Page 1 of Noah

Chapter One | Noah

The Lion and Pheasant was packed. Every table, booth, and barstool was occupied. Standing room only. It was Friday night, so that wasn't unusual. The pub I owned near Victoria, BC's Inner Harbour was popular. What was unusual; two of my bartenders had gone home sick moments before the rush hit. I had replacements coming to the rescue, but until they got here, my best friend, Liam, and I would have to try to manage the ticker tape of drink order chits littering the bar top.

"Maddy!" I flagged down tonight's night manager. "Could you hop in here?"

There was a slight uptick in one of her brows. I knew she was busy assisting the servers: delivering drinks and food, running dirty dishes down to the kitchen, taking payments, and making sure the guests were behaving themselves. On top of a million other little things.

I was lucky to have her.

"Sure thing, Noah." Maddy stepped behind the bar, analyzed the situation, and started pulling a fleet of ales from our vast assortment of beer taps. She went from that to mixed drinks, regional shafts, and shots, fulfilling one order after another. I relaxed, rolled my shoulders, and refocused. The three of us should be able to handle the drink orders until reinforcements arrived.

We carried on like that for a good half an hour.

"Phillips Pale is down," Maddy shouted to me over the sound of chatter, laughter, and the live band warming up in opposition to the pounding house music. I was almost glad one of the kegs had been drained. It gave me an opportunity to retreat to the relative quiet of the basement.

A few seconds to breathe.

I just wished the keg room wasn't in the depths of the pub: roughly poured, cracked cement floors and dank musty smell in a low-ceiled poorly lit, refrigerated room.

I clambered in among the large metal kegs, only barely succeeding in keeping my attention on my task and not on the darkness in the back corners of the space. If you gazed into the blackness long enough, your eyes would start to play tricks; detecting movement where there was none.

I couldn't keep a shiver from running down my spine.

There's nothing back there.

Of course, the pale ale I wanted required me to climb and lay across a row of kegs to reach the valves. Stretched as far as I could, the metal rims digging into my muscles, my fingers strained to make the switch to the full keg. I managed the manoeuvre without spraying myself with beer.

Back upstairs, I was relieved to see the two bartenders I had called to come in behind the bar, stepped in alongside Liam, pouring drinks at record speed. Maddy had returned to the floor, checking in with the hosts and the bouncer, Chris, whose only task was to check identification at the door and move along any patrons who were deemed too drunk or rowdy.

A guy with a familiar face slid onto a vacated seat at the bar. He'd been coming in every night this week, occupying a space for a couple of hours, nursing a gin and tonic as he ate a plate of our buffalo wings. Liam, ever the charmer, only managed to get a few slight smirks out of him.

He'd finish up and leave after casting a glance my way. He was there at the same time each night when I was typically behind the bar. I had developed a habit of knowing when he was about to leave, out of the corner of my eye catching him balling up his paper napkin and wet wipe and discarding them on his plate then throwing back the remnants of his drink.

Our eyes would lock for a moment.

There was something sad about them, his eyes. Like he'd lost someone or something. Like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. There was a part of me that wanted to know which it was. I slipped behind the bar and mixed his gin and tonic and set it down on a coaster in front of him. He looked up at me, his eyebrows raised, seeming a little surprised.

"I made a guess," I said and leaned on the bar top.

"I must be predictable."

"Nothing wrong with having a favourite." I tried a smile out on him. He didn't bite.

"You know what food I want to order?"

"Buffalo wings, right?"

He gifted me with a slight lift in the corner of his mouth. Then his gaze travelled from my eyes to my mouth and back again. "The spicy heat clears my head."

After lifting his drink to his lips and then setting it back in front of him, he combed his fingers through the riot of dark curls on top of his head. The action made my breath stutter a little.

My sullen customer was gorgeous. An angular jaw with neatly trimmed bristles that would feel amazing running roughshod between my thighs. Broody, clear mahogany eyes; long lashes. And full kissable lips the colour of pink rose petals in the summer sun.

I cleared my throat. "I'll order those wings for you …?" I arched an eyebrow.

"Brody," he murmured barely loud enough for me to hear him.

Broody Brody.

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