Cara rested her chin on her hand. “We were asking Ruby about having Copper Summit do the wet bar, but she’s not in the know. She’s just dating the boss.” She winked at me. “You don’t need the deets when you have him.”
I funneled more energy into holding my smile. This conversation exhausted me.
Tenor nodded, but his expression said they could eat shit; he wouldn’t care. “We’re able to provide wet bar service. If you’re interested in having Copper Summit help with your special day, either I or my brother Teller are the ones to talk to. But if you don’t mind, I’m gonna help my girl get ready to close now.”
“Oh yes.” Cara slid off her stool, giving Tenor another once-over, then shooting me alook at you!grin. She squeezed Brock’sbiceps. “We should get going, babe. Let these two lovebirds close up.”
“I’d rather have you to myself anyway.” Brock drew his fiancée in for a kiss with flashes of tongue.
Ew. I used to be on the receiving end of that inept tongue. I shuddered.
Tenor put his mouth close to my ear. “Ignore them.”
I nodded, and as he pulled away, cool air surrounded me. The man was a furnace, and I’d been toasty warm.
I grabbed a rag and followed him to a table. He cleared the empty glasses and I wiped. The tingle of curious gazes was on us, but I continued working. I stayed close to Tenor. If Brock and Cara ever quit sucking face, they should see us together.
We moved to another empty table. Finally, Cara pulled away and wiped her lips. I should get her a set of handkerchiefs for her wedding gift.
Brock swiveled his head around and disappointment filled his face when his gaze landed on me and Tenor doing our thing and not paying attention to them.
I swiped around the table until my back was to them. “You were right,” I said quietly. “Ignoring them was best.”
“She’s insecure and he feeds off it,” he murmured. “She might even be jealous of you.”
With her looks, her job, and my ex, Cara wasnotjealous of me. She had a superiority complex.
Another couple got up at the table next to us. The guy smacked Tenor good-naturedly on the back, and they started chatting. I smiled at the woman. She ran the coffee shop. I usually stopped there when I came to town before my shift.
She glanced curiously between me and Tenor. Oh damn. People had noticed. How were we going to play this? How were we going to pretend to be a couple for a wedding in a small town that adored Bailey business? A lot of the guests would probablybe from Bozeman and old classmates of mine—not that they’d remember me—but the happy couple was still moving to town. Would one wedding date be enough to sell the idea that Tenor and I were a thing? Could I count on Cara to be so self-absorbed that she didn’t notice?
Yes, probably. Brock might be so into his new wife he wouldn’t track the lack of me and Tenor after his wedding.
What incentive did Tenor have to keep the ruse going? He was a nice guy, but my crazy announcement had to be stretching the limits of his generosity.
I needed to freshen my cleaning rag. Tenor juggled several empty glasses. I took two from another cleared table. Relief was a breath of fresh air when Cara and Brock wound through the room for the door.
I smiled brightly. “Nice to see you again.” Might as well finish the night with another lie.
Acid churned in my stomach as I rinsed my rag and washed the glasses. Tenor deposited more glassware, grabbed the cloth, and went back to clear up more tables.
Everyone was gone. It was nearing closing time, and there were a few other bars in town that people went to for darts league, bingo, or bands. Copper Summit knew what it was—a tasting room by day and a cocktail bar by night—and didn’t try to compete with them. I appreciated the casual, quiet atmosphere. So many people from all around the world stopped in, and chatting with them had become one of my favorite things.
Tenor steadily cleaned the front while I stayed behind the bar. I got the dishes done, restocked, and cashed out the till. Using the tablet, I uploaded the numbers for the night and sent the reports to Tenor, surreptitiously peering at him from under my lashes.
He was crouched nearly to the floor, peering under a wobbly table. It’d be fixed by Monday. That’s just how Tenor was.When he saw something needed to be done, he did it. He didn’t expect fanfare or a pat on the back. He was humble. A trait that shouldn’t be rare, but in my experience with guys, it was.
He rose, uncurling that powerful body. My stomach dipped and twirled.
When he turned, his longish hair fell over his forehead. He shoved it back and pushed up his glasses. The tingles spreading across my skin rerouted, shivering down my spine and curling through my belly.
He was like Clark Kent. If he slicked back his hair and lost the glasses, he’d be kryptonite to oodles of women. As it was, the shaggy, nerdy look did enough damage to interested parties. Me being one of them.
Tenor was safe to admire from afar. He wasn’t abrasive, he listened, and he kept his distance. I didn’t have to worry that a giggle would give him the wrong impression about me. He didn’t field flirtation; I’d seen many a tourist try. Therefore, I knew there wasn’t a chance and could fantasize away.
His attention was on me, and he wasn’t slouching. He could be across the bar in three strides. He could pick me up and set me on the edge of the counter and?—
Heat bloomed across my cheeks. That’d never happen.
