Page 60 of Every Beautiful Mile

When four men sit at the bar, I drop napkins in front of them.

“What can I get you boys tonight?” I ask.

They’re around my age, maybe a little younger, each handsome enough. They eye me curiously.

“Four Coors,” one of them says before looking past me to Ethan. “What are you doing back there, man? I thought last time was the last time.”

He reaches a hand toward him over the bar with an amused smile.

I grab their beer and pop the tops off before sitting them down in front of them, curious as to how Ethan will respond.

“Don’t remind me,” he grumbles, grabbing the man’s hand across the bar and giving it a quick shake.

I start making a martini from a new order on a ticket as Ethan leans a hip against the bar.

“Who’s the woman?” one asks, nodding toward me.

“Someone saving my ass,” Ethan says.

“Where’d you find her?”

He scoffs. “Sitting on a stool, pissed off at me.”

I bite back the smile and look away as I shake the cocktail over my shoulder.

Eventually, we find a rhythm. He’s not exactly friendly, but he’s not completely unfriendly either. We get the bar caught up, and every order that comes through the printer for the guests at tables is immediately taken care of and given off to a server.

I don’t dare look at him too long, or at all, out of fear of him realizing who I am.

We’re so busy I don’t have time to think about how I'll explain it when the time comes. Maybe I won’t. Maybe this will just be how we meet, and he’ll never know. I’ll work his bar, then I’ll go to the coast of Maine and never talk to him again. Knowing my dad, this idea will pass, and I’ll never send him another email.

“Nel! Can we get another round of those margaritas, please?”

I pop up quickly from the cooler I’m organizing at the same time Ethan walks by. My head collides with the tray he’s holding and sends a bottle of beer flying through the air before it lands with a foamy crash.

He runs his hand through the thick hair on the top of his head.

“Can you pay attention?” he snaps.

With this, I realize—he’s not unfriendly, Ethan Mills is an asshole.

My eyes widen before narrowing sharply.

“Look, for whatever reason, I’m doing you a favor.” I flick a finger against his chest, which annoys me to notice is very broad. “Maybe try to not be so… pissed off. You’d be a lot better back here if you took out that stick you’ve shoved up your ass!”

I cross my arms as I hear the boys sitting across the bar, poorly attempting to stifle their laughs.

“Ethan, is it?” I ask like I don’t already know way more than I should about him.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, looking away and scrubbing a hand over his scruff-covered jaw.

“Ok, Ethan. Maybe try to be less of a dick when someone is helping you.”

I grab a few pieces of glass off the ground before washing my hands and grabbing the tequila. The boys at the bar break out into full-blown laughter as I flip the bottle in the air before pouring it into the shaker.

“And gentlemen?” I say, eyeing the four guys. “Your friend Ethan here didn’t tell you I’m not ringing any drinks up tonight, so I’d order top-shelf if I were you.”

Then I give them a wink before moving down the bar, only stopping to smile sweetly at Ethan as his lethal look pivots from me to them when they start to howl.

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