Lydia Owens grew up in Oklahoma, where storm chasing alongside her father and brother was her greatest passion. But everything changed when a tornado took her father's life, leaving an irreparable void in her heart.
Fleeing from painful memories, Ly...
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Scott watched as Lydia danced with a random woman in the middle of the dance floor while taking a sip of his whiskey.
She was already on the third shot of tequila and he wasn't about to stop her. Partly because he was too wary to interfere, and partly because he imagined how much relief she must be feeling, dancing without a care in the world.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, leaving his almost empty glass on the wooden table. His jaw tightened when he saw the name 'Marshall Riggs' flashing on the screen. He shoved the phone back into his pocket without opening it. He didn't need that stress at that moment.
"Honey, your boyfriend looks like he's all kinds of lost!"
The high-pitched, Southern-accented voice of the older woman dancing with Lydia made her pull a dramatic face.
"He's not my boyfriend."
The blonde woman laughed loudly. "Oh, honey, we've all been there before, bless our hearts."
Stealing a glance at Scott and seeing him already looking at her, Lydia wet her lips and turned away, breaking the eye contact that seemed to be happening more and more lately.
"Here, give this to him. And for heaven's sake, drag him out here to dance!"
Unexpectedly, the woman removed her white cowboy hat and placed it on Lydia's head, who stared at her wide-eyed. "I can't..."
"Shut your mouth and skedaddle on outta here before someone mistakes him for an undercover cop and gives him a whoopin'."
Lydia bit her lower lip before thanking the lady with a small chuckle and heading back towards Scott.
"And you just keep feeding into the stereotypes," Scott said, amusement in his voice as he pointed at the hat on Lydia's head. "Next thing I know you'll be yodeling."
"I see the whiskey's making you funny," Lydia shot back, squinting at him. "Actually, this hat is a gift for you."
"For me?" Scott raised an eyebrow, looking skeptical.
"Yep. You're sticking out like a sore thumb here. You look like you just stepped out of a frat party."
Scott snorted. "I don't see what's wrong with looking like a frat guy."
"Trust me, it's not a good look," Lydia said, grinning as she pulled the hat off her head and plopped it onto his, removing his baseball hat and putting it on top of the table. "Much better."
Scott adjusted the hat, still dubious. "You don't actually think I'll blend in better with this thing, do you?"
"Blending in might be a bit too much," Lydia laughed. "But at least you won't look like you're on your way to a kegger."
Scott gave her a playful glare. "I guess I should thank you for the fashion tip. Next time I'll take advice from someone who hasn't had too many tequila shots."
