I haven’t been to Creeds in years, and even when I lived with them, I rarely visited their family bar. We would all sometimes go during the day to help clean or restock, but I’ve never been there at night.
Tilly and Lance weren’t strict about much, but they were about that. No minors at the bar—especially their own kids.
The driver lets me off in front. I grab my bags and thank him. The salty smell of the ocean hits me immediately, and it’s like a balm to my soul. If I could bottle up all the good memories from my life, most of them would be on the beach—with her.
I take a minute to look up at the old bar. It’s had some updates. Fresh paint and a new sign, but otherwise, it looks just as I remember it. I head for the entrance. The door creaks as I walk through, but the music playing inside dampens it.
With the heavy bags slung over my shoulder, I look completely out of place, but no one seems to notice because everyone is focused on the band up front.
Everyone except me.
My eyes are pinned on the woman behind the bar—my wife.
Jesus, the thought alone sends a jolt through me, and suddenly I’m pushing through the crowd to get to her.
That’s when I notice how frazzled she appears. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a messy bun. Sweat dots her forehead,and she’s faking a smile while talking to someone and filling a glass from the tap at the same time.
I look to the other side of the bar, where there is a petite blonde pouring a line of shots while several people try to get her attention.
Pres once told me she requires a minimum of three bartenders when a band is playing, but I only see two. Firing Jace has left her short-staffed.
I don’t even think. I just move. Heading toward the back, I drop my bags behind the bar and pass the very confused-looking blonde. “Hey,” I greet her.
“Hi?” she stares, a little longer than necessary.
I make my way toward Pres, who’s trying to grab a bottle from the top shelf. Her eyes widen when our fingers touch, and I easily lift the bottle and hand it over to her. “Hi! You’re here! I didn’t realize what time it was. Sorry, it’s been?—”
“Busy?”
“Yeah.” She nods, turning back toward the bar with her bottle of rum. “If you give me a sec, I can grab your key so you can get out of here.”
“Just give me the office key.”
She stiffens. “Office key? Why?”
“I just need to drop off my bags.”
“But I thought you were headed to the apartment?” she asks, mixing a mojito with the kind of ease that comes from years of practice. It’s impressive and kind of hot.
“And leave you to have all the fun? Nah. Besides, the band is great.”
She slides the drink over to the woman, who hands her a card and asks to start a tab. “You don’t have to, Hollis. It’s okay, really. I’m sure you’re tired and?—”
“Pres. Let me help,” I tell her. “We’re a team now.”
Her gaze meets mine, and I wait until she finally relents. “Okay. But I’ll go drop off your bags. I don’t like people in my office. How about you take the next order? Brush up on those bartending skills of yours.”
“You got it, boss.”
“I’m not your boss!” she yells over her shoulder.
“No? Then what should I call you when we’re at work?” I ask innocently, not knowing where this flirty banter is coming from. Five minutes ago, I felt like I was about to drop from exhaustion, and then one look at her…
“Call me Presley. That is my name.”
“Nah. I think I’ll call you wife.”
“You’re ridiculous.” She rolls her eyes, taking the towel from her shoulders and placing it on mine.
