Page 23 of Challenged by the Single Dad

Shrugging, Chloe scooped ice into a lowball glass, then she measured vodka into a shot glass and dumped it in. “I mean, they are hard on the outside and gooey on the inside. It fits.”

“I’m sure he’dloveto know you called him a snail.”

“You know, ladies pay big money to put snail goo on their faces.” Renée filled the glass up with cranberry juice, then put it up on the bar only to make a face. “I’m not saying we need to put Dom’s goo on our faces. God. How did I get there?”

“You know I can hearallof this, right?” Dom said from the other end of the bar. “This place is not that big. And you are definitely not quiet.”

Chloe’s cheeks burned hot, but Renée just burst out laughing. “Go pee!”

He growled. But he did hustle past them toward the bathrooms.

“Can I ask how old you are?” Chloe finished the Sazerac with a lemon twist, then put it up on the bar.

“I’m twenty-four. I’ve been working here for three years.” She smiled at the customers who just entered, two men probably not much older than her, and very handsome. “Hey guys. What can I getcha?” She was laying the charm on thick.

“There two seats at the bar?” asked the one in ballcap.

“Just right down there.” Renée pointed.

They moved a few feet down.

“We’ll start with a pitcher of the Witbier,” the clean-shaven, hatless one said.

“Coming right up.” But she didn’t grab the pitcher. “After I see some ID.”

The guys didn’t hesitate to dig out their wallets and prove they were old enough to drink. Then Renée got to work filling up their pitcher.

Dom returned, still looking like he’d bit into a lemon, but slightly less so.

“Feel better?” Renée asked him.

He grunted.

“Good,” she said, rolling her eyes. “No go home and be with that adorable little boy of yours. We’ve got it covered here. The whole island is already talking about how amazing a bartender Chloe is. And I’m just awesome in general. So you have nothing to worry about.” Her smile was cheeky as she plunked her hands on her hips and stared down—but up—at Dom.

Dom actually glared down at her since he had at least a foot on the tiny, feisty Renée. “You’re pushing it.”

“What? Your buttons? I know. I’m the only one here with enough balls do to it. So I have to do it enough for all of us. Now go. Tuck your kid into bed for once, for fuck’s sake.”

Dom’s gaze flicked to Chloe who stood behind Renée mixing a Rob Roy. Color infused his cheeks and a muscle ticked at the corner of his jaw.

“We’ve got this,” Chloe said softly. “You should go be with your son.”

He clenched and unclenched his teeth, which made both sides of his chiseled jaw bounce beneath his scruff.

Finally, after what felt like an hour-long Mexican standoff, but was probably no more than thirty seconds, he exhaled and gave one small, curt nod. “I’ll just—”

“No,” Renée said. “You won’t ‘just.’ We’ve got this, Dom. Seriously.”

Once again, he met Chloe’s eyes.

She put the Rob Roy up on the counter, grabbed the next ticket, and kept moving while keeping him in her peripheral gaze.

“Okay.” He nodded again.

“Good,” Renée said. “Now, the party can really start. Who’s up for some table dancing?”

Dom stopped right behind Chloe. “No fucking way!”

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