“Shot of Beginner’s Luck and a Bankroll Bramble.” She tilts her head, studying me. “You okay?”
“Peachy. Just tired.”
It’s not a lie. I’m exhausted. I’ve been exhausted for weeks, ever since I realized that the man I thought I loved was actually a monster wearing a nice-guy mask. Ever since I started checking over my shoulder every time I leave my apartment. Ever since sleep became something that happened in two-hour bursts between nightmares.
But I don’t say any of that. I pour gin, add elderflower liqueur, and shake it like I mean it.
“I wanted to tell you,” Nell says while I work, “Ashlynn loved the flowers.”
Satisfaction hums through me at the compliment. Ashlynn is Nell’s sister. I did the arrangement for her baby shower two days ago.
“Yeah?”
“Are you kidding? She cried. Like, ugly cried. Said it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.”
I slide her drinks across the bar, and I can’t help the real smile that tugs at my lips. This is the part of my life that still makes sense. Flowers. Colors. The way you can take something living and arrange it into beauty that makes peoplefeelthings.
“I’ll miss you when you open that shop,” Nell smiles. “But I know it’s going to be amazing.”
The warmth in my chest flickers. Dies.
“Still a ways off,” I keep my voice light. “Six more months, at least. I need more savings before I can do it right.”
What I don’t say is that I could probably open it sooner if I drained my entire account. What I don’t say is that I’m terrified to take that leap because what if I fail? What if I reach for it and fall flat on my face?
Viktor used to tell me I was bad at making decisions. I hate that sometimes I’m still wondering if he was right.
Nell takes her drinks and disappears into the crowd, and I throw myself into work. Mixing cocktails. Smiling at customers. Flirting just enough to guarantee good tips while keeping the bar between me and anyone who might want more than small talk.
I’m good at this. I know how to read people. Lean in when they want to chat. Back off when they want to brood. Keep things light, keep things easy, keep things safe.
“Can I get you anything else?” I ask two guys at the middle of the bar.
One of them is glued to his phone. The other grins at me with too many teeth. “Yeah, I’d like your phone number.”
Here we go.
I fold my arms on the bar, matching his grin with one of my own. “That’s not on the menu, but I’m here five nights a week. Come back tomorrow and I’ll consider it.”
I won’t give him my number. I won’t give anyone my number. The last man who had it used it to send me forty-seven texts in one night after I told him we were done.
The customer doesn’t know that, though. He just sees a cute bartender playing hard to get, and that’s fine. Let him think whatever he wants.
His eyes drop to my cleavage, and my skin prickles with familiar unease, but I keep smiling. The bar is between us. The bouncers are watching. This is controlled. This is safe.
I’m fine.
I’mfine.
I turn away to grab a bottle of whiskey, and that’s when I see him.
The man from the street. The one I spilled my coffee on. He’s sitting at the far end of the bar, alone, watching me with eyes the color of winter ice.
My stomach drops.
No. No way. There’s no way he followed me here. That would be insane. That would bestalkerbehavior, and I’ve already got one of those, thank you very much.
But he’s here. He’s definitely, unmistakably here, all six-foot-something of him, broad as a brick wall and about as approachable. Under different circumstances—circumstances where he wasn’t armed and staring at me like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to solve—I might actually find him attractive. Which is a horrifying thought to have right now.
