He immediately deflated. “Oh. I’ll just take the beer then.” The tips of his ears turned pink, and it was the cutest thing I’d ever seen. So cute, my brain scrambled, and it took me a moment to find my voice again.
“I’m sorry, I meant no, you don’t have to pay me. I’d love to sit with you. Just give me a minute. I’ll be back.”
He released a long breath. “I’ll be here.”
I kept my steps measured on my way to the bar, even though I wanted to sprint. I barely recognized myself. Getting excited over a guy wasn’t my thing, but there was something about Tore—his awkwardness, the way he stared at me longer than socially acceptable, his blunt way of speaking—that really did it for me.
Daisy, my coworker, leaned against the bar, her lips curved into a knowing smirk. She’d clearly seen every second of that exchange.
I held up a hand. “Don’t say a word.”
“I didn’t,” she swore.
“You’re readable.”
I grabbed a pint glass and filled it to the top with the local IPA Tore had been a fan of the last time he was in.
“Martha tried to serve him, but he said he only wanted you.”
My stomach turned upside down in a whoosh. “He’s in my section. Martha shouldn’t have spoken to him.”
She shrugged. “You were busy with those assholes. She was probably trying to be nice.”
I put the glass on my tray and huffed. “She probably spotted his expensive watch and saw dollar signs.”
“Speaking of dollar signs, did you see we booked another Millennial Wine Mom book club next Friday?”
“I haven’t looked at my email yet, but that’s excellent news. Maybe I’ll be able to move out of my slum sometime this century.”
Daisy was cooler than most people. She’d started a catering business after years of planning and had recently asked me to become her partner when I’d given her the idea of pursuing the wine mom crowd via my stepsister, Caroline. I was still considering.
“Living the dream,” she drawled.
“Always.” I shifted my gaze to Tore, who hadn’t stopped watching me even for a second. “I’d better get this to him before Martha tries to encroach on my territory again.”
“He seems sweet. Be nice to him, Beatrice.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m always nice.”
We both knew that wasn’t true, but she let it slide. As I made my way back to Tore’s table, I shot Martha a withering glare. She was all right in general, but Tore was mine—mycustomer—and she needed to lay off.
I placed his drink in front of him and took the seat to his right. “Hi again.”
His mouth quirked. “Hello, Bea. You aren’t drinking with me?”
“No, I thought I’d just watch you.” Leaning back in my chair, I crossed my legs and folded my arms in my lap. “Besides, I’ll be up and down checking on my other tables. No point in relaxing.”
He picked up his glass. “Do many of your customers touch you the way that guy did?”
Oh boy. He’d seen that.
“It’s a hazard of the profession. Drunk guys get handsy.” Sober ones too, but I wasn’t going to mention that.
“Funny, I’ve never had that problem,” he said without a trace of humor.
“You’ve never been groped by a drunk dude?” I asked, choosing to make a joke of it anyway.
“I can’t say I have.” He put his glass down without taking a sip. “Am I missing out?”
