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I don’t know exactly what I’m going to say to her. I don’t have a plan. But that’s never stopped me before.

I park my truck in the back alley behind The Sin Bin.

It’s just after two, and the bar’s main doors are shuttered at this hour. The back door is painted black and patched at the bottom where it’s been kicked one too many times. I rap hard, knocks echoing through the alley. No answer.

Fucking hell. If I can’t find her before the bar opens, I’ll have to risk humiliation again tonight.

The lock snicks, and the door edges open just enough for Daisy to peek out at me. In the afternoon light, she looks even smaller than I remember, but her stance is all business and not at all welcoming. Her hair’s yanked back in a sleek ponytail. She’s clutching a box cutter like she’s expecting trouble.

She doesn’t even blink as her gaze slides over me, registering and dismissing in the same breath.

I open my mouth.

“Not interested.” She leans on the door like it’s a shield. “Whatever it is, I’m not buying.”

There’s a half-second where the wind whistles, nothing but an echo of her turning me down a second time.

She goes to close the door, but I can’t let her go again. “Please.” The word comes out rough. I hate how I sound, but I’m fucking desperate.

For a full second, she just studies me, then flicks her gaze over her shoulder, like she’s got better places to be and about two minutes to get there.

“I’m busy right now.” She starts to edge the door shut again, but I keep my hand where it is.

There’s a lineup of liquor boxes in the gloom behind her, stacked high enough to block the narrow hallway. Beer, wine, something with glass that looks like it’s daring someone to drop it. Shit, the delivery guy must have left half the warehouse out here.

I get an idea and run with it.

“Let me handle those. I’ll move all of it in exchange for five minutes of your time.” I keep my voice low, trying not to sound like I’m begging for my life here.

She leans against the door, sizing me up, then shifts her stance so her hip sticks out just enough that I notice. Arms crossed now, box cutter resting in the crook of her elbow. The look on her face is pure skepticism.

Her eyes dart from me to the stack of boxes, then back again. Like she’s daring me to put my money where my mouth is.

“Have at it,” she says finally.

Game on.

I pull off my watch and set it on top of the nearest crate. Roll up my sleeves, square up. No time to think about how ridiculous this is. My body is already burning from two goddamn intense workouts, but I’m ready to do whatever it takes to convince her to give me the time of day.

I grab the top box and shoulder through the doorway. She steps back, not actually making space for me but not blocking, either. That’s as much of a win as I’m going to get.

Inside, the hallway is cool and dim, barely big enough for two people to move by without touching.

She points at the loading nook behind the bar. “Everything goes there. Don’t drop anything,” she adds, not even glancing back.

I grin because I can’t help it. “I played junior hockey in Saskatchewan. I’ve carried drunk guys twice my size through blizzards. I think I can handle the boxes.”

She just shrugs and disappears around the corner, arms still crossed, ponytail swinging. If she’s impressed, she keeps it to herself.

With the first box down, I double back for the next, getting a rhythm going. I see Daisy at the end of the bar, back turned, doing some kind of restocking, but also keeping an eye on me.

After three trips, the sweat starts up. The collar of my shirt sticks, my palms get gritty. Not sure what the hell is in some of these cases, but a few weigh as much as a grown man. I don’t slow down.

There’s a weird satisfaction in it. I’m not used to earning things like this, not since I was fifteen and fighting for a spot on the travel team. On the ice, it’s all skill, anticipation, outthinking the other guy. This is just brute force and hunger and a stupid need to prove I’m not full of shit.

Four more rounds and the alley is finally empty. My arms are noodles, and I’m sweating like I just played overtime. I catch her watching the dark patch spreading between my shoulders as I set the last box down.

“Is this all?” I ask, straightening up slowly.