I glanced down at the total and let out a low whistle.“That’s it?”
She shrugged.“Those have been the prices for years.That’s what keeps the regulars coming back.”
I pulled out my wallet, peeled off five fifties, and slapped them on the bar.“Keep the change, doll.That food’s worth way more than what you’re charging.”
She raised an eyebrow and scooped up the bills.“See you around, biker.Good luck with… everything.”
The guys were already filing out.Wheels shoved Plug toward the door while Hodge carried out a tray of fries, and Nugget was singing something off-key that might’ve been Bon Jovi.
I hung back for a beat, then slid off my stool.
Tempi was talking to an older customer now and laughed at something he said.She looked relaxed and easy, like this was the world she belonged to and had no intention of giving up.
She turned and caught me looking.
Her eyes locked with mine.
Neither of us said a word.
I nodded.
She nodded back.
And then I turned and walked out.
But that look?
It stayed with me all the way down the block.
Chapter Six
Tempi
The bar always got a little quieter once the doors were locked.
Not silent.The ice machine still rattled.The old fridge behind the bar hummed like it was fighting for its life.A neon sign buzzed in the window even after I’d shut the switch off.It was too stubborn to die.
But after a packed night like this one, it felt like the whole place let out a long breath the second the last person left.
I tossed a bar rag over my shoulder and grabbed a tray of empty pint glasses to take to the sink.Britta was sweeping the floor near the back tables, and her ponytail bounced with each pass of the broom.She had swapped her apron for her oversized hoodie and rolled the sleeves up so she could clean without dragging them through puddles of spilled beer.
“You good back there?”I asked.
She nodded without looking up.“Yup.Just trying to figure out what the hell someone spilled under this table.It smells like licorice and regret.”
I chuckled and rinsed the glasses, stacking them one by one on the drying rack.“Could be that weird shot the college kids kept ordering last week.The one with the gummy bears in it?”
“Oh yeah.”Britta groaned.“I forgot about that disaster.I swear we should ban anything that comes with a candy garnish.”
“We’d lose half our Thursday business,” I said.
“Fine by me,” she muttered.
We worked in companionable silence for a few more minutes, Britta wiping down tables and chairs while I organized the bar, refilled the straw container, and checked the inventory.It was second nature by now.We didn’t need to speak to know the rhythm.
Then, as I leaned down to grab a few beer bottles from the cooler, Britta’s voice floated over the bar.
“So…” she said slowly, like she was stretching the word into a full paragraph, “those motorcycle guys.”
