Page 30 of Until the Storm Breaks
“The most practical.”
She’s quiet for a beat. “I wasn’t exactly welcoming either. I think I might have been a bit harsh, if I recall.” She glances up at me.
I grin. “A bit? I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of your full wrath.”
“Listen,” she says. “I have a defensive streak. You came in like Mr. Hyde and tonight you were practically Dr. Jekyll behind that bar.”
“Ouch.” But I’m smiling. “Well, I contain multitudes, I guess.”
She laughs at that. “Quoting Whitman now?”
“Would you prefer more Elias Shaw?”
“If I start requesting poetry quotes on demand, I’ll sound likea pretentious English major.” She grins. “You might make fun of me.”
“That would be hypocritical, considering I actuallywasa pretentious English major.”
“Was?” she smirks.
“Am. Definitely still am.”
Her phone buzzes. She pulls it out, looking down at the screen. “Lark. She’s demanding details about you playing bartender.” She types something quick. “She says thanks, by the way. For covering so she didn’t have to work injured.”
“Tell her to ice that ankle.”
“Already did. Three times. Four now.” She pockets her phone. “She’s terrible at taking care of herself. Thinks she’s invincible.”
“Most people are terrible at self-care.”
She glances at me sideways, rain dripping from her chin. “Speaking from experience?”
“Speaking from observation.”And experience. Definitely experience.
We dodge a particularly deep puddle, and she nearly slips. I catch her elbow automatically to steady her. Her ponytail has shifted completely to one side, half falling out of its elastic, wet strands curling against her cheek, and it’s devastatingly attractive.
We keep walking, and I’m trying not to stare at the way raindrops are sliding down her throat, disappearing into her collar. Trying not to think about following that path with my mouth. Damn, I need to get it together.
“You know,” she says, “Lark’s is the fifth text I’ve gotten asking about you bartending tonight.”
“Five?”
“Lori texted. Twice. Someone named Carol who I don’t even know. And one of my wine suppliers who wasn’t even there butheard about it.” She shakes her head. “You’re even more of a small-town celebrity now.”
“Great. Exactly what I was going for.”
“I mean it,” she says. “There was a line on your side of the bar.” She laughs wickedly.
“They were just being practical. I was closer to the vodka.”
“Right. The vodka.” There’s amusement in her voice. “Nothing to do with the whole brooding professor thing you have going on.”
“I don’tbrood.”
“You were literally on your porch for an hour yesterday afternoon. Just sitting there. Staring at the water.”
My pulse kicks up, knowing she’s been aware of me the same way I’ve been aware of her. “I was thinking.”
“Brooding,” she counters.
