Page 39 of The Other Half

“Cuisine?” Jake arched a brow and stifled a smirk. “It’s a bar. It’s got great bar food, but it’s not cuisine.”

“Oh,” I answered, feeling silly I’d asked.

“Where did you say you were from again?”

Shit. I knew eventually this would come up. Not wanting to lie, but also not having a choice, I stuck to the story I’d told him and Jo. “Chicago.”

“Figures.” He laughed. “That explains the aversion to nature, the dress, and the fact you’re searching for cuisine.”

“Shut up,” I retorted, glad he didn’t press it and ask for more information. This was one of those times I was glad he was the strong silent type.

We pulled into a bar and Jake hopped out. Unsure if I should wait for him to open my door, I fumbled to find the handle. Before I could get it open, he appeared in my window. My door swung open and he stepped aside while I climbed out.

A gentleman.

“Don’t fall.” That smile lit up his face.

“Shut up!” I laughed and landed safely on the ground.

“Hank, we’ll be back soon, buddy.”

Hank wagged his tail while Jake closed him in. Together we walked up to the bar situated in the middle of a field at a deserted countryside intersection.

“Welcome to the Pub,” Jake said, opening the door.

A long bar with stools filled with patrons stretched across the large single room we walked into.

“Hey, Jake!” the bartender said with a wave. His eyes fell to me, then back to Jake and bulged.

“Hey, Kyle,” Jake said, shaking his head against the silent accusation.

With a sly nod, Kyle ducked his head of shaggy brown hair and turned back to the customers he’d been chatting with.

“Bar okay?” Jake asked, and I nodded.

We found the last two open stools and slid into them. Jake’s hand brushed my thigh while we got situated and both our eyes shot together before dropping back to the coasters Kyle slid in front of us.

“Whiskey coke?” he asked Jake, and a nod confirmed it. “And for you?”

“Grey goose martini, straight up, extra cold, extra dry, extra dirty with two olives please.”

Their furrowed brows mirrored one another while they turned to look at me.

“A martini? Seriously?” Jake snorted.

“Why? What’s wrong with that?” I shrunk in my seat.

“Nothing at all. Coming right up,” Kyle answered after blowing out a puff of air that tousled his shaggy brown hair.

“Do you even know how to make a martini, Kyle?” Jake teased, and I wasn’t sure which one of us it was directed at.

“I think I remember. Just need to find a glass.”

“Is that stupid? Should I order something else?” I asked, embarrassed by my drink choice for the first time in my life. Now that I thought about it, at the Ox I’d never been asked to make anything other than basic mixed drinks, and those brandy old-fashioneds everyone seemed to drink up here.

“It’s not stupid. It’s just not something you see in Baileys Harbor all that often.”

“Wait! Kyle, was it?”