She brushed past him to reset the espresso machine with a practiced tap and flick. Her shoulder grazed his chest as she moved, a brief, electric contact.
They fell into step without even talking about it, with him wiping counters, refilling ice, handing off cups as she took orders, steaming milk, and keeping up a running line of banter with Mrs. Bishop’s crew and the milkshake-obsessed teens.
Joe found himself weirdly unflustered now that she was next to him. For every hesitation or tricky order, Krista surged forward with quick hands and quicker instincts, calling drink names over her shoulder and bumping hips with him when they both reached for the same space.
More than once, their fingers brushed over a cup or the honey bottle, a little spark skittering up his arm each time. She didn’t pull away fast enough for it to feel accidental.
It was like something between them finally snapped into place. He was calm, steady, working in the background, while she handled the machine, the orders, the small talk. It felt less like survival and more like a dance.
Mrs. Bishop watched them like they were a televised competition. “Oh, they’re good,” she whispered to Mrs. C. “Look at that form.”
“Solid teamwork,” Mrs. C. agreed. “I give them an A minus.”
Joe caught Krista’s eye and mouthed, “A minus?”
She tried not to laugh, but failedmagnificently.
Somehow, in a little over an hour, the Hideaway no longer looked like a disaster movie. It looked like they knew exactly what they were doing. Together.
Joe exhaled, leaning on the counter. “Did we…did we win?”
Krista grinned. “Not yet. We still have golden hour cocktails about to start. Why don’t you whip me up a Hot Honey Margarita?”
Mrs. Bishop perked up. “Yes! The true test!”
Joe squared his shoulders like a man preparing for battle. “Alright. One Hot Honey Margarita, coming up.”
Krista stepped back as if to give him room while Joe got to work.
When he tipped the shaker to pour, the liquid flowed in a clean, steady arc, filling the glass in one smooth line. For a second, the bar went quiet.
Mrs. C. leaned forward on her stool. “Oh my word…”
Mrs. Bishop let out a dramatic gasp. “He did it.”
Krista picked up the drink and turned it slowly, studying the color, the froth at the top, the salted rim. Joe held his breath.
“It’s perfect,” she said at last.
Relief rushed through him so fast he almost laughed.
The whole place seemed to exhale with him. The teenagers at the end of the counter whooped. Mrs. Bishop started clapping like the parade had just gone by. Mrs. C. dabbed at the corner of her eye with a napkin, as if he’d just graduated from some intense bartender academy.
Joe let out a breathless laugh, tension finally sliding from his shoulders. “Did I pass?” he asked.
“With flying colors.” She grinned.
Elsie’s high heels clicking on the deck boards introduced her before she rounded the corner of the bar, already holding her phone up.
“Oh myGod,” she said, taking in the cheering crowd, thesticky counters, the Hot Honey Margarita in Krista’s hand. “Tell me I didn’t miss the grand finale.”
“You’re just in time,” Mrs. C. called from her stool. “Our boy here aced his exam.”
Elsie beelined for the bar. “Perfect.” She slid onto a stool, propped her elbows on the counter, and angled her phone. “Smile, Summer Swap stars.”
Joe barely had time to straighten before she snapped a photo of him and Krista, glasses still raised.
“This,” Elsie declared, tapping rapidly at her screen, “is going on the town socials. Maple Falls Summer Swap, Day One: Honey Margarita Madness at the Hideaway…seeing as I can’t use any of your photos…”
