He watches me make the drinks, adding an extra dash of grenadine to top it off just like he requested.
I don’t dare ask him anything. Not yet. Not here. I just slide the glasses in front of him and say quietly, “On the house.”
Luke nudges Colton's drink toward him and lifts his slowly, eyes holding mine. Tilts it toward me in silent cheers. Then, without another word, he turns back to his group across the room.
I’m left staring at the spot where he stood. I’m not sure how long I stand there, but Colton shoots me a knowing glance and a tiny smile before following Luke away.
I go back to pouring drinks, but nothing feels the same.
I keep busy for the next two hours, until my manager comes and relieves me for my break. Untying my apron, I stride down the hallway to our break room. While every single part of me wants to seek Luke out, I definitely rein in that instinct. A smile doesn’t mean anything. So why does it feel like everything?
I sit down on the ratty couch in the break room, the vinyl groaning under me like it resents the weight. My apron’s bunched in my lap, my hands clenched on top of it.
A smile doesn’t mean anything. I repeat it like a mantra. Like a lifeline.
But it’s a lie. Because it wasn’t just a smile. It washissmile. The one that used to be mine.
And I know I’m not supposed to read into it—hell, I’ve spentmonthslearning not to. I’ve clawed my way out of grief and guilt and all the wreckage I left behind, just to reach this point. A quiet, steady place. Manageable.
But now?
That smile felt like a possibility.
A door swinging open. Like maybe…maybe I haven’t lost everything after all. I exhale slowly and rest my head back against the wall. The hum of the walk-in fridge kicks on behind me, the floor vibrates faintly beneath my boots.
The door creaks open.
I don’t lift my head. Not right away. It’s probably Ethan from the kitchen, sneaking in to check his phone or bum a snack off the bartenders.
Then I hear it. A quiet laugh. Familiar. A littletipsy.
“I figured this is where you’d run off to,” Luke says, his voice low but unmistakablyLuke—smooth, teasing, full of something unspoken.
My head jerks up before I can stop it.
He’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, casual as if he didn’t just upend my entire universe by standing right there.
“You’re not supposed to be back here,” I manage. My voice is steady, but barely. I scrub a hand through my hair and sit up straighter. “Health code violations.”
He smirks and shrugs one shoulder. “Guess I’ve always been a bit of a rule-breaker.”
I huff out a dry laugh. “Since when?”
“Since a hot coach turned bartender broke my heart and disappeared before I could even punch him for it.”
That stings.
He steps inside, closer, and I notice the faint flush in his cheeks and the looseness in his posture. Loose-limbed and glowing like the world doesn’t weigh on him anymore.
“Luke,” I start, but he holds up a hand.
“No speeches,” he says, gently. “Don’t want ‘em.”
“I was just gonna say... I’m sorry.”
He smiles again—small, not smug or bitter. “I know,” he says simply. “And I’m okay. You don’t have to carry it anymore.”
The silence that follows is thick, but not uncomfortable.
