Page 5 of A Prince for Christmas

Oh boy howdy. The moment I called Fred a friend, I knew I was in trouble. I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t mentioned to Nick that I had a boyfriend in the weeks we’d worked together, and now that we were fighting, it seemed like a bad time. I didn’t want Nick to get a bad impression of Fred if I vented about him.

“It happens,” Nick said with a sympathetic smile. “Everyone has a bad day now and then.”

“I know, and for all I know, I could be the one who was out of sorts today. It was probably my fault.”

“I can’t answer that one,” Nick said. “But you’re pretty damn agreeable, from what I’ve seen.”

Someone at the other end of the bar signaled to Nick, and he went to serve them. I thought about what he’d said. I was a reasonable, laid back girl. Wanting to spend time with my boyfriend didn’t mean I was demanding.

When Nick returned from the other customer, I finished the last onion ring and about half the drink and opened my purse. “Time to clock in.”

Nick waved my money away. “That’s on me, love.”

Damn it, why was his accent so cute? I blamed the vodka.

“Thanks, but just this once. Next time, it’s on me.”

“Sure thing, Ma’am,” he said, giving me a two-finger salute.

“That’s right, Barkeep,” I said with a grin. “And don’t call me Ma’am. You make me feel like my mother.”

He broke into a broad grin and called after me as I slid off the stool and headed for the timeclock, “Anything you say, Ma’am.”

CHAPTER 3

The chilly wind was whipping my hair into knots as I walked the few blocks from my apartment to Wayward Wings, but I didn’t mind. In fact, I was quite cozy inside my down jacket, jeans, and my favorite high-heeled boots. I only wore them occasionally because they didn’t have enough traction for wet weather.

For once, I wasn’t carrying half the MSU library with me. No classes today, and no work, either. Of course, I did have one textbook in my bag, but that was just in case Polly was late.

I was feeling surprisingly good in view of the fact that Fred was off playing Lacrosse this Saturday, then going out with the guys. Who needed him and his negative attitude, anyway? The crisp wind and gorgeous view of the mountains was enough for me.

Today I entered the Wayward Wings like most customers did, pausing as I walked in the door to scope out the best spot. Polly wasn’t there yet, so I shrugged out of my coat, hung it on the half-empty coat rack, and walked over to my favorite barstool, all the way at the end of the bar. If she preferred, we could always move to a booth when she arrived or, because I was sitting at the end, facing down the length of the bar, she could sit on the long side, and we’d have our own little corner table. I liked dangling my feed off the high stools, which you couldn’t do in a booth.

Nick was behind the bar, looking good enough to eat in a deep blue sweater that brought out the blue in his eyes, with a button-collar shirt underneath. He was not as overdressed for Boseman as he had been at first, but he was still the best-dressed man in the room. I covertly surveyed the male customers, then looked back at Nick.

I thought so.

Best looking, too.

He finished what he was doing and headed my way. “Well, well. What do we have here?” he smiled. “I didn’t expect to see you today.”

“I know. Pathetic, isn’t it? Hanging around even though I’m not working.”

For a moment Nick looked like he didn’t know how to respond, so I let him off the hook. “Actually, I’m meeting my friend Polly here. She’s usually late.”

“I see,” He actually looked relieved that I wasn’t there alone. I wasn’t sure why. “Want a drink while you wait?”

“Sure, I’ll have…” I paused, trying to decide what I really wanted. Not a beer today, not a pop. Not the white wine women were drank so they wouldn’t look like lushes or spill red on their clothes. I focused on Nick’s waiting face. “I’ll have a piña colada. Extra fruit on top please, and an umbrella.”

He looked surprised, and I wondered if he’d ever made one. He didn’t ask what was in it, though, so I didn’t tell him.

While he was making my drink, I amused myself by watching him work. For a man who had never worked in a restaurant or bar before, he moved with amazing assurance, at least until he got to the umbrella part. I knew perfectly well we had no little umbrellas—the Wayward Wings wasn’t a paper umbrella kind of place. He seemed to come to the same conclusion and substituted a little wooden skewer with three cherries and the rounded part of a cut lime on top. The effect vaguely resembled an umbrella.

He brought it over set it down, watching expectantly. I took a sip. It generally resembled a pina colada, maybe a little heavy on the pineapple. “Nice work,” I confirmed, taking another small sip.

Nick looked bemused as I continued to take tiny sips, savoring the rare treat. “You do know it’s only 3 o’clock, I hope.”

“It’s five o’clock somewhere.” His blank look told me he wasn’t a Jimmy Buffett fan. “It’s part of an old country song,” I explained.