Page 86 of Charlie

"You don't look like a spinster to me," I laugh.

"Fine. Hot spinster." She shimmies her shoulders and we both dissolve into a fit of giggles. We hear the chef banging around in the kitchen and Isla shifts into work mode. "You take the tables, I'll take the bar. We clean at night, but I always give everything a quick wipe-down the next day. When you're done, I'll go over the menus with you."

I get to work pulling the chairs off the tables, spraying everything down with disinfectant, and wiping it clean. Isla is slicing up lemons and limes when I boost myself onto one of the barstools. She motions to a pile of menus with her chin.

"There should be a food menu and a bar menu in there. Why don't you look over them quickly and make sure you don't have any questions? Greer will write any specials up on the board behind me."

"Greer's the chef?"

Isla nods, scooping up the fruit and dumping it into tubs.

I scan the menus. Everything seems pretty straightforward.

"Now we need to make you a signature drink." She laughs at the face I make. "Everyone here has one. What's your favorite drink?"

I don't drink all that much, but I think back over the years, and it comes to me. "Gin and tonic with a ton of limes."

Isla turns to the board, a chalk marker in hand, and writes out THE CHARLIE – HARRIS GIN, TONIC, LIME. "There, now it's official." She grins. She pulls her phone out of her back pocket and glances at the time. "Twenty minutes. Are you ready?"

"You're freaking me out a little. You said it won't be busy, but you're acting like a stampede is about it run through that door."

"We're never so busy that we run out of tables. Does that make you feel better?"

I glance around, counting about twenty-five tables. "I guess? Actually, no, not really. Fuck."

Isla plunks two shot glasses onto the bar and fills them with an amber liquid. "Time for a little liquid courage, Charlie." She hands one to me and holds hers in the air. "To you, for saving my ass."

"I'll drink to that," I laugh, tapping the bottom of the glass on the bar before throwing it back. Fire roars down my throat and settles in my stomach. "Fuck, Isla," I cough, wiping my eyes.

An amazon of a woman crashes through the door to the kitchen, grabs the chalk pen, and writes SCALLOPS AND LANGOUSTINE WITH SUMMER VEGETABLES - 18

My jaw drops. "Eighteen pounds? That would be fifty easy back home."

The woman turns toward me, her thick braid swinging over her shoulder. "That's one of the perks of living here. I just pulled them out of the water this morning." She sticks out her hand for me to shake. "Greer. You must be Charlie."

"Nice to meet you, Greer."

"I'd love to stick around and chat, but it's time to warm up the ovens. Good luck tonight."

"Why do I need luck?" I ask Isla, still feeling like there's something she's not telling me.

"When we have live music it tends to get a bit rowdy. It's nothing to worry about, though. You'll have a blast. You'll see."

She was right. We have a rush of old folks coming in for the early bird discount. It takes me about thirty minutes to feel comfortable answering questions and taking orders, but it comes naturally enough once I get the hang of it.

"Come get a drink," Isla calls during a lull, motioning for me to sit at the bar. "We'll have a small break before the younger crowd comes in. Do you want anything to eat?"

"Yes! Those burgers looked amazing. I'm famished."

"Greer! Two burgers, please!" she yells, angling her head toward the kitchen door. The color is high in her cheeks, her eyes sparkling. I can tell how much she loves it here and it makes me happy knowing she's happy. It's not a feeling I'm used to. The door to the pub bangs open as the band jostles through, making an incredible racket. "Guys, this is Charlie. She's helping out tonight."

All four look up at me with interest; the one closest sets his instrument down and walks over to me. The cocky grin on his face takes me aback, an immediate flush heating my skin.

"She's taken, you doofus." Isla laughs.

"And?" He takes my hand and opens his mouth to introduce himself.

"By my brother," Isla presses, raising an eyebrow at him as she plunks my drink onto the bar in front of me.

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