Page 25 of Until the Storm Breaks
He’d been working on the house each day since he got back, and I’d catch glimpses of him on my way to work. Now he’s showered and changed. Gone is the tool belt and sawdust, replaced by dark jeans and a black button-down, sleeves rolled to his forearms, looking like a sexy professor from one of those dark academia TikToks Lark keeps sending me. His hair’s still damp enough to curl at the edges.
Of course he shows up looking put-together while I’m pretty sure my ponytail has migrated completely to the left, there’s definitely cranberry juice splattered on my shirt, and I can feel mascara smudging under my eyes from the sweat.
He navigates through the crowd, dodging dancers and drunk tourists and claims the last open barstool while I pass off the sangrias, then grab the muddler for two mojitos someone just ordered. The band launches into a cover of “Closing Time” at least two hours too early.
When I finally look up from muddling mint, Calvin’s watching me with something between concern and assessment, like he’s calculating exactly how underwater I am.
“You looking for food or just a drink?” I ask.
“Just here for a beer. I didn’t realize it was Saturday music night.” He watches me work, not pushing for service, just observing. “You’re bartending solo?”
“Lark’s out. Sprained her ankle at your brother’s gym this morning.”
“Oh right, I saw that happen.” He shifts to let someone else order, then leans back in. “Need a hand?”
The offer catches me mid-muddle. “What?”
“Help. You need help.”
“I’ve got it handled. Besides, you’re a literature professor, not a bartender.”
“Are you kidding?” He actually laughs. “I grew up working this bar. My mom had me washing glasses at twelve, pouring beers by fifteen—highly illegal, but hey, family business, right?”
“That was years ago.” But even as I argue, I can feel my resolve weakening.
“Like riding a bike.” He’s already moving toward the gap in the bar. “Plus, I spent three years in grad school. You think I didn’t work bars to pay rent?” He pauses, glancing over his shoulder. “Oh, and the bachelorette party just got reinforcements.”
I look over. Shit, he’s right. Five more women in matching shirts are pushing through the crowd, already chanting about shots.
“You’re about to get destroyed,” he says, not quite hiding his smirk.
He’s standing at the bar entrance now, clearly waiting for permission but knowing he’s already won. The bastard’s actually enjoying this.
“Fine,” I cave, defeated. “But if you?—”
He’s already ducking under, washing his hands, grabbing an apron with the efficiency of someone who’s done this a thousand times. “Where do you need me?”
It turns out Calvin wasn’t lying about his bartending skills. Within minutes, we fall into a rhythm that feels practiced. When I’m shaking Cosmos, he’s already refilling my cranberry juice. When he’s building a complicated Old Fashioned, I slide him the orange peel without him asking. It’s seamless in a way that shouldn’t be possible with someone I’ve never worked with.
“Behind,” he murmurs, squeezing past as he reaches for the vodka.
“Reaching,” I warn, stretching past him for more lime juice.
We’re a dance neither of us rehearsed, and it works. The orders that were piling up start clearing. The crowd stops looking impatient. We’re actually keeping up.
“You’re the hot professor!” one of the bachelorettes squeals when she recognizes him. “Sarah’s obsessed with your writing!”
Sarah, wearing a crown that says “Bride to Bay” and a veil decorated with tiny ships, turns bright red. “I appreciate good writing!”
“She appreciates your author photo at 2 AM,” her friend cackles.
Calvin handles it gracefully, skillfully redirecting while building their drinks with professional focus. They eat it up,and soon half the bachelorette party is clustered at his end of the bar, which gives me breathing room to catch up on other orders.
“Smooth,” I tell him when we cross paths.
“I teach twenty-year-olds. Drunk bachelorettes are less scary.”
The rush keeps coming, but we handle it. He takes the complicated cocktail orders without blinking. I handle the high-volume stuff and the regulars who want their drinks just so.
