Page 16 of Challenged by the Single Dad

“Hey, Dom?” Chloe said, sliding the cider up onto the bar just as Quinton sauntered over to grab it.

He grunted at her in response.

“Can I ask why the ciders and coolers aren’t all grouped together in the fridge? Why are they spread out?”

“They’re by distributor.”

She squinted at him. “But wouldn’t it make more sense to have the beer all grouped together and the hard ciders, coolers, andnon-beers all grouped together? Less hunting.”

“Only if you don’t know where everything is.”

She stared at him for a moment, processing what he said. Then her mouth formed a thin line, and she nodded. Jolene watched the entire exchange with unveiled interest.

Dammit. The whole island would know about that too.

“Can we get you anything, Jolene?” Dom asked with only a smidge of impatience to his tone.

“I’ll have some lattice fries—extra crispy—and a blueberry tea, please.”

“I’ve got it,” Chloe said, reaching the POS before he did and punching in Jolene’s order. “I’ll make the blueberry tea.”

Dom grunted, but didn’t argue. The tickets were rolling in, as were the take-out orders which the bartenders usually took care of, so there was no time to stew over her suggestion of reorganizing the bottles, or howat homeshe acted behindhisbar.

Chloe made Jolene’s blueberry tea while Jolene stood there, her coppery-brown eyes full of intrigue. “There you go,” she said, sliding the steaming glass mug onto the bar for Jolene. “Can you manage, or would you like me to bring it over to your table?”

“Oh. Could you, dear? The ladies would love to meet you.”

Chloe shot Dom a pleading look, but he smirked and shrugged.

He couldn’t really afford to lose her behind the bar for even a minute, but if she intended to call the island home, she needed to meet the locals and barflies sooner rather than later.

As he figured, she was over there fielding questions from the Sewing Circle—who were all actually crocheting today—for a solid ten minutes. He could have, and should have, yelled at her to help him, but she really hadn’t given him any reason to be as pissed off as he was. Not today anyway.

He knew his anger was mostly misdirected.

His brothers outvoted him and were taking control of the area of the business that was Dom’s to run as he saw fit. When they started the brewery and pub, it was decided democratically who would run which area. All decisions were to be made democratically. And sure, theyhadtaken a vote, and Dom was simply outvoted, but his ass was still plenty chapped about it.

It didn’t help that Chloe was probably a better bartender than he was. And it would take no time at all for everyone on the island to know it.

She snagged his gaze as she finally broke free of the Sewing Circle and headed back to the bar. She rolled her pretty eyes. He hadn’t noticed until now—maybe it was the recessed lighting overhead—but she had a very unique eye color. It was a green, but also blue, depending on the angle and lighting.

“Is there something in my teeth?” she asked, washing her hands in the sink before starting the next order.

“No. Why?”

“You were staring at me funny.”

He cleared his throat. “I dunno. Maybe. Go check if you’re worried.”

She gave him a funny look, picked up a spoon, and quickly checked her teeth with the back of it. “All clear.”

“Did the Sewing Circle grill you?” He popped the cap off a bottle of Clint’s new Winter Berry Ale and set it on the bar.

She spun around to show him her back for a minute. “Isn’t it obvious? Don’t I have grill marks?”

It was impossible not to check out her ass. But he smothered his appreciation for the tight twin cheeks with a snort. “Yeah. You’re a little charred.”

“They seem sweet. And also very concerned that I’m staying at the hostel. They kept saying that a woman my age shouldn’t be staying at a place like that. What does that mean? How old do they think I am?”

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