“I heard you went to talk to my brother.”
“Did I overstep?” I ask.
“No, Angel. You didn’t overstep. But from what Ford relayed to me, he deserved it. So good job,” he tells me and takes his beanie off, ruffling his hair in the process.
I give him a tight smile. “Thanks. So, are you finally going to let me serve you a drink? My reputation as a bartender is slowly tanking.”
His perfectly straight, white teeth flash with a smile. “Yes. Have at it.”
I make sure he can’t see what I’m making for him and present it to him in a tumbler garnished with lime a couple minutes later. “I present to you, The Angie.”
Brandon arches a brow at me, and I feel Joe hovering on my left side.
“Okay. Fine,” I deflate. “It’s just vodka, peach schnapps, and cranberry juice. Better?”
“Much better,” Brandon says and takes a sip. “Whoa.”
“Too much vodka?” I ask, nervous that I got the measurements wrong.
He shakes his head and takes another sip. “Nope. It’s perfect.”
“Hi. Can we get a round of The Angie too?” a group of women at a table behind Brandon asks.
“Told you. Perfect,” he says with a smug smile.
I get to work on making drinks for that table and inform Hannah of what’s going on. When word gets out through social media, this place gets packed for a cold December night, and we actually have to turn people away. Plus, we ran out of everything to make the drink.
A couple hours later, I finally come around to stand next to Brandon without a bar between us. The night had slowed down, and he hadn’t complained about my being busy. I lay my heavy head on his shoulder and breathe in his clean linen scent.
“You’re a rockstar, you know that?”
I sigh wistfully. “I know.”
Brandon opens his mouth, but movement behind him distracts me, and he turns to look at what’s caught my eye. “What exactly did you say to my brother?”
“Say or yell?” I ask and kiss Brandon on the cheek before moving back behind the bar.
“Hey,” I hear Malcolm tentatively greet.
“Hi. What can I get ya?” I ask, putting on my best customer service voice.
“Nothing for me. Angie, I wanted to say that I’m sorry. And you were right.” He places his radio on the bar and takes a seat next to Brandon, and while they don’t look exactly like a mirror image of each other like the other two, you can still tell they’re related. “Brandon, it’s hard for me to be around you. You had a lot more time with James than I did and I guess I just got jealous and decided to take it out on you in my own way. So, I am sorry. And I am happy for you—the both of you.”
“Thank you,” I tell him.
“Yeah, thank you.”
Malcolm looks like he’d rather be anywhere than here anymore. And who’s to blame him? He’s been holding onto James’s loss like it just happened.
“Well, I should get going. My rig is waiting,” he says and gets up. “I promise I won’t tell Mom and Dad until you do.”
“Thanks, Malcolm in the Middle.”
“Bye, rollie pollie.”
I feel my eyebrows scrunched by the nickname, and I open my mouth to comment about the name, when Brandon says, “Don’t say it.”
“My lips are sealed,” I say and get back to work with a smile on my face for the rest of the night.
