The Urban Dictionary defines a "soft launch" as "a photo preview of a talking stage before it becomes an official relationship on social media, i.e., taking photos of their dinner plate and their hands, half their face or their shoes as to allude there's someone special in your life."
all mistakes are my own.
Chapter 7
Isabella
"Thank you," I breathe once I take a bite, the bread and the cheese almost melting inside my mouth. It's so good, so buttery and decadent.
"You're welcome, really… It's the least that I can do."
The bar is more rowdy now, filled up with loud gents and dancing ladies, bopping their heads to Ace of Spades, drinks in their hands.
"Sure you don't want to sit in the back and enjoy it in silence?" Ed asks.
"Nah, I enjoy this, I lowkey love it here." I smile, the music swirling around the cabin, the tasty grilled cheese. "I can't believe I didn't even know this place existed."
"Never been to Big Bear before?" He's elbow deep in pint glasses and appetizers. I should feel guilty taking up his time like this. But I'm hesitant to finish my grilled cheese because I don't want to leave.
"Well, I'm living at my father's place in Running Springs. I was actually born in Venice Beach, but my parents got divorced and my mom needed Venice for her art. Dad got a police job at Running Springs and now he's basically running the entire police station there." I don't know why I'm elaborating on all this.
"Running Springs PD can't have been that much of a big opportunity that he just up'ed and moved three hours away, right?" He eyes me, those big and obnoxiously green eyes looking at me like it's the most interesting conversation he's had in ages.
"Ah, yes…" I take a deep breath, take another bite. "Dad's not really okay with the divorce. He wanted to be as far away from my mother as possible. So when a buddy from the LAPD academy told my dad about this cottage in the woods, about the Sheriff's department from San Bernardino…he took life's second chance and he hasn't looked back since."
"Mhm…" Ed responds, a furrow in his brow as if he's deep in thoughts.
"So you're not even gonna make jokes about me living with my father even when I'm twenty-three years old?" I arch a brow, desperate for the tension to leave the room a bit.
Ed throws me a chuckle.
"I'm a little too busy to pick up on every little detail that makes you this deranged little spitfire."
I gasp, playfully.
"That's what you thought when you were staring down my shirt ten minutes ago? That I'm deranged?" I bite my lip, actually daring him for the first time.
"That's definitely not what I thought…"
"Let me guess…" I try again. "You were thinking deranged things, but you thought my tits were derangously good-looking?"
"That's not even a word," Ed laughs.
"Don't change the subject now. It only got interesting, Cabin Daddy…"
"Yeah, your tits put the 'hot' in 'deranged' for sure."
It's so humorless and ironic it makes me laugh like a crazy woman.
"Skip to the part where you'll ask me out," I blurt out. "Pull us both out of our misery, Ed." My heart hammers inside my chest, and I can't keep my eyes off this hot bartender.
"Oh, kid…" he shakes his head, locks of auburn escaping the gel he uses to put his hair back. I want to touch it, pull it. Then Ed leans over the bartop, muscular arms on display now that he's ditched the flannel shirt. His voice drops. "I don't think I'm old enough for you." It's the hottest thing anyone's ever whispered to me.
