Page 2 of Bartender's Surprise Baby

“You all right?” He stopped in front of me, towel flung over his red flannel-covered shoulder, one brow arched.

“No, I’m not all right, but I don’t want to talk about it. Thank you, though.” The last thing I wanted was to wallow even more than I already was. Hell, it was no wonder the girls couldn’t getaway quick enough. “How about you, Levi? How did you come to Holiday Grove?”

His lips curled up, showing off a hint of a dimple. “You want to talk about me?”

I nodded. “Is there a bartender rule I don’t know about that says I can’t ask you questions?”

“Plenty, I’m sure.” The smile hit his eyes, and I squeezed my knees together because the things the sexy bartender was making me feel were things I thought died years ago.

“Don’t be so sure.” I pushed my glass in his direction and smiled.

“Another G&T?”

“Nah, surprise me with something. Delicious but not sweet, while you tell me about how you landed in our fine town.”

He pulled down a bottle of gin and two mixers I wasn’t familiar with and began to pour. “I was working as a bartender in Houston, then Los Angeles, and then Aspen for the winter, mostly aimless but with a much-needed skillset, when a lawyer finally tracked me down to tell me that an uncle I didn’t know I had died and left me this bar.”

My brows dipped. “Huh? Wait a minute, Marcus Russell was your uncle?”

“Apparently,” he shrugged and shoved an orange-ish pink drink in my direction. “My mom died when I was nine, and I went into foster care until I was eighteen because there was no family to take me in.” He spoke so matter-of-factly, as if he wasn’t bothered by that fact. “You’re a local, right?”

I smiled and nodded, assuming that Levi didn’t know who I was, and why would he? Men usually fell into two categories where I was concerned: those who knew me and wanted to live out their fantasy, and those who pretended not to know me just to get a foot in the door, of my bedroom or the industry. It wasn’t ego, not entirely, anyway—it was just a fact. “I am. I knewMarcus. He was a quiet guy who lived a quiet life, but he was always nice.”

“He was my mom’s older brother by a decade. She never mentioned him.” He shook his head. “Why am I telling you all this?”

I shrugged. “Because I’m easy to talk to?”

He rolled his eyes while he dried a few glasses.

“Marcus had a partner for a long time. His name was Damon. He died when I was in high school. After that, it was just him and this bar.” This was even sadder than my own miserable life. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” He stared at me for a long moment, a half-smile on his face, as if he was trying to figure me out.

Good luck. I still hadn’t figured myself out yet.

2LEVI

Robin was drunk. Maybe she wasn’t drunk-drunk, but she was definitely leaving Tipsy Town and headed straight for Drunksville. On top of being tipsy, she was sad, which was usually a bad combination. It usually meant tears, yelling, and sometimes drama, but Robin wasn’t any of those. She was self-deprecating and surprisingly funny, and she gave good conversation, unlike most of the girls who came in here half-drunk and looking for a meaningless hookup.

Not that I was opposed to hooking up—I wasn’t—but I was too damn old to bang a chick just because she was hot. It took more than that to get me goin’ these days, and Robin had a hell of a lot more than looks. “Ready to talk about why you’re so sad?” Valentine’s Day was a distant memory, and soon we’d be celebrating St. Patrick’s Day, so I doubted she had the V-Day blues. I assumed nothing and simply waited her out.

“No,” she sighed, as if she had the weight of the world on her delicate shoulders. “I’m just not ready to deal with it. Not yet.”

I could respect that. I wasn’t one of those people who needed to talk everything to death. “But you’re okay? Nothing dangerous or life-threatening?”

“No.” She flashed a wide grin and licked her full lips. “Nobody is going to die. But thanks for giving a damn.” She looked over her shoulder and froze. “Shit.” Her full lips parted in shock. “I’m sorry, shit, Levi, why didn’t you say anything?” She picked up her tiny purse—the smallest I’d ever seen (what the hell was even in that thing?)—and mumbled to herself.

I laughed at her question. “I can handle one drunk chick, Robin.”

That earned me a menacing glare. “First, call me Rob. Second, I’m not drunk. Not at all.”

“No?” I folded my arms and arched both brows.

“No. I’m comfortably numb.” Her smile was sassy and flirty, and a little bit sexy. Okay, sexy as hell.

“Okay, Rob. Fine.” She smiled brighter when I used her preferred name. “The bar is clean, mostly anyway. The owner will bitch about it in the morning, but it’s okay. He can’t resist my smile. Ready to settle up?”

She laughed to herself and slid a card across the bar. “You find your smile irresistible?” Her plump lips parted when I nodded.

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