She moved toward him, noting his pressed blue polo shirt. “Yes, Peter?” The stately man had introduced himself the other day and kept looking at her. All day. But more with interest and nothing salacious.
Peter handed over his empty basket. He looked smooth and polished, and he’d been complimentary about the drinks earlier. “I just wanted to say that your food is the best I’ve had in eons. Your chef is absolutely amazing.” His eyes glimmered and then his gaze caught on her left hand. “I was going to ask you out, but I see you’re engaged?”
She glanced down. “Very much so.” Taking the basket, she made sure they all still had enough water. “I’ll let my chef know you appreciate his work.” Rudolph would be ticked to be called a chef and not the cook.
“Thank you. Your fiancé is a lucky man,” Peter said, ruffling a hand through his blondish-gray hair.
Right now her fiancé was wondering what the heck was going on with her head. She needed to tell him the truth but hadn’t quite figured out how. “Thanks.” She turned and walked into the kitchen to see Rudolph cleaning the back grill. “The tourists love your food.” Heat rolled over her instantly, thick with garlic and grilled halibut.
Rudolph looked up, sweat on his wide forehead. He’d worked at the tavern for as long as anyone remembered, even before Amka bought it, and he liked things done his way. “Good.”
“Hey, have you had enough water today?” she asked.
“Stop nagging me, woman.” Rudolph was broad-chested, all muscle, and a good three hundred pounds. His black hair was gray at the temples but he moved like a much younger man. “I’m perfectly healthy.”
She had already double-checked that he’d taken his blood pressure pills before the lunch rush started. “I know you’re healthy, but the doctor said you need to hydrate better.”
Rudolph grabbed a towel and tossed it at her without turning.
She caught it easily. “Dork,” she said, backing out.
“You’re the dork,” he called as she pushed the door closed.
She turned back toward the bar—and stopped.
Christian sat across from her on the far stool, elbows resting on the polished wood like he’d always been there.
Her pulse skipped.
Where did he come from? How did he do that? The man moved like fog. She glanced toward the front door. No bell had rung.
“Hi,” she said, and hated how shy she sounded.
“Hi.” His mismatched eyes—one deep green, the other black—focused on her in that steady way that made everything else fall out of frame. He didn’t smile, but his expression was softer than usual. “How was the lunch rush?”
“It was good.” She moved behind the bar, wanting something to do with her hands, and began stacking the glasses. She had about fifteen minutes before she needed to meet May. “I’m having a late lunch with the doc.”
“Oh.” One eyebrow lifted. “I think she needs to speak with you.”
“Well, obviously.” Amka rolled her eyes lightly, but heat crept up her neck. “Believe me, I noticed she and Ace didn’t make it downtown last night. I assume they maybe got together?”
Christian lifted one shoulder. “You’ll have to ask her.”
Of course. He could be a brick wall when he wanted.
“You saw Ace today?” she asked.
“Yeah. I took him to the plane.”
Her stomach tightened. “Ooh. How’d that go?”
“He didn’t puke.”
She let out a breath. The breeze slipped through the open windows again, stirring the edge of a cocktail napkin near her hand. “Sometimes that’s a good marker.”
Christian watched her. “So,” he said evenly, “are you going to tell me what’s going on with you?”
There it was.
