Page 42 of Curvy Girl Summer

He finished restocking the glasses and gave me a look. “I told you to give me a minute, and you dipped out.”

“Oh!” I shook my head. “Nah, it wasn’t like that. I tried to say goodbye, but you were busy.”

Wiping his hands on the towel he had draped over his shoulder, he stood in front of me. “Well, if I’m going to look out for you, the least you can do is let me know when you’re heading out.”

I felt my lips curling upward under his gaze. “You’re right,” I acknowledged softly.

I opened my mouth to say more, but a group of people noisily entered, disrupting the quiet bar.

He greeted them and then focused his attention back at me. “So, who is the lucky guy you’re meeting tonight?”

“Brayden Storm.”

“Is he a weatherman?”

Confusion twisted my face. “No. Why?”

“Brayden Storm. He sounds like a weatherman.” He changed his voice to a dry, nasally monotone. “Brayden Storm with the weather.”

I rolled my eyes. “You just say anything. No common sense. You just have”—I pointed to my temple—“a couple of beans rattling up there and no filter.”

Still using the voice, he said, “Sounds like a cold front is coming in from that side of the bar.”

I pursed my lips. “I’m not talking to you if you keep talking like that.”

He grabbed a stack of cups and moved them. “Fine. Tell me about this guy,” he said in his normal tone.

“The conversation has been nice.” I pointed at him. “He seems pretty cool. And the best part is thathe’sfunny.”

“Nah, I’m funny.”

“I assure you, you’re not funny.”

He placed his hands on the bar and leaned toward me. “Then why do you have to try so hard not to laugh?”

“Anyway…” I hid my smile with my hand. “Why are you so dressed up today?”

Stepping back, he looked down at his green button-up shirt and black jeans. “This is dressed up to you?”

“Well, last week, you had a dirty T-shirt on, so this is avastimprovement.”

“I thought you said it wasn’t that bad.”

“It wasn’t, but I just thought about how you called me the Hamburglar and got mad all over again.”

Ahmad chuckled under his breath as he left me to go take the orders of the people who’d just approached the bar. He was back and forth between checking on me and helping the ever-growing crowd. He moved so skillfully and effortlessly as he worked. Everytime he would spend a couple of minutes making small talk with me, I felt myself loosening up.

But it wasn’t just me.

He seemed to make everyone around him feel good. I watched the way he spoke to people, the way he smiled, and the way he entertained conversation while making the drinks. He was friendly without being too friendly. Cocking my head to the side, I couldn’t help but notice how he seemed so respectful of his marriage.

I smiled.

And yet another reason why I have faith in finding my person.

Ahmad seemed like a really good man—exasperating, but good.

“Would you like a drink?” Asia asked me, stealing my attention from the other end of the bar.

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