Page 28 of Peaches

When she does, I move to the back office where we keep a couple bottles of Mom’s favorite wine for the rare occasions she comes in. She used to be here a lot more—hell, she used to take her own shifts—but it’s been a long, long time since I’ve seen her walk through the door.

She won’t miss a bottle.

I bring it back behind the bar, passing Wells on my way. “You good?” he asks, eyes dropping to the wine. His eyes widen. “Is she here?”

“Nope,” I say, shaking my head as I walk back toward Olivia. If Wells keeps watching me, I’m not sure. And quite frankly, I don’t care.

Olivia waits in her seat, picking at the corners of a cocktail napkin with a frown that makes me uneasy. I pull down a lowball glass and find the wine opener in the junk drawer beneath the POS system, making quick work of opening the bottle and pouring a few fingers of wine into the glass. I have no idea what a normal serving looks like and we don’t have actual wineglasses here, but Olivia looks relieved when I push the drink in front of her.

She takes a sip and closes her eyes, nearly moaning. “That’s delicious.”

I exhale. “Good.”

Her eyes lift to mine. “I’m sorry I just showed up like this, I?—”

“You don’t have to apologize for anything, peaches,” I interject. “You can walk through these doors any fucking time you want. But I happen to notice there’s a frown on your face, and I’d very much like to know how it got there.”

She closes her mouth, pressing her lips together. And then she opens them again to whisper, “I got another letter from Charleston.”

Charleston. Where her father and his other family live. “What’s it say?” I ask.

She shrugs. “I don’t know. I haven’t opened it.”

“Then what the hell are you cryin’ for?”

Her eyes narrow, and I realize I’ve made a mistake with that little remark. Still, the relief is a thing I can taste.It’s not my fault she’s crying.

“I just mean,” I quickly add on, “how do you know it’s bad? Maybe it says no one’s going to ever bother you again. Or maybe it’s a check for a million dollars.” I shrug, like it could be possible.

Her face crinkles as laughter bubbles out of her, and I feel my chest expand. “You think?” she asks.

I shake my head. “Probably not, but you won’t know anything if you don’t open it.”

She groans, still smiling, and tucks her face behind her hands.

“Hey,” I say softly, pulling her hands away so I can see those hazel eyes. “No matter what’s in that letter, you’re going to be okay.”

She nods and the crease between her brows smooths out. I’m not sure if it was the shot or my words, but I like the way it feels, watching her unwind, knowing I had something to do with it. I watch intently as she lifts the glass of wine to her lips, downing the rest of it in one gulp. “Can I have another?” she asks. “For bravery?”

You’re already brave, I want to say. But I keep my mouth shut and pour her another drink. “I’m going to give you some space to read it alone,” I say thickly, the words I shoved away lodged in my throat. “But you come find me if you need anything. And Olivia?”

“Hm?” She tips her head up.

“Don’t you dare leave this bar without me.”

* * *

Wells seems to sense something,because his questions start almost immediately. “Why’s Olivia Danvers here?” is the first one that flies out of his mouth the second I walk away from her.

“What do you mean?” I gruff.

He leans back and crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ve never seen her here before. Is she waiting for someone?”

“How would I know?” I lie.

Wells scratches at his chin. “Huh,” he says. And then he grabs two bottles of Miller Lite from the fridge and walks out toward the tables.

Ten minutes later, after dropping a fresh pitcher, I turn to find Wells talking to Olivia. Both of them are smiling, and it grates against my ego—I know damn well Wells loves his girl at home, but the sight of Olivia smiling so freely at another man like that smarts.

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