“Right, the owner’s sister.”
Speak of the devil, Ryan Lee appeared behind the bar, all gleaming teeth and cocky posturing. “Hannah, babe, how’s my favorite reporter?” He grabbed her hand and lifted it to his lips for a loud smack.
“Hanging in there.” She firmly extricated herself and leaned her cheek against Xander’s shoulder.
That’s right, beer bro. She’s with me.
Xander grinned, pleased she’d trusted her bad news to him and not to this model-perfect schmoozer.
Seemingly oblivious to Xander’s discomfort, blondie guy gave him a wide grin. “So, how’s it going with Gus’s place?”
“It’s Xander’s place now,” Hannah corrected him.
Ryan raised his palms. “Of course, of course. My bad. Old habits die hard, you know? So, Lilo and I were talking. If you give us a heads-up for your re-opening date, we’ll dedicate one of our seasonal specials to you—Intergalactic Ale? Starship IPA?” He shot finger guns across the bar— “Pew pew, right?”—then took off to greet other customers.
Xander scrubbed a hand down his flushed face. “Why does everyone assume I’m all gung ho for Gus’s aliens?”
She tilted her head and looked at him as if he’d asked why it was necessary to breathe. “Because that’s what people love about your shop. Haven’t you seen enough evidence of that?”
He sucked in a deep breath and summoned all the tact he could muster. “If the new shop is going to be a success, it has to reflect my own interests. It takes passion to make a small business thrive.” No need to mention how this was starting to feel like a personal battle between him and those little green bastards.
He clasped her hands and kissed her knuckles. “I can’t fake being passionate about UFOs the way Gus was.”
She gentled her tone. “But you have to give your customers what they want, Xander. You’ve got a ready-made market.” She angled her head and batted her lashes. Here it came, another pitch for the same old, same old.
“So listen.” She snuggled beneath his arm. “I got an interesting message today from Colonel Malinowski.”
That blowhard was the very last person Xander wanted to discuss right now. Or ever.
“He wants to meet with you about creating a retreat center for UFO believers. Says they can study the cosmic vortex, host conventions—”
“No!” He slammed his fist on the bar. “Absolutely not. How could you even suggest something so—” He grimaced, fighting for control. Had she heard nothing he’d said over the past month? Was she faking interest in him just to get her way?
He squashed that ugly thought down hard. After the passion they’d shared, after she’d opened her heart to him, he was beyond wrong to doubt her. But damn, when it came to this UFO bullshit, she was like a dog with a bone—and not in a fun way.
“Hey.” She squared her stance and jutted her chin. “Look at me, Xander.”
He complied, jaw clenched tight to bite back words he’d regret.
Her eyes glittered under the green lights. “It’syourbusiness. You and I can disagree, but that doesn’t mean I don’t respect you or care about you, okay?” Her brows contracted. Her nostrils flared. “I won’t mention the aliens again, if that’s what it takes to be your friend.”
All the air left his lungs in a whoosh.
For his sake, this smart, beautiful, hard-headed woman was releasing a cherished memory. After such a traumatic loss, her attachment to those little green buggers made sense if seen through the convoluted logic of the heart.
“Hannah,” he cupped her face in his hands. “I want to be so much more than your friend. And I don’t want you to censor yourself around me.” He pressed a soft kiss to her rumpled forehead. “But can we put a moratorium on the aliens for a while?”
She nodded.
“I promise you, I’m conducting solid market research.”
She bit her lip, a sexy gesture that heated his blood.
“So, I have a question for you, beauty. It’s kinda out of left field.”
A seductive smile spread her lips. “Fire away.”
“Do you have a bathtub I could borrow?”
