“That would leave just one spot.” I hold her gaze, letting the moment stretch. “For Ben. If you can pin him down.”
“At this point, I’ll take anyone with a pulse and a willingness to show up. Including twenty-two-year-olds.” There’s determination in her voice now. “And I’ll pin Ben down. Even if I have to corner him in his own garage.”
“That’s the spirit.” I grin. “So—do we have a deal? I’ll wrangle my four if you wrangle your one.”
The tension in her shoulders eases, and she looks at me like I just handed her a gift. “Milo, that would be—yes. Thank you. Seriously.”
“For the community center roof? Sure.” I let that land, then add: “And for you.”
There it is. The flush that starts at her neck and creeps up to her cheeks. Her scent shifts again—sweeter, that undertonegetting stronger—and I have to grip the edge of the bar to keep myself from leaning in and breathing her in properly.
She holds my gaze for a beat too long. I watch her realize this isn’t casual—that I’m not just being friendly. Her pupils dilate slightly, her lips part, and for one perfect second I think she might actually acknowledge what’s been building between us.
Then her phone buzzes. And buzzes again.
“I have to take this.” She’s already gathering her things, all business again. “The venue coordinator is having another crisis.”
“Of course she is.”
Tessa stands, laptop tucked under her arm, and hesitates. “The fries. Let me pay?—”
“On the house.”
“Milo.”
“Consider it a thank-you for letting me be part of your bachelor lineup.” I give her my best smile, the one that usually gets me out of trouble. “I promise to bring in good money for that roof. You should come bid on me. See what you win.”
Her scent spikes—unmistakable arousal, there and gone—and I have to lock my knees to keep from following her. My whole body wants to crowd her against that door and find out what other sounds I can pull out of her.
“You’re impossible.”
“I prefer ‘irresistible.’“
“You would.” But she’s smiling as she heads for the door, pulling her coat tight against the cold waiting outside, and that’s enough. For now.
I watch through the window as she climbs into Ben’s truck, breath fogging in the frozen air, and drives away. Then I pull out my phone and text Lucas and Sam. By the time she gets home, she’ll have two more confirmations in her inbox.
I meant what I said. Anything for her.
The after-work crowd trickles in around five, stamping snow off their boots and heading straight for the fireplace to thaw out. By seven the bar’s comfortably full, the windows fogged with warmth against the dark January night. I pour drinks, make small talk, and keep one eye on the door.
Around eight, Ben Wilson walks in looking like a man who’s had a week crammed into one day. Cold air rushes in behind him before the door swings shut. He’s still in his work clothes—jeans and a flannel, grease under his fingernails—and there’s a tension in his shoulders that says he needs alcohol more than conversation.
Right behind him is Julian Park, which is unexpected. Julian’s more of a wine-at-home type, but he’s got a leather folder under his arm, which means he’s doing someone’s books. His dark hair is neatly styled as always, wire-frame glasses tucked in his shirt pocket, and he moves with that quiet precision that makes you forget he’s there until he says something devastatingly accurate.
“Gentlemen.” I grab two glasses. “Rough day?”
“Rough week.” Ben drops onto a stool—the same one Tessa was sitting in a few hours ago—and immediately his posture goes weird. He shifts, sniffs, shifts again. “What the hell?”
“Problem?”
“This seat smells like—” He stops. Sniffs again. His expression does something complicated. “Never mind.”
I keep my face neutral and pour his whiskey. “Julian? The usual?”
“Beer, thanks.” Julian settles onto the next stool, already pulling out paperwork. “And whatever receipts you’ve been hoarding. I want to get home before Lila sends Callum to collect me.”
“The receipts are in the back. Give me ten minutes.” I slide their drinks across the bar. “How’s Lila?”
