The hooks just inside the door held half a dozen black aprons, fresh and crisp from the laundry.She snagged one, and a small pad of paper from the shelf next to it.Everything was electronic, but if she had to cover any of the tables or the bar got busy, she liked to be able to write things down.Seeing that Mo—who handled all the supply ordering—had restocked her favorite pens, she took three, tucked them next to the pad of paper, and headed out to the bar.
The pub was dimly lit, as pubs tended to be, with music playing low.The room was empty, as they didn’t open for the evening for an hour yet, and she scanned the room as she walked to the bar.
The tables were clean, the waitress station tidy.Someone had already done all the setups, and that meant Katie had probably had the lunch shift.Aways looking for something to do was Katie, and if she hadn’t been busy with customers she’d likely have done half the bar prep for the evening shift.
She stepped behind the bar and checked.Sure enough, the containers for limes and lemons and oranges were filled with fresh slices, the peels for garnish and twists tidily placed, and the containers of fresh juice filled.
“Correction,” she murmured.“All of the bar prep.”
Reminding herself to thank Katie—and tip her well—Chloe turned to her ice bin.She made sure it was full, then checked the cooler she kept filled with pint glasses.That was running low, so she moved the already chilled glasses to the front and refilled from the back.She checked the beer kegs, made a note of which ones were at half or lower, then went to the kitchen for more glasses.
By the time her aunt came out of her office at four-thirty, the bar was fully stocked and ready for the evening’s business.
“Hey, Aunt Mo.”
“Chloe.”Maureen Dobbs, a trim and fit fifty-five with bright auburn hair, a freckled nose, and what her wife of twenty years called doe eyes, came behind the bar to give her niece a fierce hug.“Happy birthday.”
“You already told me that on Wednesday,” Chloe reminded her, returning the hug.
“What, I can’t say it twice?”With a last squeeze, Mo stepped back.“What the hell did you do to your hair?”
“Bailey cut it,” Chloe said and barely resisted the urge to reach up and fuss with it.It still felt weird.“Do you like it?”
Mo reached up to tousle it, much as she had when Chloe was a child.“Very chic.You girls have a good time?”
“A great time,” Chloe said cheerfully.“Thanks for the night off.”
“You should thank me.”Mo moved past Chloe to reach into a cooler for a cold Coke.“Giving up my best bartender on New Year’s Eve.”
“It’s the only holiday I ask for all year.”
“Which is why I give it to you.”Mo popped the top on her Coke and drank.“And we managed to survive without you.”
“Speak for yourself,” came a voice from the kitchen doorway, and Chloe looked over to see Carrie coming out with a plate piled high with pasta.“I nearly died.”
Mo rolled her eyes.“You did not.”
“Well, it felt like it.”In her black-and-white checkered pants and white chef’s coat, Carrie walked around the bar, set down her plate, and hopped on a stool.“You can never have New Year’s Eve off again.”
“You say that every year,” Chloe pointed out with a smile.
“And I mean it every year.”Carrie aimed narrowed blue eyes at Chloe.“And every year, you ask Mo for the night off instead of me, because she’s a soft touch.”
“She’s in charge of front of house, you’re in charge of back,” Chloe reminded her.“Do you like my haircut, Aunt Carrie?”
Carrie’s mop of dishwater-blonde hair, tied up in a blue bandanna, bobbed when she snorted.“Don’t try to distract me.”
“Would I do that?”
“Humph.”Carrie forked up pasta, jabbed it at Mo hard enough to slop red sauce on the bar.“And you.Don’t think you can get around me with those doe eyes.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mo said, widening her eyes dramatically.
Carrie shoveled in pasta.Round where her wife was lean, her soft white skin flushed pink with indignation and the heat from the kitchen, she worked like a teamster and had a heart the size of Canada.
“Did you have a good birthday at least?”she asked once she’d swallowed.
“Great,” Chloe said and dampened a bar cloth to wipe up the sauce.“Bailey wrangled us a suite at The Mark.”
