Downstairs, Bite Me had shifted from lunch recovery into happy-hour prep. Shay spotted my changed clothes and loose hair immediately because bartenders were legally required to be dangerous.
Her eyes paused at my neck.
I lifted one finger. “No.”
“I didn’t speak.”
“Your eyebrows did.”
“They’re independent contractors.”
Mari came through the kitchen door with a tray of prep. Her gaze went to Nico, then me, then my neck.
She stopped.
I lifted the same finger. “No.”
Mari glanced at the mark, then back at me. “Do I need to sharpen anything?”
“No.”
“Do I need to pretend I didn’t see anything?”
“Yes.”
“I can do that badly.”
“That’s all I ask.”
Dusty walked by with bar towels, glanced at the three of us, then immediately turned around and walked the other direction. “I’m sensing a management-level conversation, and I choose life.”
“Good choice,” I said.
Nico coughed once into his fist.
I did not laugh.
The rest of the day came at us with sunburned shoulders, damp dollar bills, sunscreen slick on the patio rail, and tourists who believed happy hour was a constitutional right.
“Table four can have spicy pineapple or classic lime,” I told Taryn while I shoved a garnish tray into place. “Nothing frozenuntil the blender gets five minutes to stop questioning its life choices.”
Taryn tucked menus under one arm. “I’ll sell them on spiritual growth.”
“Sell them on tequila.”
Mari slid a tray of fried mozzarella through the pass. “Nella, tell patio eight the roasted peppers aren’t free because they smiled at me.”
I grabbed the plate. “I’ll tell them smiling costs extra.”
Dusty appeared with a rack of clean glasses. “The bachelor party wants to know if they can order something off-menu called a Shark Attack.”
Nico, standing two feet behind him with two tequila cases in his arms, went very still.
I pointed at Dusty. “Tell them the Shark Attack is a classic lime margarita with an upcharge for imagination.”
Dusty nodded. “Capitalism with a garnish. I understand.”
Nico carried the tequila where I pointed. He stacked clean glass racks when Shay ran low. He stood near the patio rail when a bachelor party got too loud, and somehow eight grown men remembered their mothers had raised them better.
