Mrs. Clara didn’t react as she faced the woman. In fact, it seemed she grew taller. “I’ve never been so proud of him.”
Chandra gaped. “Proud? How can you say that? He?—”
“He owned his mistakes and took responsibility. Can you say the same?”
“Me?” Chandra balked. “I didn’t?—”
“And you’re sure he did?”
Nosy, mean-spirited woman faltered. “I … It was all over the news.”
“And that’s so reliable, isn’t it?” With a radiant smile, Mrs. Clara took the tea from Brighton. “Thank you, dear.” She walked away, head high, back straight. Not too different from how Brighton had been taught to hold herself for modeling.
Can I be her when I grow up?
Biting back a smile, Brighton busied herself with the next customer, glad the aroma of espresso drew them from their suites and activities. A dozen more drinks served up before Stone stalked into the lodge. His gaze slid to the cluster of people, and he nearly tripped when he saw her working the coffee bar. That storm moved into his blues again as he angled in her direction. “What’re you?—”
“Boss!” Oscar called, diverting Stone and his attention.
Stone hesitated, glanced again at Brighton, then helped his employee.
“Is he always like that?” Chandra asked as Brighton poured hot tea for an elderly woman.
“Brusque?” Brighton supplied. “Yes, but it’s just his business sense kicking in.”
“What do you think of him?—as a person?”
“He’s the best man I’ve ever met.” Yeah, probably shouldn’t have said it so fast. But it wasn’t a lie.
The woman’s eyebrow arched. “But you’re just a barista. How can you know that?”
“It doesn’t take a genius to know a good man when you meet one, especially when you’ve known terrible ones.” Wiping down the counter, Brighton heard laughter and glanced at the front desk. Saw a woman checking in, who held Stone’s arm. Her fake, tittering laugh sang like metal on metal as she hung on to him. Leaned into him. Flirted.
Hussy.
Why hadn’t he shoved her away as he’d done to Brighton?
She busied herself with tidying the bar, annoyed he’d let that woman hang all over him, but had shoved her away.
Because she didn’t destroy him.
“Excuse me.”
Brighton twitched, then realizing the flirty woman now stood at the counter. Swallowing her disgust, she managed a smile. At least, she hoped she had. “What would you like?”
The woman angled back toward the check-in counter, where Stone had planted his hands, his gaze sliding into Brighton’s. “A scoop of tall, dark, and handsome,” she giggled, “but I suppose he’s not on the menu.”
Irritation, hot and rank, flushed Brighton’s good humor. “Afraid not.”
The woman laughed again. “Sorry. I can’t resist a man with a beard. And oof?—those blue eyes.” She sighed dramatically and scrunched her nose. “He’s so suave, you know? Dreamy like that actor, George Cannon?—or whatever his name is.”
Brighton gave her a blank expression. Tried not to roll her eyes.
“Skinny vanilla latte, please?—biggest you have.”
She nearly snorted?—sugar free and nonfat milk, yet she wanted the biggest. Hypocrite. Brighton scanned the syrup bottles to verify they even had a sugar-free bottle. Was there a poison bottle she could mix up? “Your name?”
“Rumor.”
