Page 13 of Taming Waves

She slows. I turn back and come to a stop.

“I have faith in you; I just think you two aren’t finished. You have unresolved feelings, and they aren’t going to go away because you want them to.”

“It’s worked so far,” I say.

She rolls her eyes. “No, it hasn’t. But you go ahead and give it the old college try. It’ll be entertaining to watch.”

“I didn’t realize this was going to be a therapy session, Dr. Phil,” I retort.

She grins. “Our runs are always therapy sessions. You’re just usually the one sorting me out. I have to admit, it feels good to be on the other side this time.”

I look down at the health tracker on my fitness watch.

“Looks like we completed our activity circle. Want to get coffee and doughnuts to balance it out before we head back?” I ask.

“Duh. Why else would we put ourselves through this torture if not to sugar and carb load?”

We turn around and head back toward Seaside Delights for our after-workout victory snack before walking back to my place so we can shower and get ready for work.

Calvin is going over the dinner menu with Heather and me when the employee door opens at four sharp. Parker comes swaggering in, wearing well-worn jeans and a dark green henley that clings to his broad chest. His sleeves are pushed up, revealing black ink curling around his forearms. A silver cross dangles from a thin leather chain around his neck, and his hair is wet.

Damn, he looks good.

Heather looks over her shoulder and back to me. “Oh, this is going to be fun,” she mutters under her breath as he rounds the bar.

He tucks a duffel bag in a cubby under the bar and then glances at us.

“Hiya, handsome,” Heather purrs, and I glare at her.

Parker winks at her.

“What are we discussing?” he asks.

Calvin slides one of the paper menus in front of him. “These are today’s dinner selections. We have set pub fare, but I offer a special each weekend based on what’s readily available from one of the local fishermen.”

“I’m aware. Your Cajun blackened redfish is my favorite,” Parker says as he looks over the menu.

“Thanks, man. That one is my grandmama’s recipe. This week is my own creation. Trout in a caper and white wine sauce, served with glazed carrots and roasted broccolini.”

“Fuck, that sounds delicious,” Parker says.

“Yeah? Swing into the kitchen in an hour, and I’ll let you have a taste.”

“I’ll do that.”

Calvin hands Heather a stack of the printed pages and returns to the kitchen as the rest of his cook staff trickles in.

“I’m just going to distribute these to the tables. You two have fun,” Heather says. Then, she leans over to whisper in my ear, “Good luck.”

Once we’re alone, Parker focuses his attention on me. “I’m all yours, Tiger. What’s first?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “What did I say about nicknames?”

“Sorry, old habit. I’m all yours, boss lady,” he corrects.

We spend the next hour reviewing bar procedures—from stocking clean glasses to replenishing draft beer kegs and cleaning the soda lines.

“This is our POS system. All orders need to be entered here. You just click through and add drinks, and for people who are eating at the bar, you can add options from the drop-down menu in this box. The system will shoot an electronic ticket to Calvin’s kitchen, and the food will be brought up to that window,” I say, pointing to the spot to the right of the iPad screen. “Once a tab is closed, you can click here and tap or insert the card on the little thingy on the side.”

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