Page 15 of The Hot New Bartender in Town

“If you’re early, you’re on time,” he says as he scratches his beard, which seems ready for a trim. “If you’re on time, you’re late.”

I roll my eyes. “That’s not legally enforceable.”

“Tell that to the fine people at the unemployment office.”

I enter the break room, happily offering him a grin as I pass the kitchen. “Oh, you’d never fire me, Bruno,” I say. “Who else would put up with your shit?”

To that, he has no reply. He simply sneers over his grill with a smile hidden somewhere beneath his beard.

See?

Big softy.

I chuck my handbag into my locker and throw on my apron with thirty seconds left to spare. After clocking in, I grab my order pad and step out onto the diner floor. The breakfast rush is long over, but the lunch rush is surely only minutes away.

That leaves plenty of time for gossip.

“Hey, cutie,” Brenda says, glancing up at me from the register as she goes over receipts. “How did it go last night after we left?”

“I’m in love with the hot new bartender,” I say.

She promptly stops and pivots to face me. “Tell meeverything,”she demands.

I take the biggest breath I’ve ever taken in my life. “After you guys left, I went up to him at the bar. You know, to thank him for the drink.”

“That’s just being polite,” she says, hanging on every word with a nod.

“Weinstantlyhit it off,” I continue with the same breath. “There was flirting and banter and smiling and winking until he invited me to go down to his place.”

Her eyes grow wide as saucers. “That fast?”

I hold up a hand. “Usually, I’m not so quick to pounce, but he’s just so pretty!”

“Hewaspretty.”

“His eyes are blue with little bits of green in them. And his hair is so clean and thick. And those cheekbones!”

I make a feral sound.

“Okay,” Brenda says. “Well, tell me about him. What’s he like?”

“He’s a bartender,” I say.

“Right. But what else? Where’s he from?”

“Pleasant Place.”

She grimaces.

“I know, I know,” I say. “But he’s totally normal, I swear. He just moved down to Small Town for a change of pace.”

“What was his previous pace?” she asks.

I shrug. “Not sure. He mentioned something about disappointing his dad and dropping out of school, but I was too busy falling into the dark pools of his eyes to listen.”

Brenda chuckles. “Sounds like a bit of a bad boy,” she says.

“He has freckles, too,” I add with a loving sigh. “Oh!” I remember the most important thing. “He’s a musician!”

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