Page 12 of Taming Waves

It’s a beautiful day. The sun is shining, but the air is crisp and cool, with the wind picking up. The news reports a tropical cyclone is developing off the South Carolina coast that could push inland later this week, so people are out and about, prepping for possible inclement weather. Homeowners are bringing in outdoor furniture, and shop employees are putting up hurricane shutters.

We don’t get a lot of severe weather here on the Carolina coast. Mostly just remnants of hurricanes that hit the mainland in Florida every September and lose strength as they crawl northward, but there have been occasions when a storm stalled over us and dumped an insane amount of rain for days. The last was a few years ago.

“Have you guys had any luck hiring anyone yet?” Heather asks as we turn onto Main Street.

“Brew and Van have one they want me to consider. I’m doing her second interview tomorrow afternoon. He hired a temp to help while we find another and get them both trained.”

“Well, that’s good news at least,” she says.

“I guess so.”

She glances over at me and raises a brow.

“He hired Parker Alston.”

“Parker? As in your Parker?”

“He’s notmyParker, but, yes, he isthatParker,” I confirm.

She lets out a low whistle. “I can’t believe you agreed to that.”

Heather knows our story. Parker and his friends spend a lot of time at Whiskey Joe’s and are close friends with Brew.Although I like to think I keep things professional when I’m behind the bar, she noticed the tension between us years ago.

At first, I would just ignore him and force other bartenders to wait on him. Then, when it became too hard to avoid the asshole, I started treating him as just another customer, smiling politely and chatting him up while actively flirting with his friends just to get under his skin.

We’ve basically been locked in a weird pissing contest for years.

The boys came into Whiskey Joe’s for Sebastian’s bachelor party last year, and Parker was poking the bear more than usual, getting in my space. I was particularly aggravated with him that night, and Anson noticed. So, when Anson came to close the bill, he told me they were going to a strip club in Wilmington, and he was going to get Parker laid so maybe he’d stop pining so hard for me. It should have made me happy, but it had the opposite effect. I was irritated as I watched them pile out of the door. Heather picked up on my bad mood and got me to spill the beans over tequila shots after we closed.

“It’s not like I had much of a choice. Leonard and I are running on steam at this point, and I’ve had to pull help from your side to staff the beer bar upstairs the last week. Parker has experience behind a bar and a flexible schedule, so it just makes sense,” I explain.

“Well, one thing’s for sure: he’ll be a hit with the female customers,” she quips.

Leonard is our other full-time mixologist. He’s a fifty-year-old divorced man who loves his job. His girlfriend, who is also a divorcée, is a few years older than him and is part owner of one of the breweries on the island, so their schedules mesh well.

The customers adore him because he is funny and personable, but he’s not exactly eye candy.

“He will be,” I agree.

“You going to be able to handle that?” she asks.

I grunt, “Of course I can.”

She gives me a skeptical look.

“I’m serious. Parker Alston is nothing more than a bad memory from my past. I don’t care what or who he does anymore.”

“I know you want that to be true,” she says.

“I feel abutcoming,” I mutter.

“But,” she continues, “we both know that man still has the power to turn you inside out, and working in close quarters with him will probably cause you to combust.”

“I’d like to think I’m a little stronger than that,” I mumble.

“You’re one of the strongest people I know, but, damn, I’m pretty sure that guy could cause Wonder Woman to buckle if he wanted to. And they don’t have a history,” she presses.

“Glad to know you have so much faith in me.”

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