“Us?”
“Trappers Cove.” She circled her hand overhead, taking in the whole town. “There are lots of people with building skills who’ll give you a friends and family discount.”
“I’ll, uh, think about.” What he needed was qualified professionals, not a bunch of local fix-it dudes with good intentions.
“Promise me,” she urged, eyes bright. “I want you to succeed, Xander.”
She was hedging about something. He could see it in her twitchy expression. He could feel it in her tense body.
“Beauty, why are you so invested in Souvenir Planet?”
Her gaze shifted away, and her chest rose in a deep inhalation. “Because I’m sentimental. Gus’s shop holds a lot of happy memories from before my family life went to shit.” Scooting closer, she tucked her hands into his jacket pockets. “But mostly, because I want you to stay.”
So many sensations ricocheted through his body—a bloom of warmth in his chest, a rush of desire that fizzed in his veins, and a prickle of tears that blurred his vision. She hadn’t exactly declared her love for him, but this was one important step closer, but maybe this was her way of telling him.
He cupped her face in his palms. “Hannah, I need you to hear me.”
She nodded, her glistening eyes never leaving his.
“Whatever happens with the shop, I’m committed to what we’re building together. You’re special to me, and I’m not going to run off and leave you, okay?”
Her forehead rumpled. “Oh, Xander.” She threw her arms around his neck and slanted her mouth across his.
Onlookers be damned. He kissed her back with everything he had.
Chapter Fifteen
Xanderpushedthroughthedoor of the Salty Dog Saloon and into a raucous green mob. Hannah was running late, so he’d agreed to meet her here, but how was he ever going to find her in this sea of partiers bopping to the “Irish” band’s merry drinking songs?
The bar’s crew had gone all out with the decorations. Green balloons floated in clusters from the deck railing outside and crowded the ceiling inside, interspersed with dangling metallic shamrocks and Irish flags. The glowing octopus at the corner of the bar had a green bowler hat, as did the wooden pirate captain at the entrance. Bartenders wore sequined green suspenders and headbands with glittery shamrocks that bounced as they whirled from taps to counter, filling orders for whiskey drinks and green beer.
Every table, booth, and spot at the bar was jammed with customers dressed in green T-shirts, hoodies, shorts, and even tutus, plus Mardi-Gras style beads, oversize sparkly glasses, and goofy hats.
He glanced down at his own pitiful costume: a T-shirt with three cartoon aliens in the classic ‘See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil’ pose. His only green shirt was still in his Seattle apartment, so he’d raided Gus’s leftovers. Oh well, at least it was green.
He squeezed into a corner of the bar facing the entrance and ordered a Jameson neat—much-needed liquid cheer to pump up his mood after the latest estimate: twelve thousand dollars to level the floor and replace the worn-out linoleum with something a little less tacky.
A young woman in spangled cut-off overalls bopped up beside him and poked the slogan across his chest. “Cute shirt! What happens in Trappers Cove stays in Trappers Cove.” She batted her green-tipped false lashes. “I’m only here for the weekend. Wanna stir up some shenanigans?”
“Sorry.” He wasn’t, but there was no need to slam her for a request he’d have welcomed a month ago. “I’m seeing someone.”
She pouted prettily. “Lucky girl. Hey, barkeep, we need five more Irish coffees.” She pointed to a booth filled with equally young and tipsy giggle bunnies.
“Here ya go, Xander.” The buxom, bristle-haired dandy set his drink on the bar and rolled her eyes. “Tourists, am I right?”
“Sorry, have we met?”
She extended a sticky hand and gave him a firm shake. “Quinn Zacoski. Sorry to hear about Gus, man. He was good people.” She chunked ice into a tall glass, then poured green liqueur into her cocktail shaker. “I’m thinkin’ I should create a drink in his honor. Something green and sweet and a little kooky, right?”
Her tone held no malice, but he winced all the same. Poor Gus, immortalized as a nut job.
A stout older guy muscled his way to the bar and greeted Xander with a broad smile and a back-slapping handshake. “Hey, it’s Gus’s nephew, right? Heard you might need a hand with your reno.” He fished a business card from his wallet. “Sam Sparks. When you’re ready for framing, gimme a call.”
He scowled at the card. “Did Hannah send you?”
Sam rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, ah, she might’ve mentioned in passing…”
Xander’s jaw tightened. No doubt she meant well, but he was perfectly capable of finding and vetting his own contractors. This washisproject, damn it, and the more help he accepted, the more say those helpers would expect in his business decisions.
