Page 33 of Snowed

“You want espresso martinis, you make ’em. You own half this place, too.”

“I need to host the events!”

I shrugged. “Sounds like a you problem.”

One of the annoying suits walked up to the bar and lifted his chin to me. “Can I have a cucumber martini, please?”

“Sorry, my martini shaker broke. How about a beer?”

He laughed, but when I didn’t, he studied my face. “Really?”

“Yep. Was shaking an espresso martini last week, and the bottom just fell out of the shaker. A real tragedy.”

The guy’s brows pulled together. He still wasn’t sure if I was fucking with him or not.

My sister rolled her eyes and stood. “I’ll make you one, sir. I actually just got a new shaker a little while ago. I had it imported from Italy.”

The bar got busier after that, mostly because all the New York City people my sister had invited out to Sleepy Hollow for her stupid dating event wanted fancy cocktails that took a long time to make. People who order drinks with more than two ingredients piss me off in general, but the ones who do it on Thursday night—the one night a week I look forward to working because Lucy stops by for wine on her way home—those people piss me off a lot.

It was a solid hour before I got to spend any real time at the end of the bar with my favorite patron. I dried my hands on a towel and slung it over my shoulder. “How’s work going? You just moved into a new space, right?” I knew she had—I remembered everything Lucy Snow ever told me.

She nodded. “Yeah, over on Main Street. It’s quieter. The place I was renting became too loud once that gym moved in next door. They teach six Peloton classes a day with blasting music. It was distracting for my patients.”

Unfortunately, our conversation was again interrupted, this time by my sister. She acted like Lucy had come to see her or something.

Maggie scooped peanuts from the little bowl on the bar and tossed one in the air, trying to catch it with her mouth open. She missed and didn’t bother to pick it up from the floor. “Did you know Lucy got a new patient, Tuck?”

I wasn’t sure where this was going. “Oh yeah?”

She smirked. “She lures them in by dating them first.”

“Maggie!” Lucy frowned. “I told you that in confidence. And I’m not dating my patients.” She looked over at me. “I swear I’m not.”

A guy down at the other end of the bar raised his hand, trying to get my attention, but I ignored him and stuck around to hear more about whatever this was. I shrugged. “No worries. Your secret is safe with me. But isn’t it against some rule for a therapist to date her patients?”

Maggie’s phone vibrated on the bar. She picked it up and hopped down from the stool. “I have to take this call. Be back!”

Lucy was still shaking her head when Maggie disappeared. “I’m not dating my patient. I went out on one date with a guy, and we got to talking—he had a lot of emotional issues he was working through after the death of his mother and a recent breakup. We didn’t connect on a romantic level, but we sort of connected on a therapist-patient level, and I gave him some advice on managing his anxiety attacks. The following day he called to ask if it would be okay if he saw me as his therapist.”

I grinned. “That’s an interesting way to drum up business, Luce. Do you look for the unstable ones on Tinder or is Bumble better for that?”

She picked a peanut from the bowl and chucked it at me. “Shut up.”

Maggie came back a minute later. “Anyway, what were we talking about?”

My smile spread to a full-fledged grin. “Lucy dating her patients.”

“I am not dating my patients!”

“No, she’s not,” Maggie said. “She’s counseling them.” My sister pulled her friend in for a hug, still laughing. “I’m joking, of course. But your dating life does kinda suck, honey. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Lucy sighed. “What dating life?”

“Exactly. Which is why I signed you up for the Twelve Dates of Christmas.”

Lucy and I responded in tandem. “You what?”

“Oh look, there’s Peter now.” Maggie waved, and a guy wearing a shirt and tie with a vest that I hated smiled and walked over.