Page 48 of Crossed Paths
Not yet.
Not in front of the staff. Not with the bride watching. Not when I’ve barely held it together this long.
I turn slightly toward Peter, keeping my voice low but firm. “I don’t have time for this. If you want to help, give Mandy a hand supervising the food service.”
He opens his mouth like he might argue but then closes it again. Nods. “Yeah. Alright.”
Without another word, he slips out from behind the bar and heads toward the kitchen, already rolling up his sleeves.
Hunter finishes clearing the last shard of glass, stands, and without a word, steps in beside me just as the next punter leans across the bar.
“Pint of Guinness and a G&T, no ice.”
I pull the gin before the words are finished, crack the tonic, wedge the lime, slide it across. “Six eighty.”
Coins hit the bar. I shove them in the till, already turning to the next.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Hunter reach for the pump handle. His hand doesn’t pause. The pint fills smooth, steady.
I keep going. A cider, a bitter, two vodkas with lemonade. Someone’s trying to flag me from the far end, but I can’t split myself in half.
I brush past him for a clean glass. His shoulder gently bumps into mine. He doesn’t look at me.
I don’t look at him either.
But I feel every inch of space he takes up.
And I don’t know what stings more: that he’s here, helping, or that I can’t really afford sending him home.
The bride’s father claps his hands and raises his voice over the noise. “Right then! If you’re still standing, put your bums on a chair because I’m starving.”
A ripple of laughter rolls through the crowd and the knot of guests near the bar starts to shift toward the long tables set up near the entrance. Chairs scrape, glasses are abandoned half-full. The buzz softens as they gather for the meal.
Finally—a gap. A breath.
It won’t last. As soon as the lamb hits the plates and the first speech ends, they’ll be back. Louder. Hungrier. Drunker.
I scan the shelves. Rum’s running low. Gin’s almost out. Not a single bottle of tonic left in the fridge.
I move to head for the cellar, but Hunter’s already at my side.
His hand lands lightly on the small of my back. Familiar. Careful.
I take a single step away.
“Alex,” he says quietly. “Just let me explain—”
“No.” I keep my voice even. “Not now.”
I grab the keys from their hook and turn back to him. “I need to check on the food. If you can handle the restock, I’ll say thank you later before I kick you out.”
He holds my gaze but doesn’t argue.
I press the keys into his hand and leave him to it. I can’t afford falling apart right now and that’s exactly what his presence is doing to me.
It’s just after midnight.
The pub is finally quiet.
