Page 24 of Make Me Dream of You

I put up three fingers, our signal that we need assistance, and he strides toward me immediately.

When I glance back at Bex, she has both hands planted on the bar, eyes deadlocked on the guy. “How about you go have a time out and think? Come back when you can act like a big boy with manners.”

The guy scoffs, blinking dumbly for a moment before he can speak. “You can’t talk to me like that. I’m the customer.”

“You’re not anymore. I’m not serving you.”

“You can’t do that.”

“We reserve the right to not serve assholes,” Bex says, smile still in place but a different kind of smile altogether.

He turns a shade of purple I’ve never seen before. Just as he opens his mouth, Mark taps him on the shoulder.

“Sounds like you’ve been told to leave,” Mark says with a bored expression. “I can assist you with that if you need it.”

The man goes to retort, but promptly thinks better of it when he sees Mark’s arms crossed over his chest, his biceps the circumference of basketballs.

“You know what, just forget it. See if I ever come to this bar again.” He storms off and Mark follows him out.

Bex yells after them, “And the Sam Adams is a wheat ale, not an IPA, dumbass.”

I’m shaking, the adrenaline subsiding, heat replaced by ice cold sweats.

Before I realize what’s happened, the glass I’ve just filled with beer slips and crashes to the floor. Liquid splashes on our feet and legs. Jagged shards of glass spread everywhere.

I forgot I’d been holding it.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” I look around for something, I don’t know what—I can’t remember where any of the towels are.

My eyelids sting and my vision blurs and I’m breathing too fast.

“It’s okay, it happens,” Bex says.

Riley rushes over. “Don’t move. Let me get the dustpan and clean up this glass.”

“I’m sorry,” is all I can say. Hot tears hit both my cheeks.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not a big deal,” Bex reassures me with a smile.

Riley comes out and starts sweeping up the glass along with one of the barbacks who’s ready with a mop.

“How about you go take one of your breaks? Go get some fresh air. We’ll take care of this,” Bex says with a nod.

I look around the crowded bar. People are standing around, gawking, restless, waiting to be served. “Are you sure?”

“We’ve got this,” Riley says.

“Take however long you need,” Bex adds.

I push out the back door into the darkness of the alley behind the bar. A singular fixture splashes yellow light across the brick building. Traffic buzzes in the distance.

And I finally let out the sob I’ve been holding in.

The air is cool against my skin. It’s the first week of June, but not quite summer. I’m thankful for it. The breeze feels nice as it dries my tears.

“Hey.”

His voice makes me jump and turn abruptly. I recognized it instantly, but it’s still surprising to see him standing there by the door. Noah.

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