She’d spent more time than she’d admit thinking about its owner last night. Taryn looked up and there he was.
“Naw, it’s a pretty good one so far. How about you?”
“I’ve had better.” Ash gave her a tired smile.
That urge to learn what was bothering him—because something clearly was—was stronger than it should be.
“Two beers and a couple of house shots!” A waitress called out her order.
She’d never admit it, but Taryn was grateful for the interruption. “Sorry, gotta take care of this.”
She moved down the counter to pour the drinks and settle her thoughts. Why was she so interested in his day? He wasn’t even supposed to be here tonight. They weren’t supposed to meet again until tomorrow.
Setting the drinks on the tray, she filled a few more orders before there was a break in the crowd. Taryn pulled on her moderately interested bartender persona and approached him. “Whiskey?”
Ash shook his head. “Surprise me.”
He was dressed more casually today, jeans and a long-sleeved tee. Tattoos peeked out from beneath the collar.
Her fingers tingled with the desire to reach over the bar and trace the thin lines.Bad idea, Taryn. Bad, bad idea.
Instead, she gathered the ingredients for a Flashin’ Jack, a house special she could make on autopilot. Her focus was frayed and she needed every bit of it to talk to Ash.
She slid the bright yellow drink across the polished wood counter to him.
He looked at it, then at her. “Cheers.” He raised his glass to her, then brought it to his lips.
Ash didn’t take a tentative sip like she expected. No, he took a big swallow.
“Wow. That wasn’t what I was expecting.” He took another drink, savoring it slowly this time.
Taryn felt a rush of pride. Due to its garish color, no one expected the Flashin’ Jack to be a quality drink. Idiots. Her bar didn’t cheap out on the house special. Only quality booze went into that drink. “I know. Chip or tab?”
“Don’t suppose I have any credit left from last night?”
She laughed. “Not unless you still have that credit chip you tried to leave as a tip.”
Another drink order came in and she stepped away. When she returned a few minutes later, a credit chip sat on the bar in front of him. She wondered whose name the account would be under this time.
“You heard about that, huh?”
She swiped the chip. “J. Banderlee” popped up on the screen. Yeah, definitely not his chip. Not her place to worry about J. Banderlee and their credits, though.
“You want a tab?”
He shook his head, so she swiped the chip and returned it to him. Then, to make sure he knew she was dead serious, she braced her hands on the bartop and looked deep into his eyes. “I hear about everything in my bar.”
And it was true. Part constant presence, part intensely loyal staff, Taryn knew everything that happened here. This was her home, her business, her future.
“I didn’t mean whatever last night’s bartender seemed to think I meant.” Concern and confusion were reflected in his gaze.
She smiled. “Yeah, I explained that to her. I don’t think she’ll be quite so quick to turn down a tip that size next time.”
“Good to know.” He laughed, a deep earthy sound that sent shivers up her spine. Good shivers.
Dammit. Why was he affecting her this way?
“You never did tell me about that poor glass,” he said, the humor still in his voice. “Why were you abusing it?”
