Page 29 of In Your Wake

“Unlikely, but I’ll try.”

I blow him a kiss, then leave, stepping out into the warm, early evening. There’s a crisp breeze drifting up from the sea, turning it into my favorite kind of night. Not too hot, not too cold, but perfect. I breathe in the briny scent of the ocean that’s mixed with the baked goodness wafting from Joe’s Pizzeria down the street, then make my way to my car, preparing myself for the mandatory, but no less depressing, yearly tradition of celebrating Seth’s birthday.

At least for now, I can set aside the stress of having to work with Mitchell.

Zayne’s eagerness for more information, and my dream from the other night come rushing back, warming my face. I fan my shirt away from my body, wishing for a strong wind to roll up from the ocean.

No, Zayne, we never. But who knows? If we had, maybe things might have worked out differently.

Mitch

The staff gathers in a loose half-circle, all bright-eyed and excited. I would hope it’s because they’re about to start a new job, but something tells me it’s because I’m the one standing here getting ready to train them instead of Hunter or Spencer.

I’ve stood in front of arenas packed with thousands chanting my name, but somehow this feels harder as if this will be the first audience to watch me fail and look like an idiot.

Maybe it’s because the last few days back in Oakwhite have thinned my otherwise thick skin. Maxine arguing her way back into my life. My dad’s health fading more each day. The dread of this evening looming over me. Celebrating the birth of someone who died years ago. Blue label and ghosts; one hell of a combination.

But for now, I have to help with this. Hunter’s busy with one of his millions of tasks and I have no clue where Spence is, which is why I’m the lucky guy who needs to show these newbies the ropes. I’ve survived the NHL playoffs; I can handle this.

“All right,” I say, clapping my hands. “Let’s try to keep this whole thing from exploding.”

Kayla, a young woman with dark, bouncy curls and amber-colored eyes steps forward before I’ve even reached the pint glasses.

“I’ll go first,” she says, grabbing a glass. “Show me how you want it done, Bam-Bam.”

Being called Bam-Bam by half the world usually gets under my skin. Hearing it from her is an absolutely different story. There’s an energy emanating off her creamy skin and lacing her seductive words that spells trouble.

“Okay…” I say, trying to sound professional. “Tilt the glass at—”

“Forty-five degrees.” She smirks over her shoulder. “I’ve waited tables all through undergrad. I know the drill.”

“Same,” I say.

“Really?”

“For sure. College hockey didn’t exactly shower me in cash. I carried more trays than trophies back then.”

“Huh.” Her eyebrows lift. “Hard to picture the big hockey star balancing dirty plates.” She drops her gaze down my body, then comes back up, and my throat tightens.

In hindsight, balancing dishes wasn’t the hard part. Juggling brewery supplies, a dying father, and renovating an old inn with my former best friend is hard. I keep my mouth shut and offer Kayla a tight smile instead. She pulls the tap with smooth certainty and the beer settles perfectly in the glass.

“Nice,” I say. “Foam’s right. You’ve got good hands.”

“You have no idea,” she replies, dragging her eyes over me again, leaving me parched.

I chug the beer, forcing myself to turn away before my brain melts. “Let’s go over keg changes,” I say to the group, heading for the walk-in cooler at the back, through the kitchen.

Cold air blasts out as I pull the door open. I enjoy it for a second, and how it reminds me of skating out onto fresh ice. With luck, the chill might freeze the knot that’s been lodged in my chest since last night with Max.

“I’ve got it,” Kayla says behind me, stepping into the cooler close enough that I feel the heat from her skin despite the temperature drop.

“This is the coupler,” I say, gesturing to the keg. “When it kicks, you close the valve, twist—”

She slips in front of me, glancing over her shoulder with a raised brow, not even trying to hide her interest. “Like this?”

“Yep,” I answer, trying not to notice how close her curvy ass is to me. “Just be careful. If you’re sloppy, it’ll blast right in your face.”

She grins, a Grinch-like grin lifting her lips, and I realize my choice of words. Someone behind us snorts, probably realizing the same thing, and I pretend not to hear it.