Page 85 of Charlie

"Isla?" I call as I poke my head in the pub.

"In here!"

Warm wood tones envelop me as I follow her voice to a small office beside the bar.

"Thank you so much for coming to help, Charlotte. I was really in a bind."

Isla had called me a few hours ago, absolutely frantic. Her boss had a health emergency which left her and the chef on their own. She stands up and gives me a tight hug. I hold her at arm's length and whistle at her. The woman is absolutely gorgeous. Her hair is half up, soft curls framing her face, the rest tumbling down her back in a fiery waterfall. Her boobs are perfectly showcased in a leather corset top. Jeans that look like they were painted on and combat boots complete the ensemble. Utter perfection.

"You're going to have to take me shopping sometime," I say, looking down at my pitiful t-shirt and jeans.

"I would love to. I always keep an extra outfit here, just in case. Do you want to see it?"

"Seriously? That would be amazing."

"You'll get better tips, too," she says, grabbing a garment bag from the back corner of the office and handing it to me.

"You're a godsend. I could use some extra tip money right now." I lay the bag on the bar and unzip it to find gorgeous black leather moto leggings and a slinky silver top. "I only have my chucks," I moan.

"What size are you?"

"Eight."

"Are you comfortable with heels?"

"Not really." I grimace.

"You take my boots and I'll wear the heels. They may be a little big on you, but they should be fine."

I protest, but Isla plops herself on a barstool and unlaces them. "I think it'll be pretty easy tonight. There will be a mad rush around dinnertime, but we’ll probably end up closing early." She hands me the first boot and starts on the second. "You'll just need to take food and drink orders from customers sitting at the tables and bring their food to them once it's ready." She hands me the other boot and then slides off the stool, padding to the office to retrieve her heels.

"Sounds easy enough," I say, shucking off my jeans and pulling on the leggings. I shed my shirt and carefully pull on the top, the fabric like cool water sliding over my skin. I step into the boots and immediately feel like a badass.

"We have about fifteen minutes until the chef gets here," Isla says as she comes out of the office again, fastening large hoops to her ears. "Holy fuck, Charlie. I'm going to call the guys and tell them they need to eat here tonight."

"God, don't do that," I groan, ''The tension is already unbearable."

"Oh, I'm going to do it. It'll be the one thing that brings me joy while I'm busting my ass behind the bar." She snickers. "Plus, we're going to have live music tonight. Have you ever danced with them?"

"I've danced with all of them, actually." I smirk.

"Together?"

I sigh. "No, not together. That sounds like torture."

"Someday, someone will waltz in here, and I'll get to experience a third of what you have."

"All of what I have," I correct her.

"I don't think so. Your relationship with the guys has really opened my eyes. They each satisfy something different, don't they?"

I think about it for a second. Jack with his rough, all-consuming heat. Lach, with his humor and protectiveness. Cam and his sweet nothings. I nod. "They do."

"See. It's been hard enough to find one man that's willing to stick around. Not that I make it easy. I'm not going to change to make someone more comfortable."

"Nor should you. Someone is out there waiting, Isla. Someone that will meet you where you're at and love you for who you are."

She shrugs. "Maybe, maybe not. I'm okay with being spinster Auntie Isla, too."

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