Spoilery / Just for fun, I own nothing.
After Bree's encounter with Reverend Sykes at the bar ep 812
Bree sat at the bar staring at the half empty wine glass, a wine glass that was hers. Despite her protestations and her best attempts to cover things up she had failed. Again. Loss and failure. Loss and failure. Misstep after misstep. She realized how incredibly tired she had become. Her latest adventures had been entertaining and very distracting, but she was still sitting at the bar, unable in moments of quiet to escape the feeling of being a failure and a blight. She picked up the glass and took a drink. It was best to occupy herself before she began to cry in public.
Josh Peterson had been sitting with a few of his friends at their regular table, chatting about the football game, when he noticed what could only have been a minister arguing with the lady sitting at the bar. Arguing was perhaps too strong of a word, but she didn't look happy, and it bothered him. The minister left and he watched the woman. Her body language did not imply distress, but there was something about the way she held her head, her neck ramrod straight, but her face bent to the bar, that betrayed her unease. He had no idea what he was going to say, but he had to say something. He excused himself from his friends, happy that they had ignored the exchange and practically ignored his retreat as they heatedly discussed the merits of the SEC. He didn't need their catcalls to bruise this woman further. They were good guys, but they liked to tease.
He approached the bar, and took the stool next to the woman. She didn't notice.
"Hi," he offered.
Bree looked at the man who sat next to her, trying to make a decision. She definitely needed to escape from her thoughts, but was she up to acting?
She decided to try to salvage the evening. "Hello." She smiled, "How are you?"
Josh was surprised by the seemingly sudden transformation. She appeared confident and cool, a little brazen even. "I'm doing well. I couldn't help but notice the minister." He hesitated. "How are you?"
"Oh, Reverend Sykes doesn't approve of my," she paused and picked up the wine glass, "extracurricular activities. A bit of a prude, you know."
"I gathered, but what he said seemed to bother you quite a bit. Want to talk about it?"
Bree again looked at the man who sat next to her, trying to make a decision. Escapism or sincerity. Her stare and pause seemed to fluster the man. He squirmed on his stool.
"I'm Josh by the way. " He extended his hand, and Bree took it.
"Bree. Would you like to get a table, Josh?"