The kitchen door creaks open. Jayson’s head appears, cautious, like he’s checking for live ammunition. “Coast clear? He gone?”
“Yeah.”
He comes out fully, trying and failing to hide his grin. “You good?”
“I have no idea.” But I’m smiling as I say it, which probably tells him everything. I can’t seem to stop smiling, even though this is a disaster waiting to happen.
“Fair enough.” He starts opening duties without being asked, but keeps shooting me these knowing looks, clearly dying to ask for details but restraining himself for now. Every time he passes by, he’s fighting back a bigger grin, occasionally humming what sounds suspiciously like a wedding march under his breath.
I catch my reflection in the mirror behind the bar and almost don’t recognize myself. My hair is a disaster. My lips are swollen. My cheeks are flushed. I look like someone who just made a potentially life-altering decision against her bar at three in the afternoon. I look thoroughly kissed. I lookalive.
The thing is, I knew this was building. Every morning coffee we shared, every time he fixed something without being asked, every look that lasted a beat too long. The way he watches mework. The way I listen for his footsteps. We’ve been heading toward this collision since he arrived. But knowing it was coming doesn’t make the impact any less devastating.
He’s still leaving. I’m still losing my home because of his family. Nothing about our actual situation has changed except now I know how he kisses—desperate and consuming and like I’m essential. Now I have to carry that knowledge around while serving drinks and pretending everything’s normal.
I grab a hair tie and pull my hair back tight. I need to focus on work, on the bar, on anything except the memory of Calvin’s mouth on mine.
But as I check the bottles and make sure everything’s stocked, I keep replaying his words.For what it’s worth, I’m not sorry.
Neither am I. That’s the problem. Despite all the complications, all the reasons this shouldn’t happen, I’m not sorry. I want him to kiss me again. I want it with an intensity that terrifies me.
Hours pass in a blur of familiar routine. The happy hour rush comes and goes. Marcus sits in the corner with his manhattan and his sketches, architectural drawings spreading across his section of the bar. A few families cycle through the dining room. The usual suspects claim their regular stools. The sun drops lower, painting everything golden through the front windows.
Lark works beside me, both of us in the comfortable rhythm we’ve developed over years. Jayson keeps sending plates out from the kitchen, the orders steady but manageable for a weeknight.
“Order up,” Jayson calls through the pass. “Table six.”
Lark grabs the plates and heads to deliver them. When she comes back, she corners me at the service well, voice low. “Okay, you’ve been weird all night.”
“I haven’t been weird.”
“You keep touching your mouth. You’re distracted. And Jayson keeps making faces at you through the kitchen window.” She glances toward Marcus who’s seated at the bar, making sure he’s still absorbed in his sketches, then leans closer. “What happened?”
“Nothing happened.” But my face is already betraying me.
“Something definitely happened. Your whole energy is different.” She studies me like she’s solving a puzzle. “Wait. Did Calvin come by?”
And there it is. The flush I can’t control, and I busy myself straightening bottles that don’t need straightening.
“Oh my God, he did.” Her voice drops to an excited whisper, but her whole body is practically vibrating. “Something happened with Calvin. What happened? Why didn’t you tell me? How long have you been holding this in?”
Before I can answer, Jayson appears in the pass, leaning on his elbows with the biggest shit-eating grin I’ve ever seen. He checks to make sure Marcus isn’t listening, then stage-whispers, “Should I tell her or do you want to? Because this is killing me. I’ve been dying all afternoon.”
“Tell me what?” Lark looks between us, gripping the edge of the bar, keeping her voice down but barely containing herself. “What did I miss? Someone better start talking right now or I swear?—”
“Nothing,” I say at the same time Jayson says, “They kissed.”
Lark’s eyes go huge. She grabs my arm. “WHAT?” she whisper-shouts.
“Keep it down,” I hiss, glancing toward Marcus who’s still focused on his sketches.
“You kissed Calvin Midnight and didn’t immediately text me?” She’s practically vibrating but keeping her voice low. “When? Where? How?”
“Earlier. Here.” My face is burning now, probably bright red. “And it just... happened. We were arguing and then suddenly we weren’t.”
“Here? Like right here in the bar? Today? This actual day that we’re currently in?” She spins to Jayson, still gripping my arm. “You saw it? With your own eyes?” She pauses. “Any chance you got video?”
“Walked in on them completely going at it,” he confirms, clearly living for this moment. “Against the bar. Hands in hair. Full body contact. No video, sadly.”
