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I want my family to like Willow. More importantly, I want Willow to like my family. These people are my everything. Well, them and music, and now, Willow.
After a while, everyone’s taken a turn on the dance floor, some have had a second drink, Katelyn and Allyson even go for another Girly Beer, and we play a team game of pool.
The whole time, I’m watching Willow work. She’s at ease behind the bar, handling the whole thing without pause, almost dancing her way from the beer taps to the liquor bottles. Every once in a while, her eyes will find mine and I’m rewarded with one of those soft smiles that I’m starting to feel possessive of.
Starting? Who am I kidding? I want to gather each one of them and keep them in my pocket so I can have one any time I want.
It’s been hours since I’ve touched her, and that kiss was only a friendly greeting, not what I really need from her. I’m getting itchy, ready to go visit her at the bar, when I see her heading my way. Maybe she’s feeling the same way, like she wants to be closer to me the way I need to be closer to her.
She stops by my chair, and I wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her in tight. Her arm goes to my shoulders and I welcome its light weight. I squeeze her side, finally settling now that she’s with me.
Home, that’s what she feels like.
And fuck, do I want to go right on in, get cozy and comfortable, and never leave. Just live buried inside her. At this rate, I might go crazy before I find out what she looks like under these tank tops and cut-off shorts and what she feels like coming on my cock. But I’m enjoying the journey to finding out, slowly but surely.
A week ago, she wouldn’t do more than have a friendly dinner with me across the bar. Now, she’s damn near claiming me, letting me claim her in her uncle’s bar and hanging with my family.
With a knowing smile, she asks the table, “How were the Girly Beers?”
Allyson and Katelyn hold up their second empty glasses in answer. The rest give her some version of ‘delicious’ or ‘good’. Brutal dryly says, “Better than I expected, that’s for sure.”
I kick his boot under the table. “Told you so.”
Katelyn smiles at Willow. “If I promise not to tell the bartenders at the resort the recipe, can you tell me how to make that? I think it’d be perfect for our next girl’s night in.” Katelyn runs events at the local resort, and the bar there is known for being our small-town version of swanky, but she’ll keep her promise and stay mum on Willow’s recipe.
Willow automatically and easily offers, “Sure. For a batch, it’s a six-pack of light beer—”
“Better yet, why don’t you come and you can make it!” Katelyn’s gear switch is smooth as silk, just like she is.
Surprised, Willow looks at me with raised brows. Her eyes swirl like she’s trying to figure something out. Me? My family? Is this a set-up? I squeeze her hip encouragingly, praying she says yes. After a second that seems like an eternity, she turns back to Katelyn. “That sounds great. Let me know when, though I work every day but Monday.”
That answers Shay’s earlier question. I’m busy with Willow all day on Monday, so someone else will have to handle deliveries.
“Six days a week till two a.m.? Nobody’s gonna accuse you of being lazy,” Shayanne teases, then starts singing, “She works hard for that money . . .” She’s horribly off-key and not even following the famous tune, making up her own notes and not even hitting those and getting the lyrics wrong too. To say that I got the lion’s share of the musical talent in my family is a gross exaggeration. I got it all, every last drop of musical DNA.
Willow laughs. “Yeah, bartenders’ hours are pretty much the opposite of farmers’ hours, I guess. I usually crash around four, sleep until ten, then back behind the bar by noon if I’m pulling a lunch shift. But I don’t mind. I’m happy to help Unc.” A shadow passes through her eyes, and I sense a slight tension in her when she says that. I hope she’s not overdoing it.
The girls chatter away, talking about this and that, and we guys stay as quiet as church mice. I’m well aware that they’re testing Willow, checking her out and seeing if she slides into our group easily. Dynamic is important—like music, it has to flow naturally, and so far, Willow seems to fit right in.
I’m not surprised. Who wouldn’t like a sweetheart like her?
After a bit, she says she needs to get back behind the bar, and I feel the loss of her at my side. Back at her station, she hollers out, “Last call!” and there’s a sudden influx of orders that has her scrambling up and down the bar. But she handles it all with grace and a smile.
