“How do you do it, night after night?” I asked, wiping the last streak of glass cleaner off the front door and tossing the rag onto the back counter.
Beck was behind the bar rinsing out the blender, his sleeves rolled up. He glanced at me with a grin, the kind that said this was his happy place… music low, lights dimmed, the air thick with the comfort of familiarity and spilled whiskey.
“I’d be happy to discuss that with you,” he said as I approached, sitting on a bar stool. “But we have other, more pressing things, to talk about.”
He reached under the bar and pulled out a bottle of my favorite prosecco.
“Where did you get that?”
“The liquor store,” he said, dry as could be. I watched him expertly pour two glasses, his forearms flexing. Why were forearms such athing? Beck’s, especially. Seeing my expression, he winked. “Grabbed it for just this occasion. Although it occurred to me, after living in France, champagne might be more your thing these days.”
He handed me a glass.
“In fact, I still like prosecco more. Funny how that works, isn’t it?”
“What’s that?”
“That sometimes, what we like most isn’t always what we’re supposed to.” I emphasized the word “supposed.”
“You’re not kidding, there.” He raised his glass. “To the end of an era and the beginning of a new one.”
A shiver ran through me. “The bar, you mean?”
“That too.”
I paused, trying not to make too much of it. But this really did feel like we were crossing some sort of invisible line. Not that we hadn’t already last night. Or over the weekend, for that matter.
“Cheers,” I said, taking a sip. Over the rim of the prosecco glass, I watched Beck who, in turn, hadn’t taken his eyes from me. “I’m grateful for what you did for my parents, Beck. They’re over the moon.”
He leaned against the back bar. The sight of him, ruggedly handsome, sleeves up, hair tousled, drinking prosecco, made me smile.
“What?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink prosecco before.”
“Not true,” he said. “We’ve been to more than one wedding together.”
“Fair point. But that’s different.”
“How?”
“Because you’re in a suit then.”
“I see.” He took another sip. “And it wasn’t just for your parents. I pretty much lived here anyway. It was just a matter of committing to being the owner. It’s not a responsibility I take lightly, O’Malley’s legacy.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Is there anything you’d like to talk about? Maybe we can avoid the topic a little more.”
Chuckling, I tried to think of a way to do just that. “I never did tell you about the girls’ night.”
He shook his head slowly. “You’re getting warmer but are not quite there.”
“Thayle’s pregnant,” I blurted.
“Warmer.”
“How is that warmer?”
