Page 10 of The Businesswoman and the Bartender

He quickly turned away and focused on the night’s receipts. But the change in his body language was unmistakable. Tension permeated from his form, the muscles in his back rigid against the cotton of his button-down shirt. One fist was clenched until he unfurled his hand and rubbed the nape of his neck, which appeared to be one of his nervous habits.

A few sexually charged minutes passed in silence. There was an unspoken understanding in the air that they both had to compose themselves, that they had to allow the electricity to lessen, lest it incinerate them both. But eventually, he returned to leaning against the bar.

“What do you have against houseplants, huh?” he joked.

She barked a laugh and then slapped a hand over her mouth in mortification. But he apparently found her over-the-top reaction endearing because he laughed softly and gave her a look that could only be described asheart eyes.

“Even the plants know I’m too independent for my own good,” she mumbled.

His eyes narrowed as he considered that answer. “That’s an interesting way to put it. Too independent for your own good?”

The wine from dinner, coupled with gin, released the floodgates. “I spent a lot of time working on myself. To make sure I was strong on my own. Capable. But that sort of consumed me to the point where now it’s hard to even imagine letting someone into my life. Even plants,” she finished half-heartedly.

“Let me guess. You were in a long-term relationship that wasn’t bad, per se, but you didn’t have an identity outside of it.”

April groaned and dropped her face into her hands. “You make me sound like a cliché.”

“If you’re a cliché, then I’m a cliché.” He waited until she raised her head before continuing. “I got married at twenty-five. High school sweetheart. We loved each other, but we got married more so because we thought it was what we were supposed to do. Had to do. And then time passed, and we started to grow apart. Had different ambitions and whatnot.” He looked away for a split second, his jaw taut, until he turned back and said, “Eventually, we both realized we had no idea who we were outside of the relationship.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He waved her sympathy away. “The divorce was for the best. I don’t regret it for a second. But all that to say I understand.”

“I was headed down that path with my college sweetheart. In the end, I know I did the right thing when I broke it off. But there are still times when I’m…” She trailed off.

While she didn’t want to use the wordlonely—it felt like a betrayal to all the hard work she’d done on herself over the years—she wasn’t sure how else to explain the level of detachment she had reached in her life. She had her family and her friends, but everyone was paired up. Everyone had someone to share memories with, spend time with, and build a future with. She was no one’s first choice for anything.

And while she’d been able to fill that void with work and had met some nice people during her years on the road, all those connections were fleeting. Even this one would be. And that thought sobered her thoroughly.

Her eyes prickled with tears. Truthfully, she was overdue for a good cry, and mixing wine with hard liquor would do it. She rubbed her eyelids with her hands to hide the emotion on her face and joked, “Oh God, I’ve officially entered the drunken-confession portion of the night.”

“Don’t worry,” he murmured, his stare tender. “Like I told you the other day, there’s nothing I haven’t heard in this line of work.”

She sipped at her water, then went with self-deprecation. “Yeah, I bet you’re used to pathetic women spilling their guts to you.”

“You’re not pathetic,” he asserted firmly. “Honestly, life has a way of getting away from us, doesn’t it?”

“That it does,” she uttered in agreement.

“When I got divorced, I was certain I’d find someone new. I should have known better, considering I hadn’t been on a first date since I was seventeen.” He laughed and then cringed as if memories had rushed straight to the surface. “Christ, I was rusty.”

She raised her glass to that and said, “Tell me about it.”

Nick shrugged, and she desperately wanted to drape her arms across those broad shoulders. “I think we’re doing okay right now.”

His voice was low and intimate, and it sent heat straight to her core. Her heart rocketed against her rib cage, threatening to burst from her chest and right into his hands, when the barback, who April assumed was the aforementioned Jimmy, popped over to ask for assistance in the back room. Nick held up his index finger to her, signaling that he’d be a minute.

All alone, she took a deep breath. Should she proposition him or wait for him to take action? Should she slip him her extra keycard or wait for him to write down his number on a cocktail napkin? She knew what Lucy would tell her to do. It would certainly be an all-caps text message. Something likeBE DIRECT!orASK WHEN HE GETS OFF AND IF HE WANTS TO GET OFF!

But something held April back from making a move. And when Nick returned, bestowing her with an endearing smile—as if he was simply thrilled by the fact she was still there—the realization hit her square in the chest like a freight train.

Shelikedhim. She actually, truly liked him. Her emotions were already involved, fully tangled up in him, and sex would only amplify those feelings. If she slept with him, there was no possibility of getting out of this unscathed. A vacation fling only worked if the memories were left where they were created. Considering how he already gave her butterflies and made her entire body heat like a furnace, there was no chance the memory of him would stay in Seattle. It would follow her back to New York and taunt her with what could never be.

“Listen…I have a few more things to finish up here,” Nick started lightly. “And I know you’ve knocked a few more back than I have, but if you’re up for a nightcap—”

“Yes,” she blurted out before he could finish.

So much for self-preservation.

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