“You’re in a mood tonight.”
“I am in mood every night. Is called being artist.” Rod pointed his spatula at me. “Now go. Take ice to bar. Master needs peace to create.”
“Yes, chef.”
“Do not ‘yes, chef’ me.” His spatula waving grew violent, though he smiled as he spoke. “I am not fancy restaurant. I am man making sliders for drunk gays, possibly high, probably both.”
I shouldered through the kitchen door, ice bucket clutched to my chest, ready to restock and get back into the rhythm of the night and shake off Rod’s witticisms.
I made two strides before my entire body froze.
And I saw him.
Skyler Shaw was sitting at the bar.
Alone.
His shoulders hunched as he stared into a whiskey glass like it held the secrets of the universe.
I nearly dropped the bucket, catching it at the last second, ice sloshing dangerously close to the rim.
The kitchen had kept me buried for the last hour, and I’d assumed tonight would be uneventful, a regular Friday that featured neither hockey nor baseball, with a moderate crowd and nothing noteworthy.
I’d assumed wrong.
Finn appeared at my elbow, wiping his hands on a bar towel. “He came in about twenty minutes ago, ordered a Macallan neat and hasn’t said much since. That’s his second one.”
“Jesus. Is he okay?”
“It’s hard to tell. He’s not drunk, but he’s not cheerful either.” Finn glanced at the ice bucket in my hands. “Set that down. Benji and I can handle the floor. Go check on him.”
“Me? Why me?”
Finn gave me a look that suggested I was being deliberately obtuse. “Because he asked if you were working tonight—by name—and because you’re the one he keeps coming back to see.”
“He doesn’t come back to see me. He comes back for the sliders.”
“Jacks.” Finn’s voice was patient in that way that meant he was running out of patience. “Go talk to him. Figure out what’s wrong. That’s an order fromyour boss, if it helps.”
It didn’t help, but I handed him the bucket and went anyway.
I made my way around the bar, trying to look casual. Skyler didn’t notice my approach. He was still staring at his drink, turning the glass between his palms.
“Hey.”
He looked up.
For a second, something flickered across his face. Surprise, maybe. Or relief. It was gone before I could identify it.
“Hey.” His voice was rougher than usual. “Didn’t know if you’d be here tonight.”
“Where else would I be? This place would fall apart without me.”
That got a small, tight smile. “Finn might disagree.”
“Finn’s been in denial about how essential I am since day one.” I nodded toward the whiskey. “Rough night?”
Skyler laughed, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “Something like that.”
