‘Well, I have hobbies that are further up the list. But cleaning’s not so bad. Plus, I can’t have you do all the work. You’re exhausted.’
Cal swallowed a large gulp of beer and stared at Bea for a little longer than usual. There was something in that stare. What was it? Admiration? Surprise? Had he never had a bartender willing to clean? Or was it deeper than that? Women who didn’t consider his needs, maybe?
‘Okay, well I appreciate the help,’ he said. ‘More beauty sleep for me, I guess.’
‘Not that you need it.’Fuck, why did I say that? Who is this woman that this man is bringing out?
Bea’s words may have surprised even her, but they were also genuine flattery. Cal, however, did not appear comfortable. He rested his beer on the bar, cleared his throat awkwardly and grabbing a damp cloth said, ‘I’ll get the tables. You do behind the bar.’
‘Sure,’ Bea agreed. Dammit, even subtle compliments were too much for Cal Butler. She hadn’t been doing herconfident flirtee act, but something had flipped his ‘off’ switch.
For a short time, they worked in silence, Cal bringing glasses to the bar and wiping the cleared tables, Bea loading the dishwasher and mopping the floor. Occasionally she stole a glance at him, glimpsed his strong, tanned forearm as he purposefully swept the cloth over the tables, imagined the flex and tense of athletic shoulders inside his shirt. Did he know she was watching him? Was he playing the same game of look and look away and they kept missing each other? She certainly had that same feeling as in the coffee shop of his intense eyes on her. Cleaning had never been sexier. And the less they talked, the more the sexual tension swirled around the space, rising to the same level as when they were serving earlier. But then, mere inches existed between them. Now Cal was halfway across the floor holding a damp cloth and the thread of sexual promise was as taut as when he’d brushed against her at the optics or as he’d leaned over her to get a glass from the shelf and she’d inhaled the scent of fresh lime and cedarwood mixed with his own sweet skin and felt his warm breath on her neck.
After a time, Cal returned to the bar and plonked down on the stool again. The relief of having finished work seeming to soften him up a bit. It was that or the beer.
‘So,’ he said, ‘Now I’ve seen up close what you can do, I have to ask, where exactly did you learn to work a bar the way you do?’
Bea continued emptying the dishwasher and resisted the temptation to remind Cal that he had her résumé. To be fair to him, if he’d been paying as much attention as she had to business matters in that interview, then he probably hadn’t paid it much heed.
‘I worked bar throughout college,’ she said. ‘I shouldhave been studying literature but making Manhattans paid more than reading Jane Austen.’
Cal’s face was steely and unreadable apart from his eyes, which flickered with interest. ‘So, that’s where the romance writing comes from?’
‘Well, I guess so, although I’m no Jane Austen, and definitely racier.’
Now the eyebrows rose, working in tandem with the eyes to betray his interest. ‘Ah, it’s like that, is it? I’d love to read some of your writing.’
Bea nearly dropped a glass. ‘Really?’ None of the guys she’d dated had been remotely interested in her writing. This spike of curiosity sent an unexpected thrill through her. Unless Cal was joking.
But his voice bore no levity. ‘Yes, really. Then I can decide which you should be making a living from: Manhattans or writing.’
Okay, this was too good not to latch onto. ‘I’m not sure about my writing,’ – Bea’s voice bounced with joy – ‘but I’ll happily show you my Manhattans.’ Then she realised that this euphemism would probably send Cal scuttling for the cleaning cloth again.
But Cal simply raised one of those dynamic eyebrows and let out a wry smile before nodding. ‘Okay, deal,’ he said. ‘But I like mine with Scotch.’
Bea finished combining the Scotch, vermouth and bitters, then topped the drinks with a maraschino cherry before pushing them across the bar, one to Cal and one next to an empty bar stool. She then came round the front of the barand took a seat facing him, watching him as he tried his drink.
The corners of Cal’s lips lifted a fraction as he put the drink down. ‘That is perfect,’ he said. ‘I can conclude that your Manhattans are definitely one reason people are flocking to the bar to see you.’
‘Thank you.’ She sipped her own cocktail.
‘We should make this cocktail of the week, next week, if you’re prepared to make lots of them.’
‘That is such an honour. I’d love to.’
Cal sipped his drink again and flashed such an expression of warmth her way that Bea’s stomach flipped a little.
‘So,’ he said, ‘The bar trade definitely needs you, but what about your writing?’
‘Oh.’ Nervously, she raised her glass again to cover her face. ‘What about it?’
‘Well, I don’t know, what have you written? Where can I read your books? You said you had come here to write so have you written much since you got here?’
‘So many questions.’ Cal hadn’t asked Bea much in the time they’d known each other. Even her job interview was formal and to the point with little chit chat around the edges. So these questions astounded and delighted her. He appeared genuinely interested in her writing. Something that Josh hadn’t been. Not that Cal was a future boyfriend or anything, but he was a man. He was definitely a man.
‘I’ve written ten books. They are all available online. I can write down the names if you are interested in reading them, although I expect you probably aren’t so interested that you’d?—’
‘Why not? Why would I not want to read them?’
