I fumble with the lock screen button. “Oh—um. My app. OneDate.”
He leans closer anyway, peering over my shoulder. “Is that one of those hookup apps?”
“No,” I say quickly. “It’s… different.”
His brow lifts. “Different how?”
“It’s for people who just need a date. Weddings. Family functions. Work events. No pressure. No expectations. No pretending you’re looking for forever when all you really need is one evening of peace.”
He nods along. “So… temporary relief from awkwardness.”
“Exactly. I got the idea when another bartender, Dessa, wanted a date for a wedding but couldn’t find anyone last minute, then it turned into a side project, but now it’s something I can’t seem to let go of.”
He smiles. “Sounds like a good idea. There’s been a time or two I could’ve used that.”
“Same. But right now, I’m having issues with one page. And if it doesn’t work, all the hours I’ve put into it will be a waste, and I might as well give up.”
“You built all that yourself?”
“Yeah.” My throat tightens. “In between hospital visits with my mom and bartending shifts.”
He nods once. “That’s… impressive.”
I swallow. The praise hits deeper than I expect. “Thanks. But it might not be so impressive if I can’t fix it. You wouldn’t know coding by chance, would you?”
A low chuckle rumbles out of him. “My skill set begins and ends with stopping flying pucks and occasionally looking good while lifting heavy things.” He winks.
Heat climbs into my cheeks. Apparently, I wasn’t so discreet about my admiring.
Then his expression shifts, curiosity replacing the teasing. “So why are you here instead of somewhere making millions in tech?”
The truth presses behind my ribs. “I was. Once. Then my mom got sick. I moved back to Harbor Highlands to help her. Only child. Kind of nonnegotiable.”
“I’m sure she appreciates it.”
“She does.” My voice softens. “She’s my best friend, so it wasn’t a hard choice. Just… unexpected.” I glance down at my phone. “Ideally, this app helps with her medical bills. If not, I’ll just pick up more bartending shifts.”
He studies me for a long moment. “You don’t seem like the type to give up when things get tough.”
I look down at the blank screen. “Yeah,” I whisper. But when the weight of the world is sitting on your shoulders, you kind of want to.
Three
PBS For Dating
Nora
The following evening at Porter’s crawls by so slow that I’ve become mildly invested in two guys at a high-top arguing about whether lager or ale is superior. One of them keeps insisting, “You can really taste the citrus notes,” like he’s a certified brewmaster. The neon beer sign above them buzzes louder, calling bullshit.
Unfortunately for me, Beck worked the afternoon shift, so I don’t even have him here to flirt with and kill time. Instead, I’m closing with Jake. And don’t get me wrong—Jake’s great, but he’s not a conversationalist, and that makes my night drag on slower than molasses.
The front door of Porter’s swings open, and Miles steps inside. He stands there, shoulders squared, jaw tight. The top button of his polo is fastened as if it’s trying to strangle him. Our eyes meet from across the room, and his brows lift a fraction in surprise or hesitation before his mouth presses into a thin line. The door swings open again, and a guy brushes past him followed by a woman soon after. The small bottleneck nudges him forward. He adjusts his glasses and ambles toward the bar.
“What can I get you?” I ask before he takes a seat.
“Um—actually, I’m not here for a drink.”
“Okay.” I lean a hip against a cooler. “Are you waiting for the rest of your bro club to arrive?”
