Page 49 of Forever To Me

I’m finally getting the hang of this place with the rhythm of pouring drinks, remembering the regulars’ orders, dodging Jack and Ollie’s relentless flirting from the other side of the bar. I know they’re doing it on purpose to get under Walker’s skin. And by the looks of it, it’s working.

Walker left to run an errand, but when he’s here, I can feel him watching me sometimes.

Like he’s still trying to figure me out, like a puzzle he can’t find all the pieces for.

Like he doesn’t quite know what to do with me yet.

Join the club, Walker.

“Hey, Violet,” Momma Mary, the cook calls from the kitchen. “Can you grab another bottle of whiskey from Walker's office?”

We’ve been slow and have been restocking the bar and kitchen area before our dinner rush.

I nod, wiping my hands on a rag. “On it.”

I head toward the back hallway, past the emergency exit sign that flickers like it’s one day away from giving up and finally reach Walker’s office. He has a whole little space separate from the bar back here with a living area, a place for his dog, and a desk. He also has a row of storage shelves in the back where he keeps extra inventory.

I push the door open—and stop dead in my tracks.

There’s a girl sitting in his chair, boots kicked up on the desk like she owns the place, petting Pickles who is curled up in her lap. The dog wags her tail when she sees me.

She’s scrolling through her phone, popping a piece of candy in her mouth, and barely spares me a glance.

She’s dark-haired and carries the same brooding energy as her father.

And I know immediately—this is Mack.

Walker’s kid.

The one Maggie dotes on, the daughter that Walker would burn the entire world down for.

And she’s sizing me up.

Oh, this is going to be fun.

“You lost?” she asks, arching a perfectly unimpressed brow.

I cross my arms. “Nope. Just came to grab a bottle of whiskey.”

She smirks. “Figures. You look like you drink a lot.”

I snort. “You look like you get away with too much.”

She grins. “I do.”

There’s a beat of silence, then—we both laugh.

Okay. I like her already.

I lean against the door frame, watching her lazily toss her phone onto the desk. “So, let me guess—you come back here to hide from your dad, steal candy from his drawer, and pretend you don’t like being at the bar.”

She blinks, then points at me. “That was freakishly accurate.”

I flash a grin. “It’s a gift.”

She studies me for a second, then tilts her head. “You’re Maggie’s Violet.”

I raise a brow. “Maggie’s Violet?”

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