“Perfection. Honestly, I’m blown away.”
“You like all three? No changes?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Nope. Not that I’d know how or what to suggest if I did want something different. But I love them all. Thank you!”
She bows at my words. “Then my job here is done. I’ll leave you two to discuss and come back to clean up later. I need to do inventory in the storage room.”
“Thanks, Mak,” Lucas and I say at the same time.
She waves and heads toward the back of the club.
“Are you sure you’re happy? I wouldn’t want you to settle just to be nice,” Lucas says.
“The drinks are perfect.She’sperfect. You’re right. Midnight is lucky to have her.”
He returns to my side of the bar. “When we opened the bar, I went on a search for an ultra-talented bartender. She was between gigs and happy to move to Miami.”
“Well—” Before I can finish the sentence, Lucas’s cell phone rings. He looks down and furrows his brow. “Excuse me. I need to take this.”
He takes a few steps away, and I watch him as he talks on the phone. His shoulders straighten, his muscles stiffen, and he runshis hand through his hair in frustration. He seems to listen more than talk, then disconnects the call.
I quickly glance at my phone and open an app so I look like I’ve been busy and not staring or trying to eavesdrop.
“I’m back,” he says.
I place my phone on the bar and lift my head to meet his gaze. Instead of the easygoing guy discussing drinks, a moodiness seems to have settled around him. His eyes appear hooded, his aura much darker than when we’d been playfully discussing drinks.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He eases back onto the stool beside me and silence takes over. Instead of talking, I wait for him to decide if he wants to confide in me.
“Remember what we were talking about before?” He drums his fingers on the bar.
I tip my head to one side. “Can you be more specific?”
“About hanging out in large crowds not being a great thing?” He stands up and walks back around the bar until he’s behind it.
Grabbing a glass, he pours himself what looks like bourbon, then takes a large sip, and suddenly, I’m hit by the apparent gravity of whatever he’s about to tell me.
“I remember. What about it?” I ask, wanting to encourage him to open up.
He braces his hands on the counter in front of him. “When I was young and before the Carrases adopted me, my parents were useless. Mom was a drug addict and Dad an enabler. I was just an annoyance to them both. Always in the way. She needed whatever money Dad earned for her next fix and Dad was… mentally absent. The cabinets were often empty because she forgot to buy food and he spent his time down at the local bar.”
I can’t imagine the childhood he’s describing. Coming from a large family of people who cared, who were always in eachother’s business, with parents who made sure we were safe, his description leaves me hollow inside, and that was just a bare-bones accounting of what he experienced.
I’m sure the little details were worse, but I hear the pain in his voice, and it resonates deep inside me. “I’m listening,” I say softly.
He draws a steadying breath. “I didn’t live in a great neighborhood and the kids I hung with weren’t good ones.”
When he dips his head, I know he’s ashamed of what he’s about to tell me, so I sit quietly and wait.
“It started with petty burglaries. I was only sixteen, so I’d drive while others went inside. Then, one night, I drove as they did ajob, they called it. A home invasion in an upscale neighborhood, and they’d gotten out with expensive items to sell. They’d also been caught by the homeowner’s father, an older man they’d cold-cocked so they could escape.”
I stifle a gasp. “You were with them?” I can’t fathom Lucas being part of something violent.
He shakes his head. “In the car, which as you probably know, still makes me an accomplice.” He doesn’t meet my gaze. “It turned my stomach, and I couldn’t live with what had happened. I figure it was Jacinda and Matthew’s influence,” he says, speaking with warmth along with regret in his voice. “So, I told Matthew.”
“Your foster father.”
