Page 8 of Forget Me Not

Burgers, sea food, chocolate cake that came straight from Gran’s Gran’s recipe. I’m sure I gain twenty pounds every night, only to sweat it out by the time my shift is over.

“Okay, Matt. What can I help with?”

Matt is our bartender. He’s young, probably in his thirties and he came to the island a couple years ago. No one really knows Matt’s story, other than he just showed up and asked for a job, one day. Pappap was looking for a new bartender and Matt fit the bill. Now, he’s here.

“I need a smoke.”

“Go. Take a break.” I can tell he’s tired judging by the line of customers at the bar. Every seat in the building is full, tonight.

“You’re the best.”

“Don’t forget it,” I call as he hurries away.

Part of running the inn is knowing how to do every position. I’m a bartender. A cook. An accountant. A waitress. A housekeeper. A painter. A carpenter. The list goes on.

Trust me.

“You feed that cat?”

I freeze, the voice I haven’t forgotten ringing in my ear.

Oh, no.

Slowly, like I’m about to face a firing squad, I turn taking in those chocolate eyes boring into mine with the heat of a thousand suns. He doesn’t smile, but he doesn’t look away from me, either.

That gaze could burn civilizations to the ground.

When my eyes land on his hands, dancing over the sweat from his bottle of beer, the bottom falls out of my stomach and every moral I have runs away to hide.

Unfortunately, so do I.

“Nova,” Tara snaps, having followed me to the back. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Hiding under the kitchen window. What’s it look like I’m doing.”

“Nova Leigh, stop acting like a crazy person. We’ve got customers.”

“I can’t go back to the bar. I can’t Tara and if you make me do it, you’re a horrible friend.” My mouth moves faster than my mind and I replay every painstaking millisecond of me just making a fool of myself and darting away like my ass was on fire.

“Nova,” Tara orders, voice low. “Speak.”

“Hot cat food guy is here.”

Her eyes light up. “Where? I want to see him.” She cranes her neck to peer over the kitchen window to the restaurant beyond, so I tug her back. “Stop ogling him. He’ll know we’re talking about him.”

“Nova, why the hell are you hiding under the window like the FBI’s here to get you?” Katelyn, another waitress and a friend of mine who moved here around the time I did, pops into the kitchen, empty tray in hand.

“She’s got a crush on the hot guy at the bar.”

“What hot guy?” Manto asks and I swear, if my cheeks get any warmer, they’ll melt off.

“Everyone shut up,” I grit and Tara laughs.

“Get up. He probably thinks your cute. What’s the problem.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” I snap. “I look like I just climbed out of the sewer to steal a child in the dead of night.” Not to mention, he practically told me I was the scum of the earth for buying hungry kittens food. I mean, what kind of monster?

“Come on,” Tara says, pulling me from my hiding place and towards the door. She reaches up, smoothing my frizzy hair down in its bun. “You’re still cute. You’re hot. Literally and figuratively. Men like a little sweat.”

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