Grace caressed my cheek and whispered, “There’s nobody but you.”
I looked into her eyes and saw the truth. I couldn’t resist crashing my lips to hers, not giving a shit who saw. For a moment, she struggled to keep up but soon got into a rhythm. Once we broke apart, there were catcalls. I did a once-over of thebar and only saw a few regulars, one of whom was Dirty Al. He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
I led us over to the bar where I grabbed an apron then walked behind Grace. “I was worried you were scared off by a little hard work. You know, if I could eat those freaking snails, you can work a shift,” I joked, tying the apron around her waist.
I showed her a few things on the cash register, but then I noticed her gaze lingering on my mouth. A blush cast over her gorgeous face.
“Grace, are you listening?” I asked, amused.
“Yes, I’m listening!” she lied, crossing her arms like a petulant child. Honestly, she resembled Noelle this afternoon when I was ten minutes late.
“Then what did I just say?” I challenged, mirroring her pose.
She bit her lip, and I chuckled and brushed the hair off her shoulder playfully.
“Come on. Let me show you the stockroom.” I called over my shoulder, “Al, keep an eye on things.” He muttered his agreeance as I walked ahead of her and held the door open.
Before entering, she asked, “Are you sure?”
I gave her a confused look and proceeded to nod once. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Grace shrugged. “I’ve heard this is where the magic happens.” She burst into laughter, after struggling to keep a straight face.
I slapped her ass and warned, “Watch it, you!”
At first, I thought she’d crumble under the pressure, but to my surprise, she held her own. Even Dirty Al, who barelyacknowledged newcomers, was watching her like she was some kind of exotic creature who’d wandered into my bar.
“She single?” Dirty Al asked, half-joking. His voice was rough from years of whiskey and cigarettes.
I scowled, setting his beer down harder than necessary. “Al, you’re sixty-five.”
He grinned. “Just means I ain’t dead yet.”
I shook my head and moved on to another patron, but my gaze kept catching Grace.
She was moving through the crowd, her sleeves rolled up, a notepad in one hand and a tray in the other. She was a little too graceful for the job, trying to be overly polished, like she wasn’t used to the weight of the tray and drinks. But Grace’s face was all determination.
I watched as she leaned in to hear what a group of teachers said over the noise, flashing that perfect, practiced smile; one I was certain had gotten her out of trouble more times than she could count.
I was impressed she barely spilled anything. Okay, maybe a little tequila, but I pretended not to see it.
She even managed to make small talk with me, opening up about boarding school drama and her “friend” Cordelia, even sharing some stories from her modeling days.
I appreciated her becoming more comfortable with me. I knew she had suffered some trauma to make her so scared. I hoped being dependable and consistent would show her it was safe to open up further.
Jena had just walked into the bar, and once she settled into her usual spot, she called out to Grace. “Hey, you! He’s got you working now too?” She turned her attention to me, waving her finger at me. “Have I not taught you anything about how to get the girl?” she scolded.
Grace snickered before coming to my defense. “I volunteered,” she said proudly.
Jena seemed taken aback by that revelation, her face showing mild shock at the fact that Grace willingly signed up for this. I couldn’t blame her—she’d surprised me by her offer, but God was I grateful.
“I think I’ll stick around for a while,” Grace assured.
I looked to Grace who teasingly stuck her tongue out at me. I had to hold back from throwing her on the counter, saying fuck it to my rules, and taking her on the bar.
By the time the crowd winded down, Grace looked ready to collapse. She dropped onto a barstool with a dramatic sigh, tilting her head back.
“My feet are killing me.”
