Daphne whistles. “Damn. You look like you just got laidandwon custody.”
I snort. “What does that even mean?”
She tosses me a side apron. “It means you’re glowing and probably unstable.”
We’re still laughing when the kitchen door swings open—and Hunter walks in.
Tall. Tan. Tension in a Henley.
I freeze, mid-laugh. He does too. Just for a second.
His eyes flick down my body so fast I almost don’t catch it. But I do. And so does Daphne.
She slowly turns her head between us. “Mmmkay. What am I missing here?”
“Nothing,” I say brightly, tying on my apron.
Hunter clears his throat. “Nice boots.”
“Thanks,” I reply sweetly. “Nice…shirt. Very gray.”
Daphne narrows her eyes. “This is getting weird.”
“Is it?” I ask innocently, brushing past him just a little too close. “Maybe it’s justtensebecause someone’s got a secret identity.”
Hunter coughs. Daphne blinks. “What?”
“Nothing,” I chirp. “Just—Thor’s daydreaming again.”
Hunter glares at me, and I smile like butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth.
Daphne stares between us again and mutters, “Okay I’m gonna need a cigarette and a thesaurus to follow whatever is happening here.”
The rest of the pre-shift blur passes in a daze of silverware, drink trays, and fake smiles. I somehow manage to take drink orders without calling someone “Thor” or spilling a margarita in a patron's lap, which honestly feels like a win.
Around nine, the lull hits. I’m leaning against the bar, refilling my notepad, when I hear that voice.
Low. Smooth. A little cocky.
“How are the tips tonight?”
I don’t even have to turn around to know it’s him.
I roll my eyes skyward and plaster on a smile before turning to face him. Hunter leans one forearm on the bar, casual as hell, like he isn’t the man who had me tied up and trembling in a semi-truck last night.
“Not bad,” I say, flipping my notepad closed. “Lots of generous strangers out tonight.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Strangers, huh?”
I lean in just slightly. “You’d be surprised how generous they get when you don’t lie to their face.”
His jaw flexes. “Wasn’t lying. About the big stuff.”
“Oh right,” I nod, voice sweet as syrup. “Just…omitting the fact that you’re not a mysterious trucker named Thor, you’re actually Hunter Holloway, town heartthrob and my literal boss.”
“What my name is doesn’t mean I don’t feel the same way about you. Besides, I never said I wasn’t a man of mystery.”
“Or a man of delusion.”
