WHEN LOVE RETURNS

CHAPTER 8

The night after her laundry disaster, Erica lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Despite the exhaustion from scrubbing clothes and falling into muddy water, sleep refused to come. She tossed and turned, her frustration mounting with each passing minute. This place is suffocating. I can't believe I'm stuck here! She missed the buzz of the city—the lively streets, the flashing neon lights, the thrill of being surrounded by people who knew how to have fun. I need something, anything, to remind me of who I am.

An idea struck her, and she sat up abruptly. "That's it," she whispered to herself. "I'll go out. Just a little adventure. What's the worst that could happen?" The thought of sneaking out sent a rush of excitement through her. This is exactly what I need—a night out to feel alive again.

Sliding out of bed, she grabbed her jacket and shoes. She tiptoed down the creaky wooden hallway, cringing at every sound. Why does this house sound like it's auditioning for a horror movie? She paused, holding her breath as one particularly loud creak echoed through the silence. But when no one stirred, she exhaled and continued toward the door.

Once outside, the cool night air greeted her, refreshing and invigorating. The quiet countryside was a stark contrast to the lively nightlife she was used to, but Erica refused to let that dampen her spirits. This is my chance to find something fun. Even if it's not the same as the city, it'll do. She followed the dimly lit road leading toward the small collection of bars she'd noticed earlier in town.

When she reached the bar, her heart sank slightly. It wasn't the sleek, modern hotspot she'd imagined. Instead, it was a rustic, worn-down building with dim lighting and a scattering of locals sitting at mismatched tables. Laughter and chatter spilled out onto the street, mixing with the faint twang of country music playing from an old jukebox inside.

Well, this is... different. Erica squared her shoulders, determined to make the best of it. I'll show them how to have a good time. I just need to liven this place up. She was about to step inside when a firm hand clamped down on her shoulder.

"What do you think you're doing?" Sam's voice cut through the noise like a blade, low and authoritative.

Erica froze, her heart plummeting. Turning slowly, she found him standing behind her, his expression a mix of irritation and disbelief. Oh no, not him. Of all people, why did it have to be him?

"I was just..." She hesitated, trying to come up with an excuse, but Sam's penetrating gaze made it clear that lying would be pointless.

"You're not going in there," he said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. "This isn't your scene."

She bristled, crossing her arms. "And how would you know? You don't know me."

"I know enough," he replied, his eyes narrowing. "You're a fish out of water here, Erica. This isn't one of your fancy city clubs. It's not a place for you."

Erica huffed, refusing to back down. "You don't get to decide that. I can have fun anywhere!"

Sam raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Fun? Or trouble? Because that's all you'll find in there."

She rolled her eyes, planting her hands on her hips. "Oh, please. I've been to bars before. How different can it be?"

His expression darkened as he leaned closer. "Different enough that last week, a guy tried to juggle chickens for tips. And people paid to watch."

Erica blinked, stifling a laugh. "You're joking."

"I wish I were." His tone was flat, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "You wouldn't last five minutes in there without someone trying to drag you into some ridiculous dare or, worse, a chicken-juggling contest."