“Hi, Josh.” I sat on a stool.
“Well, well, well.” He crossed his burly arms. “They always come back.”
A laugh sputtered out of me, even and awkward. “Yeah, you’re right about that.”
Josh, still squinting his eyes, sighed and reached for a shot glass behind the bar. “You moving back for good?”
“I am.”
He poured two shots of whiskey before he slid one to me.
“Good.” He lifted his glass and tapped it against mine. “Cheers.”
I tipped the glass back, taking down the liquid with one swallow. Immediately, I dissolved into a coughing fit and stared at his still full shot glass. “That’s foul.”
“Yep.” A signature Josh grin slid on his face, one that revealed the dimple he used to hate. “The cheapest whiskey we have. Only broke college students order it.”
I nodded, despite the burning in my throat. He slid the other glass in my direction. I sighed before shooting it back. This timeI didn’t succumb to a coughing fit, but it was close. That whiskey tasted like gasoline. “Fair enough.”
Josh offered me a glass of water, which I drank from eagerly. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, giving me that familiar crooked grin.
“So,” he said casually, “what finally got you to move back?”
“Mom’s reopening the diner.”
“No shit!” His eyebrows shot up. “Mason’s Diner?”
I curled a hand around the glass, the condensation soaking into my palm. “The one and only.”
He let out a low whistle, shaking his head with a grin. “That brings back memories. Doing homework in the kitchen, trying to sneak champagne off the top shelf when your parents weren’t looking.”
“You mean you copying my homework and me sneaking us an entire bottle of sparkling cider because we were too chicken to go for the real stuff?”
“I may have cheated off you in school, which, by the way, got us bothCs, but I do understand adult problems pretty well.” His eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong with you?”
I leaned back in my chair. “Wow. You were born to be a bartender. Got the therapist act down and everything.”
Just then, the front door creaked open. Josh glanced up as a couple walked in and made their way to a corner booth. One of the new bartenders came hustling out from the back with menus in hand and took their orders.
Josh’s gaze lingered on the kid, who was already fumbling with the shaker. “Hang on,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Two seconds.”
He gently corrected the bartender, guiding him through the motions of making a martini like he was teaching someone to ride a bike. It was kind, patient—very Josh.
He returned a minute later and picked up right where we’d left off.
“Aimee doing okay, handling the opening without your dad?”
“Mom’s good,” I said, watching the ice clink against the side of my glass. “That’s not the problem.”
“What’s the problem, then?”
“I ran into Kira this morning.”
Josh froze mid-wipe of the counter, his cloth pausing on a water ring. “Ah…” He winced. “I take it that didn’t go well?”
“Not in the slightest.”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “I’ve seen her a few times recently, mostly with Macey and her other friends. She’s as kind as ever. I almost can’t picture her going off on you.”
