Page 24 of The Pucker and the Princess
I glance at Marissa, who has almost a deer-in-the-headlights look on her face. “Oh, uh … what do you have on tap?”
Ryan lists off the beers and Marissa chooses one of my favorites. “Same for me,” I chime in, then I lead Marissa to one of the secluded booths in the back.
A couple of minutes later, a waitress brings over our beers. “Need anything else?” she asks.
I look questioningly at Marissa, who shakes her head. “I’m good.”
“We’re good. Thanks.”
With a professional smile and a nod, the waitress leaves us. We sip our beers, and I watch Marissa look all around the bar before finally bringing her gaze back to mine.
We’re supposed to be here as friends. This isn’t a date. But somehow it sure feels like an awkward first date. The little bit of rapport we had in the car seems to have evaporated now that we’re here.
“So you come here a lot, I take it?” she asks, sipping her beer delicately and blotting her mouth with the drink napkin below her glass.
This is the same woman who the other night got her hands dirty changing my car battery, streaking grease on her face when she unconsciously rubbed a dirty finger across her cheek to get a strand of hair out of her face. The juxtaposition is enough to make me smile.
She narrows her eyes at me. “What?” She looks over her shoulder, but the only thing behind her is a wall. “What’s so funny?”
Shaking my head, I look down at my own beer and take a sip. “Nothin’,” I mumble after I swallow. “Yeah. I come here pretty often. The whole team does. Like I said, they make sure we aren’t mobbed here. And the staff all knows us on sight. Ryan is the bar manager, but just as often the owner’s around either working the bar or running drinks to customers. It’s one of the reasons we like this place. We know everyone, and they know us. When someone new joins the team, we bring ’em here for a drink and introduce ’em around. And they do the same with us. Whenever we come in and someone new’s working, either Ryan or the owner makes sure we meet them.”
“That sounds really nice,” she says so softly I almost don’t hear her.
“What about at your work? Did they do anything to welcome you to your new role?”
She lets out a rueful chuckle. “The CEO sent me a welcome basket that I shared with the office. And my generosity was met with a host of complaints from people not liking the selectionsand one person with a nut allergy loudly griping that nearly all of the snacks contained nuts, and the few that didn’t had something else he was allergic to.” She rolls her eyes. “I mean, I get that food allergies suck, but A—I didn’t pick out the basket“—she holds up a hand, ticking off her points on her fingers, “two—I had no idea anyone in the office had food allergies, since it was myfirst. Day.” She drops her hand, and I hide my smile at her mix of letters and numbers. “And finally, I didn’t evenhaveto share any of it. I did it as a gesture of goodwill! I tookone thing.” She plants her elbow on the table and holds up a finger in illustration. “One. And gave the rest away out of a basket sent just to me. So, yeah. That’s how I was welcomed to my new office.”
“Yikes,” I murmur, and she lets out another humorless laugh.
“Yeah. Yikes.” She spreads her hands. “So you see why I’m having difficulty making friends here.”
I grin. “Well, I think I can help you with that.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Marissa
By the timeDozer drives us back to the condo building, I’m warm and loose with a couple of beers in me and feeling better about this move than I have since I made the decision to come here.
It was the right decision. I know that. I knew it when I made it, and even with the cool welcome I received from the majority of the people in my office, I knew it was still the right choice for me.
That doesn’t mean it hasn’t been difficult, though. Moving to a new city far from home where I don’t know anyone is bound to be challenging. And while I love a challenge, when every single aspect of life is a challenge, it gets to be too much.
“Thanks for coming out with me tonight,” I tell him again after he parks and I climb out of his truck. I give the door panel an affectionate pat after I close it. “This really is a good little truck. And a pretty color. I get why you don’t want to get rid of it. I had to sell my last project car, and even though I know the buyer will love that sweet little car to pieces, I put so much time and effortinto it that the money I made from the sale hardly makes up for it.”
Dozer gives me a sympathetic look as he comes around the truck, his hand going behind me like he’s going to rest it on the small of my back as he ushers me toward the door, but he pulls it back at the last second, stuffing his hand in his pocket and falling in step beside me instead. “Why’d you have to get rid of the car?”
I shrug, standing back as he opens the door for me. He really is a gentleman—holding doors, paying for my drinks even though I tried to insist we should split the bill. I’ve discovered that holding doors is a lot less common around here than it is back home. Growing up, guysalwaysrushed to hold a door for ladies, my guy friends jogging ahead to reach the doors first when we were in a group, men at stores stopping and waiting for several seconds if they saw me approaching so they could hold the door for me. It’s just the way things are done down there.
And from spending time in California and traveling a bit, I knew it wasn’t the norm everywhere. But it’s still taken some adjustment.
Which is part of why it’s so nice that Dozer does it. It makes me feel all warm and happy.
“Where’d you say you were from again?” I ask with a grin as I walk through the door, turning to face him as he follows me in.
He gives me a quizzical look. “I grew up in Michigan, but I’ve lived a bunch of places since then. Juniors took me to a few cities in Canada, and I’ve lived in several major US cities before ending up here.”
“What about your parents? Where are they from?”
