I stalked off, leaving Mattie so that I could take the orders of the group that had just sat down. Throwing on a cheesy customer-service smile was definitely something I had gotten better at, but I still struggled to give all my attention to the table. After a few minutes of me asking them to repeat what they wanted, I walked back over to the bar and started making their drinks. Thankfully, Mattie had taken the hint and wandered back into the main lodge, away from Marie’s.
Good.
I loved my sister more than anything, but I needed a break from her probing questions.
Before I’d finished pouring the last beer, Bev waltzed in. My eyebrows shot up when I saw that Oliver trailed behind her.
My smile grew. “Here for dinner?” I asked.
“Nope.” He pinched the black shirt he had on and held it out. My eyes narrowed as I read the script font—Marie’s.
“You’re working here now?” Excitement bubbled to the surface.
“He’ll be replacing me most nights.” Bev patted him onthe back. “I figured it’ll be less busy, and the two of you can handle tonight’s shift.”
“Bold statement,” I said.
She laughed. “I know, but I’ll be nearby if you need me.”
Bev walked away, leaving me and Oliver just as another few tables walked in.
“Train me,” he said with a grin. “I’m yours to mold.”
“That’sthe worst margarita I’ve ever had,” I said, wincing as I took another sip. “It tastes like straight tequila.”
Oliver rolled his eyes and took a sip before cringing as soon as he tasted it. “I guess it’s a little strong.”
“Strong? That thing could melt steel.”
He tossed the rest of the drink in the sink. “Okay, let’s not take it out on the new guy. I seem to remember you’ve had your share of drink mishaps.”
“Nope. I’ve made every drink perfectly.”
He smiled, his hand lingering close to my waist.
Even though Marie’s had been relatively dead, the shift had gone by shockingly fast working with him. His stolen touches behind the bar, the flirtatious banter. It was even better joking around with him behind the bar than it was when he came in most nights for dinner.
“Was this your plan all along?” I asked. “Become a bartender?”
He swiped his hand across his chin and stared at the ceiling, pretending to mull it over. “I mean,” he finally said, “Ididsurpass your skills with only one shift.”
“Hey!” I swatted him with the dish towel I had in my back pocket. He wasn’t far off. To no one’s surprise, Oliver wasinfinitely better at charming the customers than I could ever be.
“Did you ever work in restaurants?” I asked.
“Never. In high school, Harrison and I usually did odd jobs on a farm nearby. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever had a job that didn’t entail physical labor.”
“A farm boy?” I teased, poking him in the ribs. “I can picture that.”
“I baled hay and everything.”
“That sounds perfect for you.”
He laughed. “Maybe if this doesn’t work out, I can fall back on that plan.”
Ever since our date, Oliver hadn’t been nearly as uncomfortable sharing little tidbits about his past. He’d shared with me how strained he felt talking to his mother, and how important his still-growing relationship with his brother was. It meant the world to me that he trusted me enough to let me in.
“But seriously, speaking of plans, I have been thinking about a few things,” Oliver said, eyeing my reaction.
