Claire leaned her arms on the bar, already trying to catch the eye of a bartender, but it was Sara—of course—who handled it her way.
“Excuse me!” she shouted over the noise, raising a hand like she owned the damn place. “Can we get some help down here?”
A head turned. And just like that, the bartender was in front of them—fast. “How can I help you ladies?” he asked, voice easy, grin sharper.
“Well,” Sara started, leaning forward on the bar with a smirk, “we can start with four mojitos until we figure out how else you can help us.”
Claire groaned. “Wow, Sara. Subtlety? Ever heard of it?”
The bartender laughed under his breath. “Coming right up.”
Claire used the moment to look around. The place had a coastal charm without screaming “tourist trap.” Weathered wood floors, faded teal shutters on the wall, string lights overhead that gave it a kind of magic. She liked it. It felt... honest.
Just as she turned back, Macie and Taylor appeared behind them. Macie was already frowning. “What’s taking so long for our dri—”
She stopped dead when she spotted Sara practically flirting over the bar.
“Can you leave the man alone long enough to let him work?” Macie asked, exasperated.
Sara rolled her eyes, flipping her hair as the bartender set down their drinks. “See? He can multitask.” She winked.
Claire laughed, despite herself. She wrapped her hand around the cold glass and lifted it for a sip—when the bell above the front door chimed.
And everything in her stopped.
Macie noticed the change in her first. “What is it?” she asked.
Claire didn’t answer. She just stared.
A tall man had stepped into the bar. Ball cap pulled low, black t-shirt stretched across a tan, lean frame, casual confidence in every step. Sun-kissed. Easy. Dangerous in a way that didn’t try to be.
“Damn,” Macie whispered. “Who is that?”
Then the bartender grinned and shouted across the room, “Holy shit, Jax finally made it back from Atlanta!”
Claire’s heart dropped into her stomach.
“That’s him,” she breathed. “That’s Jaxon. The guy from the plane.”
Macie’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s him? Are you sure?”
Claire didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Because Jaxon had just looked up.
And he was looking straight at her.
Twenty feet away. A room full of people. And somehow, it still felt like the only thing between them was the air she couldn’t seem to pull into her lungs.
She wasn’t ready for this. Not now. Not here.
The bartender leaned toward them, catching the tail end of their conversation. “You saw him on a plane?” he asked, grinning. “Then you saw the uptight version of him. Sweetheart, you haven’t seen anything yet.”
Claire blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
But she barely heard the answer. Jaxon was moving through the crowd now. Calm. Collected. People calling his name. Reaching for him. The kind of man who didn’t walk into a room—he took it.
He came to a stop right beside Macie, resting a hand on the bar. Didn’t look at Claire. Didn’t say a word.
And that was worse than if he had.
