’s face. “Hello, are you in there, Grady? Blink twice if you’ve been abducted by aliens.”

Grady shook his head. “You’re hilarious.”

“Seriously.” Tucker flicked the dishcloth in his hand over his shoulder, resting it there for easy access. “Who are you?”

“What? I can’t sit at a bar and talk?”

“No offense, dude, but you’re not a shoot-the-breeze kind of guy.”

Grady had probably spoken less than fifty words since he’d sat his ass down. “This is being chatty?”

“For you it is.”

Lifting his beer, Grady took another swallow, neither confirming nor denying alien abduction but seriously contemplating it as a reason for his irrational attraction to Suzanne St. Michelle. Surely only something woo-woo could explain that?

“Ah.” Tucker nodded sagely as Grady’s silence stretched. “It’s a woman thing.”

Grady placed the Bud on the bar. Say what now? “A woman thing?”

“You have that I don’t know what just happened to me expression that, in my experience, usually involves a woman.”

“You’re full of shit.”

Tucker laughed. “God’s truth,” he said, hand on heart. “You want to talk about it? I’ve been doing this bartender thing for a while; I’m practically a social worker.”

“Nope.” Grady would rather be gored by one of his bulls.

“C’mon, dude,” Tucker cajoled. “Try me. First session’s free.” He grabbed a cardboard drink coaster out from under the empty beer a little farther down the bar. “Tell me what you see in the wet spot.”

“Think I’m going to need a couch if we’re talking wet spots.”

“The couch will cost you.”

Draining the remainder of his beer, Grady said, “It’s not a woman thing.” Then he handed over his empty bottle and nodded to indicate he wanted another.

“And how does that make you feel?” Tucker asked as he grabbed another Bud.

Grady was about to tell Tucker to shove his barstool psychology, but a woman’s voice from somewhere behind him entered the conversation. “What’s not a woman thing?” she asked.

Turning slightly, Grady found a curly-haired Amazon sliding onto the stool beside him. He recognized her instantly as Winona Crane, Suzanne’s friend. She was building a house out near the lake. Burl had pointed her out once when she’d been in Annie’s at the same time and gleefully told Grady all about the erotic romance author who had arrived in Credence with the influx of women over the summer.

“Grady’s come in here looking like a slapped ass and pretending it’s not a woman thing.”

Winona took one look at him and nodded. “Yep,” she said, turning back to Tucker. “It’s a woman thing.” And then she frowned and said, “Wait…Grady? You’re Joshua Grady.”

Grady also frowned. The woman flat-out ogled him, putting Grady on high alert. What was it with the women in town suddenly? “Yes, ma’am,” he confirmed and swallowed half his beer in one go.