Page 2 of Challenged by the Single Dad

“What do you mean?” She pushed a strand of her dark-brown hair behind her ear, but it was too short to stay there and fell back across her cheek.

“We’re moving into the slow season, and I don’t think we can give you the hours you’re interested in. I just don’t think it’s a good fit. You’re a great bartender, but I think you’re better suited to a more fast-paced, high-energy type of establishment. I mean, didn’t your résumé say you’ve worked in mostly busy big-city bars and nightclubs?” At least that was what Bennett told him.

She scrunched her face up. “Yeah … I guess.”

“You’d be bored here. Not to mention you’d take a financial hit and not get the tips you’re used to, or deserve. We’d be holding you back, honestly.” He offered her a friendly smile, hoping she didn’t get too bent out of shape and think about returning with a Molotov cocktail.

Fuck, after the Nadine fiasco, his mind always went to the absolute worst-case scenario.

“Y-you’re probably right,” she said with a nod. “I was pretty bored tonight.”

“Right? We’re just not the right place for a person with your talent.”

She puffed up her chest a little at that comment.

“I will have Bennett mail you a check for your hours worked today, as well as your tip out. Sound good?”

Her head bobbed. “Okay.”

Phew.

He smiled again. “I’m really sorry it didn’t work out.”

“Yeah … me too.” Though, he could already tell she was realizing she’d dodged a bullet.

Not as much as he was, however. The woman could not take direction or learn from her mistakes. There was probably a reason why she was applying at the pub in the off season, when all her previous bartending experience was on the mainland and at busy nightclubs. This was all she had left. The only place that didn’t know her reputation.

“So … I guess I’ll see you around,” she said, her gaze darting around the room, probably to hopefully catch the eye of a server or two to say goodbye.

But the two servers were busy working. So Cammy simply pulled on her leather jacket, said thank you and goodbye, and was out the door.

Maybe Dom should have walked her out, but he was pretty sure she had a car. And it was still early. They’d also installed a way better security system with way more cameras after what happened with Vica in August. The parking lot was lit up a lot better now too.

Now that the unsanitary bartender was gone, Dom could breathe again.

This was his space.

He ran the front of house while Wyatt ran the kitchen. Clint ran the brewery, and Bennett ran the business and finance side of things. Jagger was a floater, handling their social media, promotion, and also helping out in the restaurant, with the rental cabins, or any other part of the business when needed. Mostly though, he was the extra parent for the kids when the rest of the brothers were all working.

They were a well-oiled machine of a family, working to bring home the bacon so their little humans could put it in their BLTs—minus the lettuce and tomatoes of course, because kids were picky fucking eaters.

“Where’d Cammy go?” Penny, one of the longtime servers asked as she began punching an order into the POS system at the bar.

“I said she could go. It’s slow enough,” Dom said, glaring at the partitioned container of limes, lemons, oranges, and cherries. Finally, he just grabbed the whole thing and dumped it into the garbage.

“What was that for?” Penny asked, giving him a weird look.

“Contaminated,” he said with a grumble, grabbing his pairing knife, cutting board, and a lime from the bowl.

“So, is Cammy coming back?” Penny asked.

Dom was cutting up the lime way too aggressively, but he didn’t care. “No.” He also didn’t look up at Penny, but could tell she was frustrated by her audible sigh.

The rest of the night passed with no drama. Even if he had every intention of asking Cammy to come back, there was no need for her to stay any later. The restaurant emptied out by nine o’clock. It was fall now, and the days were getting shorter and colder. Sure, they still had a lot of locals frequent the restaurant, but besides the weekends, the tourists weren’t nearly as plentiful as they were in the summer.

“You want me to put that on your tab or are you settling up?” he asked Jolene Dandy as she approached him at the bar. Eight local women gathered together nearly every day to either knit, sew, or crochet—they had a schedule for which day they did what—and during the colder and wetter months, they reserved a booth at Dom’s restaurant. The warmer months saw them outside at a table in the garden of the local bakery and café, Let it Rise.

“Oh, just throw it on my tab, Dominic dear,” Jolene said, covering her mouth with her hand to hide her yawn. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

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