Her eyes narrow, studying my face like she’s trying to crack a code. “That looked like something.”
I set the bottle back on the bar. “Still nothing.”
The corner of her mouth lifts. She leans her elbows on the counter, clearly enjoying herself now. “You came back.”
I shrug one shoulder and rest my forearm on the bar. “Working.”
“Sure you are,” she says, smiling wider like she doesn’t believe that for a second.
I lean one forearm on the bar. “Voss’s men won’t be the last ones to try.”
Her expression shifts just slightly at that. It’s still light, but now she’s listening. “So Wayne’s right to worry?”
“Afraid so.”
She nods once, serious for half a beat. Then that spark comes back into her eyes. “Good thing I’ve got a terrifying biker lurking around, then.”
“I’m not lurking.”
She glances toward the far corner of the room. “You literally sat in the shadows last night like a grumpy gargoyle.”
I stare at her.
She grins. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s true.”
I should probably be annoyed.
Instead, I ask, “What’s a non-lurking seat look like to you?”
Her brows lift. “Are you asking me where I want you?”
That lands hot and immediate in the middle of my chest.
She sees enough of it to make her eyes flash with satisfaction.
“Seems like you have an opinion,” I say.
Her grin turns slow and wicked around the edges. “I usually do.” She taps the bartop twice. “Sit, Cole.”
I sit, and just like that, it feels like I made a mistake I’m absolutely going to make again.
EIGHT
RAE
My phone starts ringingbefore my coffee even finishes brewing. I groan and squint at the screen. It’s Wayne. That alone makes my stomach tighten. Wayne does not call this early unless something is wrong.
“Morning,” I say, tucking the phone between my shoulder and ear while I reach for a mug.
Wayne skips right past the polite part. “Rae, I need you to take a few days off.”
My hand freezes halfway through pouring coffee. That sentence does not belong in the same universe as Wayne. Wayne runs The Rust Nail like it’s a second home and a family heirloom rolled into one. “…That’s a weird way to say good morning.”
“The bar’s closed.”
Now I set the coffee pot down completely. Closed. My brain immediately starts flipping through possibilities. Broken freezer. Burst pipe. Maybe someone drove through the parking lot fence again. “What do you mean the bar’s closed?”
“There was some trouble overnight,” Wayne says. His voice sounds calm, but there’s a tight edge under it that I don’t like. “The place needs some repairs. I’ve got people handling it.”
