Page 1 of The First Best Man

CHAPTER ONE

Kate

There’snothing better on earth or in heaven than a rousing episode ofJeopardy!and a plate of chili-cheese fries. Fight me.

“What is theMacarena?” I shout, teetering on my barstool as a contestant rings in and answers,“What is the chicken dance?”

Jasper, my evening bartender, chuckles as my lips pull down into a frown when the contestant’s answer is declared correct. I narrow my gaze at him across the bar, and he holds up his palms in surrender.

“I was close,” I grouch, making him laugh again.

“Not close enough,” he murmurs, setting a fresh glass of draft beer in front of me.

“Ha, ha,” I deadpan, then soften the words with a smile as I lift the beer and take a long sip.

Ah. Cold and crisp, the brew hits the spot while I wait for my chili-cheese fries to arrive. It’s after eight on Sunday evening, which means the kitchen is technically closed for the night. But as the owner of the Bush Monkey Bar & Grill, I have a little pull with the kitchen staff. Besides, this is my Sunday night ritual, so they’re used to it.

“Robert Langdon, Chuck Noland, Woody.”

“Who is Tom Hanks?” I bark, and Jasper gives me a silent golf clap from the other end of the bar where he’s been washing pint glasses.

The show goes into a commercial break, and I take a moment to spin around on my stool and survey the place. A small establishment with only ten tables––all currently occupied––a handful of bistro tables on a small patio, and five barstools, the Grill has been mine since my dad passed away six years ago and left it to me. One of only a handful of eating establishments on Bush Monkey Isle, business is booming as it did under Dad’s careful supervision. This place is a mainstay on this tiny tourist island off the Southern California coast, and I know exactly how lucky I am to own it.

To live here, where I was born and raised.

I have a great life, and there’s very little I’d change if I could.

My favorite gameshow’s theme music echoes from the tinny speakers on the small television behind the bar, so I spin back around to focus on it as the contestants are introduced to the categories in the second round.

A contestant picks a category and a wager, and the host reads off the clue as I read along on the screen. Mylips part to answer, then freeze as a deep, rumbling voice rings out just behind me.

“Ronald Reagan.”

My head whips to the right as the owner of the voice slides onto the stool next to me, and I’m rendered speechless as my gaze takes him in. Thick, dark hair. Brilliant ocean-blue eyes set in a ruggedly handsome face. Wide shoulders encased in an expensive-looking suit jacket.

When my gaze skitters back up to meet his, he’s wearing a soft smile that tells me he knew I was checking him out andnotfinding him lacking. I wiggle my shoulders and clear my throat before speaking.

“Wrong, sir.”

“Excuse me?” he says, pressing a palm to his chest. “Ronald Reagan was absolutely the fortieth president of the United States of America.”

“Ah,” I say, holding up a finger in his direction, “but you didn’t phrase the answer in the form of a question.Jeopardy!rules must be followed at all times in this bar.”

“My mistake,” he says with a slight grin and a dip of his head.

“Amateur,” I murmur under my breath, and a soft laugh rumbles from his chest.

The husky sound leaves me a little lightheaded.

Or maybe it’s my lack of sustenance. Where the hell are my fries, anyway?

Jasper approaches from the other end of the bar and places a cocktail napkin in front of the stranger. “Welcome to Bush Monkey Bar & Grill. What can I get you?”

The man’s gaze travels across the display of liquor bottles behind Jasper before perusing the row of taps offto the side. Then he looks down at the glass in front of me, and points to it.

“I’ll have whatever she’s having. And a menu, please.”

I flinch internally as Jasper meets my gaze for only a second, then turns his attention back to the customer. “My apologies, sir, but the kitchen is closed for the night.”

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