Gee, I don’t know.
“I’m sorry, okay?” She puts the filter into the filter basket and slides it into the machine.
This day is quickly going from bad to hellish.
“Please, hear me out. I hate that our friendship is so fucked up now.”
Maybe she should have thought of that before she slept with my long-term boyfriend.
“Everyone makes mistakes, right?”
I can’t help it. I snap. “Can we not do this right now?”
She shakes her head. “I feel so bad about breaking you two up. I wasn’t thinking. It just happened, I swear. Brett really wants to get back together with you.”
Did he put her up to this? My pulse is racing. I can’t handle this.
Before I lose my shit in front of everyone, I finish the orders I’m working on and transfer them to the counter. I walk all the way to the other end of the bar, away from Melissa and her bullshit. It’s only about ten feet, but it’s enough to allow me to breathe easier.
I clutch the counter and count backward from ten.
I'm at six when the door to the bar opens, and Rowan Miller strides in.
CHAPTER 8
BLAKE
Flurries blow into the dining room, making the scene at the front of the restaurant look like the inside of a snow globe.
The door slams shut behind Rowan.
He brushes the snow off his leather jacket, stomps his boots twice on the welcome mat, and adjusts the black cap he’s got on his head.
I swallow and flatten my palms against the bar top. The man knows how to make an entrance.
He kept his word the evening he moved in. When I woke up the next morning to check the state of his front lawn, the trash was gone.
And he somehow managed to convince Elijah to keep the music down. I’ve gone over there half a dozen times to no avail, but one visit from Rowan, and it’s all sorted.
I mean, I’m not complaining, but I really don’t get how that man manages to wrap everyone around his little finger.
It’s been a few days since he moved in, and so far, he hasn’t done anything more to piss me off, but he also hasn’t crossed anything off the list.
Exactly like I expected. I doubt that fence is ever going to get fixed.
Rowan walks up to the empty hostess stand, and a few heads turn to look at the new visitor.
A table of women giggles. Rowan shoots them a grin and glances around the dining room, searching for a place to sit.
I roll my eyes. The way they fawn over him is pathetic.
Can I admit he’s a fine male specimen? Sure. He’s fit, tall, and attractive. He’s got the kind of smile that promises a good time—even if you’ll likely regret it in the morning—and his eyes light up and get all squinty when he laughs.
But looks aren’t everything.
Doesn’t it bother anyone that he goes through women faster than a kid through Halloween candy? Or that he’s slept with someone’s wife?
Clearly not, because they’restillgiggling.
